#ephemeral nature of mortality | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mononijikayu · 7 months

Text

ghost of you — geto suguru.

In his dreams, he would see you adorned in your Jujutsu uniform, the epitome of elegance and grace as you moved with a fluidity that mesmerized all who beheld you. Each time, it’s like that day he met you, Shoko and Satoru all over again. How kindly you smiled at him. Greeting him with every sense of wonder. Nothing could compare to the way your face lit up with a radiant glow whenever you caught sight of him and Satoru, your eyes alight with an adoration that spoke volumes of the love you held for them both. The adoring gazes of those who surrounded you, drawn to the magnetic allure of your presence, only served to amplify the aura of warmth and joy that surrounded you wherever you went.

GENRE: Hidden Inventory Arc - JJK 0, 2006/2007 - 2017;

WARNING/s: Angst, Romance, Pining, Grief, Mourning, Death, Depiction of Trauma, Depiction of Death, Depiction of Grief, Depiction of Blood, Depiction of Corpses, Depiction of Injury, Depiction of Curses, Depiction of Dreams and Nightmares, Reminiscing, Language;

masterlist

listen: ghost of you by my chemical romance

note: this is how im dealing with my failings in class. im sick too but i wanted to cry, so i wrote this!!! ramadan mubarak to those celebrating!!! i love you all!!!

HE THINKS THAT HE’S ABOUT TO LOSE HIS MIND. Night after night, Geto Suguru found himself ensnared in the clutches of a restless sleep, his subconscious a battleground where turmoil reigned supreme. Sleep, once a sanctuary from the trials of the waking world, had become a rare and fleeting commodity for him. Each night, he descended into the depths of slumber with a weariness that weighed heavily on his weary soul.

But even in the refuge of sleep, there was no respite from the torment that plagued his restless mind. As he drifted into the realm of dreams, he was met with a relentless onslaught of visions that offered no solace, no reprieve. The awakening, when it inevitably came, was always abrupt, tearing him away from the illusory tranquility of his dreams with a merciless force.

With each night that passed, Suguru's weary eyes would flutter open, revealing puffy lids stained with the remnants of tears shed in the throes of sleep. The contrast between the serenity of his dreams and the harsh reality of his waking world was stark, a cruel reminder of the tumultuous nature of his existence.

His heart, a relentless drumbeat in the silence of the night, served as a constant reminder of the vivid images that lingered in his mind long after the dream had dissipated. The dreams felt real, tangible, as if he could reach out and touch the ephemeral figures that inhabited them. And you, in particular, felt more real than ever before, a spectral presence that haunted his every thought.

In his dreams, you were within his grasp, your presence a beacon of warmth and vitality that seemed to defy the confines of mortality. Your smile, so vibrant and alive, illuminated the darkness of his subconscious with a radiance that pierced through the shadows of his restless mind.

But alongside the fleeting moments of solace came the nightmarish visions that haunted him without fail. The memory of Toji Fushiguro, the man who had wrought untold devastation upon your life, upon his life, lingered like a malevolent specter in the recesses of his mind. It was that man that had robbed him of life. The image of Toji's vicious gaze as he looked upon your lifeless form, a cruel reminder of the brutality of fate, haunted Suguru's dreams with an unrelenting intensity.

He called your name over and over.

He watched you turn your back at him.

Each time, his heart seeps with horror.

“Suguru, get out!” You rush from the entrance, getting his attention. His eyes blinked before he could even react. He looks at you, with your disheveled look, exhausted from keeping the entrance safe. “Now!”

Your desperate cry pierced through the chaos, urging him to run, to escape the impending danger. But he was frozen in place, his muscles refusing to respond to the command of his racing mind.

He could see the determination etched into your features as you rushed towards the young girl, summoning your own cursed creatures in a futile attempt to protect her. But in the face of the Sorcerer Killer's relentless speed, your efforts seemed futile.

Time slowed to a crawl as Suguru's heart pounded against his chest, each beat echoing the terror and helplessness consuming him. He screamed your name, reaching out to you with a desperation he had never known before. But his movements were sluggish, as if he were trapped in a nightmare from which he couldn't wake.

Amanai Riko's screams echoed in the air as you wrapped your arms around her, shielding her from the impending danger. Suguru's breath caught in his throat as he watched in horror, knowing that he was powerless to stop the inevitable.

The sound of gunfire shattered the silence, the bullets tearing through the air with deadly precision. Two shots rang out, each one a death knell that reverberated through Suguru's soul.

Blood sprayed into the air, painting a macabre tableau of violence and despair. Your body convulsed as the bullets found their mark, your once-vibrant eyes now vacant and lifeless. You choked on your own blood, your ghostly visage haunting Suguru's nightmares for years to come.

Even in your final moments, you clung to Riko, offering what little comfort you could in the face of such senseless brutality. But it was a futile gesture, as both your bodies crumpled to the ground, lifeless and broken, a stark reminder of the cruel reality of their world.

“Okay, job’s done.” The dark haired man retorts, walking towards Suguru with a nonchalant look on his face. Nothing made him more angry, he thinks. Nothing in him was more devoid of life than in that moment.

He stares at both of you and Riko.

He takes a breath.

He turns to the man.

“Why are you here?” was all he could muster out of him, his dark purple pupils dilated in bitter anguish as you laid there, lifeless, the girl you were so desperate to protect, still wrapped around your cold, blood arms.

“Oh, that.” The man grinned back at him, scratching his head with his armed hand. “That’s simple. Because I killed Gojo Satoru.”

He wasn’t sure what else to do.

His rainbow dragon summoned.

His cursed energy bursted out of him.

His glare was pulsing with hatred.

“I see.” He says ever so bitterly, coldly. “Then die!”

Each dream began with your warmth enveloping him, igniting a fire within his soul that burned with a fervor unmatched by anything in the waking world. Your vibrant presence, etched into the very fabric of his being, illuminated the darkness of his subconscious with a radiance that defied the confines of mortality. Every detail of your existence was etched into his memory with an indelible permanence, a testament to the profound impact you had on his life.

Nothing could compare to the way your face lit up with a radiant glow whenever you caught sight of him and Satoru, your eyes alight with an adoration that spoke volumes of the love you held for them both. The adoring gazes of those who surrounded you, drawn to the magnetic allure of your presence, only served to amplify the aura of warmth and joy that surrounded you wherever you went.

You had a gift, a rare ability to make everyone around you feel like life was worth living, each and every time you graced them with your presence. You breathed life into every room you entered, infusing it with a sense of vitality and purpose that was as intoxicating as it was irresistible. And to Suguru, you were the embodiment of that beauty, a vision of unparalleled grace and elegance that left him breathless with longing.

But beneath the surface of this idyllic tableau of love and adoration lay a deep well of sorrow and longing that threatened to engulf Suguru's fragile heart. Because every dream ended with the same way. His guilt eating up and him. Every dream ended with you losing your life, with him losing you. And him, being too slow, too useless, too careless. The pain in his chest was palpable as he watched you over and over, knowing that you were no longer his to cherish. You haunted him, continually.

But he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Because you weren’t here with him.

All he could do was let him be haunted.

All he could do was let himself mourn.

All he could do was see the ghost of you.

HE DIDN’T REALIZE THAT HE HAD CURSED YOU. In the depths of Suguru's heart, a relentless denial gripped him with an iron fist, refusing to accept the crushing reality of your absence. He couldn't comprehend how he managed to carry on, nor could he grasp the reason behind his persistent refusal to acknowledge the truth. Yet, in the recesses of his soul, he harbored an unwavering certainty that you were still with him, your presence lingering like an indelible imprint on his consciousness.

The mere thought of your demise was inconceivable to Suguru, a notion he vehemently rejected with every fiber of his being. Even as he cradled your lifeless form in his arms, the weight of your absence pressing down on him like an insurmountable burden, he couldn't fathom a world without you breathing, without your laughter filling the air.

The memory of that fateful moment, when the sound of clapping mingled with the echo of your blood staining the pavement, haunted him relentlessly. It was a nightmare he couldn't escape, a grim reality that overshadowed every waking moment, gnawing at the edges of his sanity.

Even when he stood before Satoru, who held the lifeless body of Amanai Riko in his arms, the juxtaposition of death and despair surrounding them like a shroud, Suguru's mind rebelled against the notion of your absence. The image of your mangled face, revealed to Shoko as she trembled with unspoken grief, pierced Suguru's soul like a dagger, a stark reminder of the cruel fate that had torn you away from him.

But amidst the suffocating grip of denial, there lingered a beacon of solace – the memory of the day before, when both of you stood by the sea, basking in the warmth of each other's company. That precious moment played on an endless loop in Suguru's mind, a sanctuary of peace amidst the chaos of his shattered reality, a reminder of the love and joy you brought into his life.

In the tumultuous depths of his soul, Suguru clung to that memory with unwavering resolve, refusing to let go of the hope that one day, somehow, you would return to him, breathing life back into his shattered world.

That serene afternoon spent in your company felt like an eternity, a timeless moment etched into Suguru's memory. He could still recall the sensation of the sun's warmth enveloping his skin as he lay with his head nestled in your lap, the rhythmic motion of your fingers gently combing through his hair like a soothing melody.

The gentle caress of the wind against the backdrop of the sea created a symphony of tranquility, a scene of unparalleled beauty that seemed to exist outside of time itself. In that moment, there was no past or future, only the present, filled with the warmth of your love.

"You know," You teased, your playful grin lighting up your features, "You're lucky I'm not like Satoru. Otherwise, I might just shave your head when you fall asleep like this."

Suguru chuckled, his eyes still closed as he basked in the comfort of your presence. "You wouldn't dare. You love my hair too much."

Your laughter was like a sweet melody, a harmonious blend of joy and affection that resonated in Suguru's soul. "You caught me," You admitted, your fingers continuing their gentle movements through his hair. "I couldn't bear to part with those luscious locks of yours."

“Hm, it's why I maintain it for you.”

“Liar, you maintain it for yourself.” You retorted back at him, teasingly. “Well, other than that, for your boyfriend, Satoru.”

Opening his eyes, Suguru met your gaze, captivated by the love and warmth that radiated from your eyes. "You're one of a kind, my love," he murmured softly, reaching up to intertwined his fingers with yours. His chest rambling with laughter. “Satoru wouldn’t oppose those words, I like to think.”

You grinned back at him. “No, he’d be very flattered.”

He smiled, squeezing your palm. “Too bad you already captured me, my love.”

"And you're stuck with me," You replied with a mischievous grin, gently squeezing his hand. "For better or for worse."

"And for bitter or for worse, too," Suguru vowed solemnly, his voice filled with unwavering determination. “You and me.”

Your laughter echoed in the air, a symphony of happiness that danced around them. "That's a promise, hm?"

"It is!" Suguru affirmed, a smile spreading across his face as he felt a surge of warmth fill his heart. In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of your love and the echo of your laughter, he knew that he’d fall in love with you, over and over again.

In the aftermath of the tragedy that had torn you away from him, Suguru clung to your lifeless body with a tenacity born of desperation. He couldn't bear the thought of surrendering you to the authorities, not even to Shoko, who trembled with sorrow as she stood before him, her eyes filled with unspoken grief.

Instead, Suguru laid your body down gently on your dorm bed, heedless of the blood stains that marred the once-peaceful sanctuary where you had shared countless intimate moments together. "You belong here," he murmured softly, his voice choked with emotion, "Safe and far from harm."

For days, Suguru remained by your side, tending to your lifeless form with a tenderness that belied the anguish raging within him. "I'll take care of you," he whispered, his fingers tracing the contours of your face as if trying to etch your features into his memory forever.

As Satoru arrived, his usually jovial demeanor replaced with a heavy cloak of grief, Suguru's facade of stoicism cracked under the weight of his anguish. His heart, already battered and bruised, seemed to shatter into a million pieces as he watched Yaga and Shoko carry your lifeless body away, leaving him alone with the echo of his torment.

"How could you let this happen?" Suguru's voice rang out, filled with a rawness that cut through the air like a knife. Each word was laced with a pain so profound that it seemed to reverberate through the room, echoing the depths of his despair.

Satoru's response was a whispered apology, his voice heavy with guilt and sorrow. The weight of his words hung in the air like a tangible presence, a silent acknowledgment of the mistakes made and the lives lost as a result.

“Suguru,” Satoru began, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes reflecting a myriad of complex emotions. But amidst the sorrow and regret, Suguru could see the unmistakable glimmer of guilt that lingered in his best friend's gaze. It was a guilt that cut deeper than any blade, a burden that Satoru carried with him like a heavy chain around his neck.

The apology hung in the air, a fragile thread that seemed to stretch and strain under the weight of their shared grief. Suguru's heart ached with the weight of it all, the pain of loss and betrayal mingling together in a tumultuous storm of emotions.

In that moment, as they stood amidst the wreckage of their shattered lives, Suguru realized that forgiveness would not come easy. The wounds were too fresh, the pain too raw. But buried beneath the layers of grief and anger, there remained a glimmer of hope – a flicker of light in the darkness that threatened to consume them both.

Satoru's shoulders sagged under the weight of Suguru's accusation, his usual confidence crumbling in the face of his friend's anguish. "I... I don't know, Suguru," he admitted, his voice wavering with emotion. "I thought we had everything under control. I never imagined..."

Suguru's gaze bore into him, a mix of disbelief and sorrow etched into his features. "You never imagined?" he repeated, his voice hollow with pain. "You promised me you'd keep my love safe, Satoru. You promised."

Gojo Satoru's eyes mirrored the grief that threatened to consume Suguru. "I know," he whispered, his voice choked with sorrow. "I know, and I'm sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen. I would give anything to go back and change it, Suguru. Anything."

The room fell silent, the weight of their words hanging heavy in the air like a thick fog. Suguru's heart ached with a longing for the past, for a time when you were still alive and everything felt right in the world. “Apologies....it wouldn't bring Riko-chan....it wouldn't bring my love back. It wouldn’t bring them back.”

“I know.” His best friend responded back to him, his eyes lowering down to the pavement. “I know.”

He just let Suguru cry.

And he just held him.

But he knew it wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough.

As the days turned into weeks, the weight of grief and loss pressed down on Geto Suguru like an unrelenting force of nature. Surrounded by the very space that bore witness to a lifetime of shared memories between him and you, Suguru found himself drowning in bitterness and despair.

But his anguish only deepened when he discovered the truth – that your death, and the death of Amanai Riko, had been in vain. The realization that your sacrifices had been rendered meaningless, that another Star Plasma Vessel existed and remained to be found, fueled the flames of his anger and resentment.

Your deaths were not just tragedies; they were senseless, cruel acts of fate that left Suguru grappling with the unbearable weight of injustice. The quiet anger that simmered beneath his grief now boiled over, consuming him with a fiery intensity that threatened to consume everything in its path.

He was angry – angry at the world, angry at fate, angry at himself for not being able to protect you. He was bitter – bitter at the cruel twist of fate that robbed him of a future with you, bitter at the injustice of a world that could take away something so precious with such callous disregard.

In the midst of his despair, Suguru found himself grappling with a profound sense of loss – not just the loss of you, but the loss of the life they could have had together. It was a wound that cut deep, leaving him scarred and broken, forever haunted by the specter of what could have been.

"I can't do this without you," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as he traced the outline of your bed with trembling fingers.

Amidst the suffocating darkness that threatened to consume him, Suguru clung to a memory that flickered like a solitary flame in the blackness of his despair. It was a memory of a night shrouded in chaos and bloodshed, a night when he had unleashed the full force of his cursed power upon a village that dared to defy him.

In the midst of the carnage, as screams echoed through the air and flames licked at the sky, Suguru found himself face to face with a man brandishing a dull blade, his eyes filled with a murderous rage. It was a scene straight out of his nightmares, a reminder of the violence and destruction that had become his reality.

But then, amidst the chaos and despair, he saw you – a specter of the past, with eyes as cold and dead as the winter night itself. In that fleeting moment of recognition, Suguru reached out to you, his hand trembling with a desperation he could not conceal.

"I need you," he whispered into the void, his voice thick with emotion. In that moment, he realized that even in death, you would always be there to defend him, to stand by his side through the darkest of times.

In the depths of his despair, Suguru's mind replayed the events of that fateful night with agonizing clarity. The memory of your sudden appearance, like a specter from the past, haunted him relentlessly, its impact both comforting and terrifying in equal measure.

As the man raised his blade, a glint of malice in his eyes, Suguru watched in stunned disbelief as you intervened, your ethereal form moving with an otherworldly grace. Tears streamed down your face, a silent testament to the grief and anguish that engulfed you both.

In that fleeting moment, as your cold hand met his trembling one, Suguru was overcome by a torrent of emotions – grief, longing, and a profound sense of loss. But amidst the chaos and turmoil, there was also a glimmer of hope – a belief that even in death, your presence would guide him through the darkness, offering solace and strength in the face of unimaginable hardship.

You couldn’t speak, your voice silenced by the cruel hand of fate. Yet in that moment, words were unnecessary. Your mere presence was enough to soothe Suguru's tormented soul, offering him a lifeline amidst the darkness that threatened to consume him.

Because you were here, tangible and real, your touch and gaze a balm to his wounded spirit. In that moment, nothing else mattered – not the burning village, nor the screams of the innocent, nor the sorrow that engulfed them both. Only you, alive and with him, mattered.

"Welcome home, my love," Suguru whispered to you, his voice barely above a whisper, his touch gentle as he brushed your hair out of your face. In that moment, surrounded by the remnants of their shared past, Suguru found solace in the simple act of being with you, his anchor in a sea of chaos and despair.

He regretted nothing.

Not this moment.

No, not even you.

Never you.

HE HAD NO REGRETS, NOT EVEN BY THE END.You watched from the shadows, your ethereal presence a silent observer in the midst of the unfolding drama. Suguru had never wanted you near the battle. He had kept you out of it. But he supposed, as you dwelled through the walls, familiar to the cursed echoes of your mind—you were just returning home.The moon hung low in the sky, its pale light casting long shadows over the desolate landscape. As the first rays of dawn began to paint the horizon with streaks of gold and orange, the world seemed to hold its breath in anticipation.

Your eyes, cold and ghostly, flickered with an otherworldly intensity as you surveyed the scene before you. Two figures stood facing each other amidst the quiet stillness of the night – one bathed in the soft glow of the moon, the other shrouded in the darkness of the shadows. Geto Suguru leaned against the familiar wall, his form hunched over in pain as he clutched his armless shoulder, blood seeping through his fingers in a steady stream. Despite the agony etched into his features, he remained steadfast, his resolve unyielding even in the face of death.

You blinked, your expression inscrutable as you watched Suguru's suffering unfold before you. There was a sense of detachment in your gaze, as if you were merely a spectator to the tragic spectacle playing out before you. The sun began to lower, its golden rays piercing through the darkness with a gentle warmth that belied the chaos of the moment. The world seemed to slowly descend to the slumber, the birds flying past as they chased against the shadows eating away into darkness.

And yet, amidst the beauty of that blue hour, there was an undeniable sense of foreboding in the air. This was not how he was expecting to go, but he supposed he had no other way but to live through it, with what he had left. The silent standoff between the two figures spoke volumes, a silent testament to the turmoil and conflict that raged within their hearts.

You stood silently, your presence a silent sentinel amidst the chaos, your eyes never wavering from the scene unfolding before you. As Suguru and the other figure faced each other in a silent battle of wills, you remained a silent witness to the unfolding drama, your ghostly eyes reflecting the weight of the world on your shoulders.

"You're late, Satoru," Suguru let out a voice tinged with resignation and a hint of bitterness.

Satoru Gojo stood before them, a towering figure even in the midst of turmoil, his usual blindfold gone to reveal the intensity of his gaze. His eyes, unobscured by the fabric that usually concealed them, bore into Suguru and the ethereal figure standing beside him, a silent testament to the gravity of the situation unfolding before them.

As Suguru and Satoru faced each other, a silent exchange passed between them, Satoru's expression remained stoic yet filled with an unspoken sorrow. It had been so long since he had last seen the figure beside Suguru, and this was not the reunion he had envisioned. But there was no surprise in his gaze, no hint of shock at the sight before him. He had long ago come to accept the unexpected twists and turns of fate, the unpredictable nature of love and loss.

Every essence of love, Satoru knew, carried with it a burden of its own – a weight that could either uplift or crush the soul. His love for Suguru, his steadfast friendship that had endured for nearly a decade, had been his anchor in the storm, the guiding light that had sustained him through even the darkest of times. And he was certain that Suguru's love for the figure beside him, ever-present yet so tragically unfulfilled, had likewise kept him tethered to this world, even as death loomed ever closer.

As Satoru turned his head to look at the figure beside Suguru, a wave of bittersweet memories washed over him. It had been too long since he had last seen you, too long since they had last stood together as allies in the fight against darkness. And now, as he gazed upon your lifeless form, he couldn't help but feel a pang of regret – regret for all the lost time, all the missed opportunities, and all the words left unspoken. You were chained to this life, out of love. And you probably knew that too well.

Amidst the sorrow and regret, there remained a glimmer of hope – a belief that even in death, their love would endure, a beacon of light in the darkness that threatened to consume them all. Yet he wouldn’t want it to continue. This was already a nightmare. These moments were already haunting ghosts. And as Satoru stood before them, his heart heavy with grief yet filled with a quiet determination, he knew that he would do whatever it took to set them free from the chains of their past, to grant them the peace and solace they so rightfully deserved.

"To think you'd be the one here at my end," Suguru replied, his voice betraying none of the turmoil swirling within him. Yet he smiled, a genuine expression of warmth and understanding that seemed to contradict the gravity of the situation.

Suguru Geto, his expression stoic and unreadable, met Satoru's gaze with a steely resolve. There was a time when closeness existed between them, a bond forged through shared experiences and unwavering trust. But now, that bond lay fractured and strained, buried beneath the weight of their conflicting ideologies and diverging paths.

"Is my family safe?" Suguru demanded, his tone tinged with a shallow breath of concern. He glanced at the figure standing beside him, your dead, cold eyes betraying a silent worry that mirrored his own. Nanako and Mimiko, the twins who had become like family to them, were undoubtedly on both your minds. Suguru knew that your concern for their safety mirrored his own, even if you couldn't voice it aloud.

Satoru nodded solemnly. "Every last one of them managed to escape," he confirmed, his voice tinged with regret. "The ones in Kyoto were under your orders, too, right?"

Suguru's lips curved into a bitter smile. "Yeah," he acknowledged. "Unlike you, I'm a kind man."

The tension between them hung heavy in the air, suffocating and palpable. Suguru broke the silence once more, his voice steady and unwavering. "You sent those two assuming that I'd defeat them, didn't you?" he questioned, his tone accusing yet tinged with resignation.

Suguru's gaze hardened, his eyes narrowing in response. "To set Okkotsu off," he whispered, his voice laced with bitter amusement. Satoru's eyes remained steadfast, reflecting the resolve of a man driven by his convictions.

"I trusted you," Satoru interjected, his voice tinged with a note of disappointment. "Trusted that a man as principled as you wouldn't kill off young sorcerers without a reason."

"Trust, huh?" Suguru mused, his smile tinged with wistfulness. He glanced at the figure beside him, your cold, dead eyes mirroring his own emotions. "I didn't think I still had any of that left… after everything I’ve been through."

With a resigned sigh, Suguru retrieved a small object from the folds of his clothes and extended it towards Satoru. "Return this for me, will you?" he requested, his voice tinged with finality.

Satoru accepted the object, his fingers closing around it with a sense of inevitability. "Was the elementary school your doing, too?" he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity and disbelief.

Suguru met his gaze, his expression inscrutable. "Yeah," he admitted quietly.

Their eyes met in a silent exchange of understanding and regret, the weight of their shared history hanging heavy between them. Satoru took a step forward, his gaze piercing through the darkness to meet Suguru's gaze head-on.

"Do you have any last words?" he inquired, his voice soft yet tinged with melancholy.

Suguru's lips twitched into a bitter smile, his gaze unfaltering. "No matter what anyone says," he began, his voice tinged with resignation. "I hate those monkeys. But I never held any hatred for those in Jujutsu High. I just couldn't wear a heartfelt smile in this world. Not after…"

He turned towards you, his expression filled with an unspoken longing and regret. You looked back at him, confusion etched into your features. But he smiled at you, urging you closer with a silent gesture.

"I hope you can forgive me," Suguru whispered to you, his hand reaching out to touch your face gently. A tear fell from your eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the pain and loss they had both endured. "And I hope you will meet me soon. The real you. Wherever this death leads me. I hope you can love me again. Like you used to.”

"You need to do it, Suguru," Satoru urged, his voice filled with a sense of sorrow. One that Suguru cannot comprehend. One that was buried for ten years. “Now.”

Suguru wiped the lone tear away, his expression solemn yet resolute. "I know."

"Suguru," Gojo Satoru called out, his voice echoing with the weight of their shared history and the unspoken promise of redemption. "We'll meet again someday, right?"

His words were a whispered prayer, a plea for forgiveness and understanding that he never thought he'd utter. Each syllable hung heavy in the air, pregnant with the weight of their past and the uncertainty of their future.

Suguru looked at him with surprise, his expression a mixture of disbelief and resignation. And then, as if released from the shackles of his own sorrow, a laugh bellowed from him, echoing through the desolate landscape like a beacon of hope amidst the darkness. He smiled at Satoru, a genuine smile that reached his eyes despite the pain and regret that lingered there.

"At least curse me a little bit, in the end," Suguru teased lowly, his voice tinged with a sense of camaraderie that belied the gravity of the moment. It was a moment of levity amidst the heaviness of their shared grief, a fleeting glimpse of the bond that had once united them in friendship and camaraderie.

And then, as if on cue, your voice pierced through the silence, your words whispered softly yet audibly into the night air. "Go...od...bye," you murmured, your lips forming the words with a sense of finality that hung heavy in the air like a shroud. It was not strangled. But rather, warm. As warm as it used to be when you were alive.

They both looked at you, their hearts heavy with sorrow and regret, yet filled with a quiet understanding and acceptance. Your smile, though fleeting, filled the space between them with warmth and reassurance, a silent reminder that even in death, love endures.

As your body started to fade into the ether, a silent farewell etched into the depths of your soul, Suguru reached out to them one last time. His hand extended toward Satoru, a gesture of farewell and gratitude for their shared moments of joy and sorrow. And in that fleeting moment, surrounded by the echoes of their shared past and the promise of a brighter future, they reached back, their hands intertwined in a silent vow of eternal remembrance and love.

Satoru watched as your body disappeared, wisps of what had been blowing into the wind like cherry blossoms in the summer breeze. His gaze shifted to Suguru, a bittersweet smile playing at the corners of his lips. It was a smile of contentment, of freedom finally achieved. Because he knew, deep down, that he would meet you soon. And in that moment, he felt no regrets, no sorrow, only the quiet acceptance of what was to come.

“I’ll do it once,” Satoru whispered to Suguru, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

Suguru's smile widened, a sense of peace washing over him as he closed his eyes. He resigned himself to his fate. “Between you and me, Satoru,” he whispered back, his voice filled with a sense of finality. “There was never any need for thanks or apologies. I’m ready to go. I’ve been ready for ten years. All I want is to smile genuinely again.”

And with those words hanging in the air like a silent promise, Suguru took one final breath, his spirit soaring free from the shackles of his earthly existence. He didn’t need to use his powers, Satoru thinks. He was already gone. Far too gone. And as he faded into the unknown, a sense of tranquility settled over the desolate landscape, one that had ever been so familiar. So full of memories of the four of you in your blue summer. It was now his turn, he supposed. To live with the ghosts of you and Suguru, for as long as he lives.

As Geto Suguru's spirit faded into the unknown, Gojo Satoru stood in the quiet stillness of the brisk sunset turning deeply into the darkened night. He stood before his best friend’s body, letting a sense of peace settle over him like a comforting embrace. He watched as Suguru's essence dissipated into the ether, a gentle smile gracing his lips as he whispered a silent farewell to his dear friend.

In the moments that followed, Gojo Satoru felt a profound sense of closure wash over him, a weight lifted from his weary soul. For so long, he had carried the burden of their shared past, the guilt and regret weighing heavily on his heart. But now, as Suguru's spirit ascended to a higher plane, he knew that their journey together had come to an end. And now Suguru's journey began. You both were together now, that’s what he hoped for. Suguru was smiling beside you. That you both were waiting for him and Shoko. That’s what he wants to believe.

As the last traces of Suguru's presence faded from the air, Satoru closed his eyes, allowing himself to bask in the quiet tranquility of the night. In that moment, he felt a sense of gratitude for the time they had shared, for the laughter and tears, the joy and sorrow that had defined their friendship.

The tears fell from blue eyes easily.

He choked on his sobs, his head down.

It was never going to be easy for him.

He had to move forward, all he could do.

He had to live, for you and Suguru.

435 notes · View notes

banjjakz · 10 months

Text

convection currents ; yuuta x GN!reader

“Am I important to you, Okkotsu-san?” God, he can’t stand it. The way you look at him, the uneven lilt in your fragile, quavering voice; it makes him want to bury himself alive inside of you. “Yuuta,” he says. “Just ‘Yuuta’ is fine.”

word count: 7.6k

warnings: horizontal hanky panky, obsession, possessive tendencies, unhealthy relationships, codependency, semi graphic descriptions of violence, major character death

‪♡‬ read on ao3 ‪♡‬

likes + reblogs appreciated!

Yuuta wants to like you.

And he does – like you, that is. He really, really does.

But there have been some moments that give him pause.

Don’t get him wrong! You’re sweet, kind, doting, attentive, and very clearly an anxious bundle of painful self-awareness. He finds comfort in the kindred connection between your loner spirits. Training is made infinitely easier when he steals a glance at the gentle flash of your sweet smile, the soft flutter of your hair in the breeze, the twinkle of your laugh, floating through the air as a windchime’s ephemeral melody serenades the breeze. Everything about you seems to be perfectly enveloped and embedded within his daily reality at Tokyo Tech; natural, easy, right. That is what it feels like, to be at your side.

The budding affection between the two of you kicks his foolish, stuttering heart into overdrive. How long has it been, since the blood pumping through his veins was motivated by a sensation other than mortal terror?

You make him want to envision a reality wherein he’s embedded into the fabric of the living, breathing world, rather than continue to occupy his perch as a pariah, perennially scapegoated to the periphery.

Each sidelong glance thrown your way is accompanied by the erratic twitch of his clammy hands, as he tries and fails to pay attention during one of Gojo’s rambling, nonsensical lectures. The light in his eyes revives when you call his name. Innards undulating in and out of place, he tracks your body’s every movement, your muscles contorting fast as quicksilver during scrimmages, lethal and alluring all at once.

These are some of the objectively positive aspects of his attraction to you; the things that pull him from his bed in the morning, calling to him like the abyss compels a creature of the night to rise from its coffin.

And then, there are the more…er, complex moments.

“Did you just come back from a mission, Okkotsu-san?”

Like today, for example. Yuuta had just arrived back on campus after a fun afternoon spent with Toge traversing around Tokyo, patronizing various cafes and konbinis. You were lingering at the entrance of the dormitory, back to the front door, effectively coming between him and his bed.

“Ah, no. I was with Inumaki. We were hanging out for a bit.”

“Where?”

“Just in the city…”

“What did you do?”

He stills, uncertain. “Um…that’s…”

“I’m sorry.” Your head ducks in shame, hiding your face from his quizzical glance. “It’s been hard adjusting to student life as a mid-year transfer. I keep up well enough in classes, and on missions, but I don’t think any of the other students like me all that much. Forgive me, Okkotsu-san. To be honest, I’m jealous of how easily you get along with Inumaki-san and Maki-san.”

Of course. How could he assume anything different?

As a non-lineage sorcerer, you were haphazardly discovered by one of the senior sorcerers on a mission gone south and roped into the jujutsu world without prior knowledge of its existence. From a firsthand perspective, he of all people should be able to understand how isolating that must be.

Kicking himself for his judgemental first reaction, Yuuta forces his skeleton to release the tension it harbors. “No, don’t worry. Have you been sleeping well? Did you eat dinner?”

Sheepishly, you shake your head.

This is how he finds himself alone, with you, in a secluded alcove on the outskirts of campus. The afternoon has matured into a thick, syrupy evening, the sky bruised with a smattering of warm hues. You sit on the grassy bank as a pair, shoulder-to-shoulder, your union celebrated by the rhythmic thrum of the cicadas’ song.

“Here, take it.” He offers you the last flavored onigiri leftover from his spoils of konbini adventures.

You protest, waving your hands in front of you. “No, no, no. I’m fine with just a plain one. Please. I don’t want to cause you any more trouble.”

“Plain is my favorite,” he lies. “I don’t even like yaki.”

“...Then why did you have one in your bag?”

“Haha! That’s a great question! I don’t know!” Beet red, Yuuta scratches the back of his head.

Out of mercy, and perhaps pity, you graciously accept the yaki onigiri. Munching in companionable quietude ensues for several minutes, as you both watch the sun impale itself on the dark horizon, bleeding out across the sky in dark, inky tones.

Without sitting face-to-face, it’s easier to speak to you, somehow. The insistent pressure on his chest lifts long enough for some words of actual substance to slip forth. “It’s hard, the first year.”

You remain silent.

“My first year was hell, too. Although that’s probably because I was being haunted.”

“By who?”

He blinks, your question knocking him off balance. Not by “what,” but by “who” had he been haunted? You’ve always been observant. This is why you’ve survived for so long.

“Um, it’s a long story… I’ll tell you in full one day. For now, I’ll just say that there was someone very special to me when I was a child… and it was hard for her to let go of me, when push came to shove.”

“Ah. I see.”

Although August has yet to conclude, the air around him is significantly chillier than what is characteristic of Tokyo’s late-summer hazy heat. Yuuta shivers, pulling his knees up to his chin.

“Yeah. But, um, anyways. If you need someone to talk to…to be by your side… I would like to be that person for you.” He utters your name like a prayer, too concentrated on not stuttering to be embarrassed at the earnest tremble in his voice. “I wish I had a confidante when I first got here. It would have saved me a lot of trouble.”

“A confidante? But didn’t you have your friend?”

Your reply jolts him into looking at you. The expression on your face tells him that you truly mean it as a genuine inquiry.

“Well, um. I was being haunted…and Rika – er, she didn’t really listen to me. She actually got a little overprotective, I think.”

“Do you think she was evil?”

“No!” The denial explodes from his mouth before Yuuta can even fully process the nuance of the question posed. “No,” he repeats, at an appropriate volume, this time. “She was clingy, and protective, and possessive, and honestly violent, but she wasn’t evil. I loved her. I think a part of me always will.”

Love? What is he doing talking to you, alone, at night, about love? How embarrassing. He hadn’t meant to say all that!

Quickly, he stuffs his mouth with the remainder of his onigiri. No more talking. Just chewing.

If you are perturbed by his sentimental ramblings, you show no sign of it. If anything, your face remains impassive, serene, undisturbed like the surface of a tranquil pond.

“You loved her for that, then. Was she haunting you if you were in love?”

After he finishes choking down the final, sticky remnants of his dinner, Yuuta frowns, mulling over your words which are heavy by the virtue of their implication, yet hang and sway in the air as an empty noose dangles from the gallows.

“...I don’t know.” Yuuta says, at length. “That’s what I was diagnosed with when I came here. And it was hard for me to function, back when Rika was still here. I didn’t have any friends. And people close to me got hurt a lot.”

“It sounds like she was always trying to protect you… even when you were apart. I only wish one day, I find someone who would have the capacity to care for me like that…”

“You want that?”

“I do.” Not an ounce of hesitation in your firm, forthcoming reply. “I’ve spent my whole life as something worth less than notice or acknowledgement. Always feeling invisible, never having anyone – not even one person – who cared about me. Up until this point, I’ve lived life wanting to die every day.”

For lack of a better reply, Yuuta simply asks: “What changed?”

“...I met you, Okkotsu-san.”

Oh, wow.

It’s kind of funny – where other people describe feeling hot, Yuuta has always been chronically, terminally cold. Your words induce a rapidly onsetting deep-freeze which permeates every layer of his skin, every molecule of his bones, every wretched atom of marrow lying dormant inside of him, all of it, every fiber of being rooted to the spot in an indescribable emotion.

“I–I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s okay. I’m sorry, I don’t know why I said that. I apologize for making you uncomfortable.”

That’s wrong. “No, you didn’t! You didn’t, I swear. Just… um, I’m also a person who is lonely, like you described. So I’m not used to, err, being, ah, important. To people? I guess?”

“Oh… I see.”

Clearly, the higher function of critical thought has abandoned him; this is the only explanation for how he reaches to grab your hands, sending the half-eaten yaki onigiri tumbling down to the dark earth beneath your anxiously shifting feet. He squeezes you, tightly, and is delighted in a morose sort of way to find your digits even colder than his.

“Let’s teach each other. How to be important to someone else.”

“Am I important to you, Okkotsu-san?”

God, he can’t stand it. The way you look at him, the uneven lilt in your fragile, quavering voice; it makes him want to bury himself alive inside of you.

“Yuuta,” he says. “Just ‘Yuuta’ is fine.”

;

Field missions have been a part of his daily life as a sorcerer since the day he arrived at Tokyo Tech. Battle has always been challenging for all the obvious reasons, but never before has Yuuta had to deal with the added hardship of fighting alongside you.

This, of course, is not meant to imply that you aren’t able to hold your own; on the contrary, your physical and cursed prowess has granted you the rank of semi-special grade despite this being your first year enrolled in any kind of formal jujutsu schooling. Your cursed technique is innate to your personality and sensibilities, which helps. But even if that weren’t the case, you would still be one of Tokyo’s top-performing students.

Missions are difficult because, despite all of this being true, Yuuta is powerless to curb the instinct to protect you during fights.

It manifests in small ways, at first: insisting to be paired up with you for assignments, always volunteering to partner up when splitting from the larger group during an investigation– things like this.

His behavior starts to stray into problematic territory the longer he is allowed to get away with it, unchecked.

“After Ijichi casts the veil, we’ll sweep the building. Inumaki and Yuuta, you two take the upper levels. We’ll do the bottom half,” orders Maki, gesturing between you and herself.

Immediately, Yuuta objects. “No. I’ll do the bottom half. You and Inumaki should go up together.”

“What?”

“I have a phobia of heights,” lies Yuuta, shamelessly. “It will impact my performance.”

“I have literally never heard you talk about being afraid of heights before.”

“Shake sushi,” agrees Inumaki.

You remain silent, pupils trembling, bottom lip severed between your teeth in a display of bashfulness reserved only for Yuuta’s blatant favoritism, which he wields frequently, in hopes to catch a even a single glimpse of you just as you appear now.

“I’m self-conscious about it,” he laughs, scratching the back of his head. “Thank you both for understanding.”

“Wait! Okkotsu, we didn’t–”

And with that, he grabs you by the wrist and pulls you away with him, sprinting into the abandoned love hotel before Maki or Inumaki can prevent you from absconding.

The two of you are laughing, tickled as usual at the effects of pissing Maki the hell off. Consequences will rain down in due time, no doubt, but for now, it feels best to bask in each other’s presence.

Once through the front door, Yuuta halts to an easy jog, guiding you past the cobweb-covered front desk, around the decrepit scraps of the once-ostentatiously decorated lobby, all the way to the far back corner, where a solid, heavy metal door obfuscates the emergency stairway.

“Oh, it looks jammed… Should we–”

Your stumped musing is cut off by the ricocheting cacophony of Yuuta’s boot violating the door. The metal itself bends and warps, caving in on itself in a hurry to make way for the unstoppable force of the sorcerer’s impassioned blow. He didn’t have to activate any cursed energy.

“Let’s go!” Chirps Yuuta, cheerfully.

In another context, maybe, it would be appropriate for his pulse to spike, for his hands to clam, for his breath to quicken, at the prospect of being alone with you. However, the reality of the current situation is that Yuuta is dragging you down into some dark, unknown depth, where neither of you will be disturbed. As you descend the concrete flights, visibility is increasingly hard to come by, and this, too, excites Yuuta. He is now forced to rely more heavily upon his other senses, which naturally prioritizes the scent of your sweat; the sound of your rabbit-paced heartbeat; the feeling of the paper-thin skin of your inner wrist; the taste of his own desire.

The cursed spirit they’re looking for has been wreaking havoc on the surrounding commercial strip, to the point where several businesses have had to draw their shutters in the wake of the love hotel’s primary foreclosure. Evidently, recurring, unresolved muder-suicides did not bode well for business.

“Um…if we’re supposed to be searching for the curse behind all of the couples’ deaths, shouldn’t we be looking in the bedrooms?”

Your voice echoes, tinny, in the thick, humid air of the emergency stairwell. They haven’t hit the bottom yet.

“Eh, maybe. This doesn’t feel like that kind of case, though.”

“Huh? How do you figure?”

Although moving swiftly, at the speed of light, your footfalls make barely a whisper against the aged concrete steps. Still, it’s enough for Yuuta’s hypersensitive ears to pick up on. Deprived of the sight of you, he drinks in the intimation of your existence, greedily.

“Heat rises,” he says, slowing pace as they approach what can only be the door to the boiler room, which has been left ominously ajar. “Cold sinks.”

“...Um, I’m not sure I follow.”

Stealthily, he slithers inside the slender crack between frame and the door itself. The angle of its opening doesn’t even waver. He pulls you along with him, replying as he moves, “Crimes of passion carry a kind of hot, frenetic energy. Panic, impulse, instinct – all of those things have lots of, hmm, friction? Like an explosion. Really hot at first, dangerously hot, and then it fizzles out into nothing.”

Unfamiliar pieces of enormous machinery tower in the dark. As much as you are able to while crouching so low to the floor, you take care not to trip over any errant pipes.

“So this isn’t a hot curse?”

“No,” Yuuta confirms. “The curse–” murder-suicides in a love hotel, how on-the-nose could it be? “–is premeditated by nature. Obsession solidifies over time. To act on that is a calculated choice.”

He stops short. You would’ve crashed straight into his shoulder blades if he weren’t painfully cognizant of your whereabouts at all times. He preemptively steadies you on your feet before you can even begin to stumble.

“At some point in this building, someone,” says Yuuta, quietly, as he cautiously eyes the opaque blackness before them, “spent a lot of time thinking about their beloved.”

“How can you tell?”

“Cold sinks,” Yuuta repeats.

Violence explodes, seemingly, out of nowhere. The curse attacks all at once, aiming perfectly towards you as though it had been lying in wait, stalking your every move. Yuuta always takes point whenever you pair up together, because he always insists on taking the first hit. It is this presupposition that leaves you wide open, vulnerable for attack from behind.

“Yuuta!!” You shriek, desperately dodging the grotesque appendages reaching out to you. Your body hits the floor just seconds shy of what would have been a gory fatality.

When you lift your head to identify the exact form of the curse, you still in uncomprehending terror.

“...Yuuta?”

How can this be?

Not even seconds prior, Yuuta had been a whole, living, breathing, intact person, guiding you as solidly as your own personal anchor. Why, then, does he appear to you now as a corpse, brain matter spilling down his temples, bloated limbs belying days of decay, flesh pale and tender and loose around the bone.

No, no, no. Had you been too late? Had the curse gotten to him first? Are you next?

Despair fills you, overflowing your sensibilities with the intrusive desire to rid the world of your miserable existence. How could you have let him slip through your fingers? How could you be expected to return to any semblance of a life, with Yuuta gone? You don’t deserve a future without Yuuta – you don’t even want to imagine one.

You’ll do what’s right, and offer your life in penance that you failed to protect his own.

Cursed energy welling within you, threatening to tear you apart at the very seams, you are about to implode with all the conviction of an abandoned lover– but a familiar, desperate cry of your name halts your ministrations.

That was Yuuta’s voice calling out to you.

But there he is, lying before you as nothing more than a desecrated body.

Unless…?

Yuuta calls your name again, sharply, this time in a tone adjacent to something scolding. The fear of disappointing Yuuta outweighs all else. It’s enough to snap you back to reality, to clear your clouded faculties and reveal to you the real Yuuta, who stands on guard just a few paces away, living, breathing, sweating, crouching, preparing for action.

“The curse,” he calls, eyes never leaving the thing in front of you. “It’s the curse. Don’t worry, it’s not real. You’re alive.”

“I’m alive?” You parrot incredulously. “That’s your corpse over there!”

“...Huh? My corpse? But I see yours–” He cuts himself off, face going eerily blank. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Close your eyes. Don’t flinch.”

In your defense, you try your best.

Remaining sightless and motionless is difficult as the rest of your senses are inundated with the disgustingly explicit soundtrack of slaughter. The sound of flesh forcibly sliding apart on the edge of Yuuta’s cursed katana is familiar, at this point, but no less gut-wrenching to bear witness to. When he deals the final blow, the evidence sprays all over the front of you, drenching you from head to toe in what should be the curse’s blood.

And yet, the liquid is frigid. Like you’ve been assaulted by the waves of the cruel, immortal sea.

“You can look now.”

Hesitantly, your eyes flutter open. You’re met with the sight of Yuuta, also covered head to toe in the viscous liquid produced by the corpse’s demise. Now that the exorcism has been completed, the preternatural heaviness is lifted from the building. But still, you struggle to breathe.

“Why didn’t you let me fight?” Something horrible announces itself, crowing from an ugly, dark corner of your mind best kept away from public view. “Was I going to slow you down?”

He sheathes in katana without sparing the gory weapon another glance. The space between your bodies is quickly extinguished, as Yuuta crosses the space in a matter of heartbeats. Blood roars in your ears, drowning out all which does not consist of Yuuta’s fixed gaze, Yuuta’s shaky breath, Yuuta’s pallid, sweaty skin, Yuuta, Yuuta, Yuuta.

“No.”

A large, wet palm meets your cheek. The soft squelch should be repulsive. Your stomach flips for entirely unrelated reasons.

“Why do you think all those murder-suicides happened?”

The question catches you off guard, but you answer, nonetheless. “The curse.”

“What do you think the curse made people see, for them to do something like that?”

You want to ask what the hell this line of questioning has to do with anything, with the mounting intensity in his stare, with the firm hand on your face, calloused thumb rubbing miniscule half-crescents into the crux of your jaw where the bone and flesh is pliant and breakable, could crack open like the shell of a creature already cooked alive, prepared to be split open for gluttonous consumption–

And then, rudely, the memory of mere moments prior hits you:

You’ll do what’s right, and offer your life in penance that you failed to protect his own.

“Oh,” you whimper, pathetically. “They see– the curse makes them see, um, someone special to them.”

“Not just ‘special,’” Yuuta corrects. From this close you can see the faint trail of blue-green veins spiderwebbing their way from his eyebags, metastasizing every which-way, just underneath his skin. “What is a curse?”

“The coalescence of negative energy secreted by human non-sorcerers.” You rattle off the elementary answer without second thought.

“What kind of curse was this?”

The moisture evaporates from your mouth. “A cold one.”

“Why?”

“‘Obsession solidifies over time. To act on that is a calculated choice,’” you mimic back.

Although, your tone doesn’t quite replicate the self-assured way by which Yuuta had originally imparted the information. No, your voice shakes apart, just as disjointed as the rest of your body feels at this moment.

“What did you see when you looked at the curse?”

He already knows. He wants you to say it. You want to plead for mercy, if only to savor the eroticism of begging for something you know will not be spared for you.

“I saw you, Yuuta.”

The curse’s blood is bitter and cold, like soured juice, when it is thrust upon your tongue. Yuuta is uncaring of the gore coating the both of you, the time-sensitive nature of this mission assignment, the way your knees sway and buckle as the adrenaline begins to leak from your body, replaced by a new, even more exhilarating sensation.

Opaque darkness still shrouds the boiler room; and yet, it isn’t enough to prevent your souls from recognizing one another. Hands wrestle with buttons, fingers grapple with zippers, teeth gnash into flesh, and the two of you take each other apart not with the reckless abandon of lovers under the duress of a transient liaison; no, you are methodological, thorough, all-consumed by the well-marinated desire that has been fertilizing from the moment you first came into contact with one another.

Yuuta throws you down to the floor and moves his body at a preternatural speed so that he beats you there, his hand cradling the back of your skull before it can strike the concrete.

“I saw you too,” he huffs into your mouth.

“You were d-dead…” The way you struggle to say the word is cute. You’re so fucking cute. God, he’s no better than a fucking curse.

It’s impossible to curb the temptation to sink his teeth into your neck, eagerly feeding off of the intoxicating effects of your pained, thrilled squeal. “You weren’t,” he murmurs into the abused flesh, pressing a kiss where he’d just gnawed. “You looked close, but you weren’t dead.”

“...Huh…?”

Can you even think right now? Do you understand what he’s saying to you? How could you possibly grasp the implications of what is transpiring, right now, when you’re laid out on the floor, snow-angeling in the blood and guts and gore of a murdered curse, delirious off of a heady combination of lust and adrenaline and fear?

“You were just barely alive. On the edge.” He moans, rocking the hard line of his body into your own. “Do you know what you said to me?”

“Tell me.”

“You asked me to finish the job.”

Back arching off of the grimy, gritty ground, every fiber of your being reaches out for the fingers that tear at the cloth of your uniform as though it is nothing more than some cheap costuming. “You know what? I knew it wasn’t the real you, when it said that. ‘S not like you.”

He’s monologuing to himself, it seems. You are far beyond the hope of verbally communicating in anything other than your strained, hoarse whines.

“You’d never ask me to do that. You’d stay with me until the very end, wouldn’t you?”

Desperately, hopelessly, you nod, your fingernails carving your intentions into the meat of his shoulders. When had his shirt come off? Did you do that?

Are you the one tearing away the last bits of offending clothing, or is that him? Do you growl in stoked desire as he breaches your entrance, or does that inhuman noise come from the both of you?

When Yuuta is buried inside of you, he feels like he’s finally been laid to rest. There is the warm, comforting embrace often described as death – but instead of an eternal bliss found at the conclusion of his life, Yuuta is able to access this euphoria by burying himself inside of you. You are his headstone, his tomb, his coffin: all of you exists to house the death of all of him, and without him inside of you, you would live on in aimless unfulfillment, anxiously awaiting the day a beautiful boy will come to die under your care and linger with you in eternity.

You are–warm, hot, burning up, self-immolating beneath his fingers. Every thrust forward threatens to scald his hips on your molten flesh.

“Fu-fu-fu-fu-fu–” you stutter, body shuddering to life, rising from the ground, seizing and contorting in strange shapes as you struggle and fail to cope with the insurgence of pleasure coursing through you. “Yuu–ta–”

“Promise me.”

“Wha–”

“Promise me,” he hisses, hands coming to your throat. “Promise you’ll stay. You’re too important to me, I c-can’t lose you too, hnnnnn–”

Promise you, I’ll never leave you, is what you are able to only mouth, breath and voice held captive in his unrelenting grasp. Because you cannot voice it entirely, you pour all the contents of your heart and soul into the sentiment. Fingers rising weakly to clasp onto his, you tighten his grip on your windpipe and take comfort in the drowsy haziness that cradles your consciousness.

When he comes, he holds you to him like he’s afraid you’re going to crawl off and die somewhere else if he doesn’t keep you right where you are, crushed against, his shivering frame, so tightly bound to him that he can hear your diaphragm contract and expand, over and over and over again, each breath cut short by a wheeze or a sob.

Through it all, he cradles you. Naked, bruised, and forever scarred from the sight of not-Yuuta’s rotting corpse, you cling to him and release your sorrows into the dark, empty abyss of the boiler room.

Back and forth, he rocks your body, soothing your nervous system into an illusion of safety. There is no such thing as “safety,” not for jujutsu sorcerers – but together, with limbs intertwined as one, this is the closest you can come to fooling yourselves into hoping, one day, for a safe place. A safe person, even.

“Shhh,” he simpers, thumb swiping your cheek, which is damp from an unholy mixture of cursed blood, sweat, spit, and tears. “We’re together. It’s all okay.”

“T-together…”

“Yeah. Just you and me.”

;

“You don’t think that’s an issue?”

“I’m not saying there isn’t an issue. But we should tread lightly, here. We don’t know what could happen if we interfere.”

“If we don’t interfere, the newbie might die.”

“It won’t get to that point. I won’t let it happen. Oi, don’t blow smoke in my face. That’s unladylike.”

“Don’t lecture me on what’s ‘ladylike,’ cocksucker.”

“Wow! That burns!”

“Come here, I’ll show you what else burns.”

Lingering outside the door to the infirmary, you shift your weight from foot to foot, unsure of the appropriate course of action to take. Clearly, Gojo and Ieiri are in the middle of a conversation that is not meant to be heard by prying ears – not that you can make heads or tails of what they’re talking about, anyways.

All you wanted to do was come see Ieri for your weekly check-up, as was customary following the love hotel mission. The adrenaline must have numbed your pain receptors in the moment, because as soon as you’d arrived back on campus, your entire body felt like you’d been through a grinder.

You were kinda confused, at first, because you didn’t even engage the curse in combat. In due time, of course, you remembered what–or who–had actually bruised your ribs, broken your skin, sprained your joints, left you carrying the contours of his wanting.

Why were they talking about you dying, anyways? Yuuta saved your life. Nothing was going to happen to you as long as he was by your side.

“Hey.”

Jumping out of your skin has started to feel good, kind of. You look forward to Yuuta’s unceremonious greetings as he creeps up on you in silence, futilely waiting for you to detect his concealed presence.

“H-hi,” you demure. Why are you shy? He’s been so far inside of you he practically fused into your skeleton. Blushing because he caught you unawares is ridiculous.

“Aren’t you going to go in?”

Wondering how he knows what you’re here for is pointless. Equally as useless is trying to deduce how he was able to figure out your recurring appointment time. He’s Yuuta – it’s natural for him to acquire knowledge about you, as easily as one picks low-hanging fruit from a tree.

“Umm, I think they’re talking about something.”

He frowns. “About what?”

You hesitate. Should you tell him what you heard? “Ah, I don’t know...”

“Are you sure?”

You remain silent, unsure of how to proceed. Part of you wants to bare your innards at all times, whenever Yuuta is around. It feels natural, like a rabbit’s cowering. On the other hand…

Somehow, the thought of telling Yuuta the truth–yeah, Gojo-sensei and Ieiri-sensei think there’s a chance I might die soon–would not end well for anyone involved. If there was something you truly needed to know, you’re sure your senseis would tell you.

Right?

“Please trust me,” you whisper, only feeling a little guilty. You’re doing it to protect him. If something dangerous is going to happen to you, Yuuta shouldn’t be involved at all. He must live. You must make sure of it.

Reluctantly, he acquiesces, although he insists on accompanying you to your check-up that week. Strangely, neither Gojo nor Ieiri seem surprised that he is here with you, and make no effort to question why. Yuuta is allowed to linger at your sides as Ieiri takes your vitals, reviews the status of your various injuries, and even holds your hand when she scans your cursed energy levels. Thankfully, you are on track to make a perfect recovery.

In fact, not only are you replenishing the strength and ability that had been impaired during the love hotel mission–you are regenerating cursed energy at rates which exceed your natural capacities.

When Ieiri relays this to you, Gojo, who has been lingering in the infirmary for some unknown reason (you suspect it’s simply to annoy Ieiri with his very presence) speaks up: “Do you know what that means, kid?”

“Um…” You start, nervous. Everyone’s eyes are on you. It feels like you’re under a microscope. “I’m moving up a rank?”

Gojo bursts into a fit of giggles, doubling over at the waist. “Wow, what an opportunist! Haha, maybe in the future, if your cursed energy continues to compound exponentially. I’m asking you about the cause. Any idea why you’re suddenly overflowing with power?”

“No.” Your answer is as truthful as it is anxious.

“Typically, a dramatic increase in output like this only occurs after a Binding Vow. Make any life-or-death promises, recently?”

It’s supposed to be a joke, the way Gojo says it. You can tell because his crow’s feet dip down just far enough away from underneath his blindfold that you can tell whenever he smiles with his eyes. And he is smiling, after he cracks the joke. You’re also able to intuit when he stops smiling, as the depressions on his face smooth out into a careful blankness. You are thirty seconds too late to the punchline. Instead of laughing along, you remain damningly silent, and Yuuta shifts uncomfortably at your side.

“Okay,” says Gojo, clapping his hands. “Alright.”

Although you’re fully clothed in your school uniform, it makes you feel chillingly exposed when what feels like all Six of his Eyes bore into the collection of dark marks ringing your neck in a brutal, makeshift collar. Those were not, in fact, the work of a curse.

Yuuta fidgets with the flimsy paper lining the examination bed. You kick your feet like a child in time out.

“You owe me seven thousand yen,” Shoko deadpans.

“Hey! Didn’t we say forty-five?”

“Don’t kid around.”

Am I in trouble? The terrified plea swells to the front of your mouth, begging to escape. You force the words to sit, stay, and curdle on your tongue.

“Can we go now?” Asks Yuuta, uncharacteristically direct.

Given the odd gravity in the room, you don’t expect Gojo’s easy wave of his hand, dismissing the two of you with a flippant hum. Not having to be told twice, you hightail it out of the infirmary, grateful to be released from the constant invasion of privacy and security that is a prolonged existence within the reach of Gojo’s Six Eyes.

Finally alone once more, the training grounds are a welcome reprieve for you and Yuuta, who crash into the grass clearing hand-in-hand, heartbeats synced.

“Did we make a Binding Vow? When we…you know…”

Yuuta’s voice trails off, lamely.

“What if we did? Would you regret it?”

“Huh? No, of course not! It’s just…well–”

“Well, what?”

“That’s kind of permanent,” Yuuta whispers, dark pools of obsidian sorrow holding your gaze in its cruel, captivating clutches. “And we don’t know what will happen if it breaks.”

For one second, the rawness of it hits you. Fear washes down your back, prickling your flesh, raising goosebumps, locking your spine rigidly into place. The two of you had certainly made a life-or-death promise, infused with cursed energy and blood and…other…bodily fluids. To inadvertently perform a Binding Vow meant that the sheer intensity behind both of your wills was purely, wholly devoted to the promise.

Which is why you take a step closer to him, voice steady. “I didn’t make that promise with the intention to break it. Ever.”

He sucks in a sharp breath. “Don’t…you can’t be sure of that.”

“I am.”

“You won’t be able to guarantee it.”

“I will.”

Familiarly calloused hands grab your shoulders, jostling you with charged intention. “You don’t get it! My favorite person in the whole world already left me once. If that happens again, I can’t… I don’t know…”

“Yuuta.” You don’t have to lay a finger on him for his entire body to stand at attention, drawing tall and taught, when you call his name. “I will never leave you, even if I die.”

The ensuing kiss tastes like metal.

Despite the passionate fervor with which he devours you, his mouth his cold, and his digits even more so as they dig into your cheeks, your throat, your waist, your chest, groping and pulling and kneading your flesh to loosen the rigor mortis that has arrested your willingness.

“D-don’t, ah, make any m-more marks…”

Your protest is, at best, unconvincing, the person least of all convinced being yourself, as Yuuta’s teeth and tongue on the tender flesh of your neck make you feel like you’re about to leave your body. “Hnng–Gojos-sensei already knows, I think.”

“Good.” He’s crazed, nipping and slurping at your sensitive soft bits like a man starved. “Let him know. Everyone should know. I shouldn’t even–” he kisses “–have–” he bites “–to say it–” he licks you in between speaking, as though it goes against the grain of his being to part ways with you for more than just a few jagged inhalations.

The ground hits you hard, reprimanding you for your clumsiness with a firm impact on your backside. Yuuta pursues with haste, hands slamming down on either side of your head, ripping the grass in retribution.

“Yuuta,” you hiss, hands flying to his dark mop of hair, trying to reel him back – in vain, of course. “We are outside. In the middle of the day. Anyone could walk by!”

“Don’t care.”

His eyes are glazed, half-lidded, pupils blown wide and deeply dark as a gunshot wound, uncaring of your anxiety as he attempts to dive back into you.

“Wait! What if someone sees me?” Now, he rears back. “I don’t want anyone else to see, Yuuta… only you get to see me like this.”

Even the ants traipsing across the clearing stop dead in their tracks, rendered motionless, silent, at the abrupt onslaught of highly charged cursed energy that washes through every living and non-living thing within a five-mile radius.

“Okay.”

Wordlessly, your world upends as you are thrown over a wide shoulder clad in spotless, wrinkled white. You’ve always thought it was funny – how Yuuta’s uniform never managed to permanently stain itself with any of the gore he frequently encountered, and yet, there was always a noticeable depression in the seams, ever-lurking, complicating the otherwise flawless expanse, evoking a sense of pity.

Even when the shirt flies off, abandoned to crumple sadly in the corner of his bedroom, you can’t get its image out of your head. That spotless white. Those gleaming gold buttons dripping in iridescent rivulets down the front of the garment. Only within the intricate designs etched into their surface is one able to glean the barest hint of blood, staining the metal a pale crimson. If you weren’t looking for it, you wouldn’t notice it.

But you have always sought out his ugly, twisted parts. Even when he tries to hide. Even when he might duck from them himself.

That’s okay.

That’s why he has you.

When he bites you so hard that the wound draws blood; when his palms squeeze around your windpipe so deftly that you lose vision; when pins down your bruised hips, ignoring their wriggling avoidance; when his unquiet nature makes itself known, eclipsing the carefully bashful performance he puts on for his peers so that he might be liked, or loved, even–that is when you feel most connected to him. That is when your affections burn brightest.

And during the comedown, as he holds you close and rocks your brutalized body back and forth and back again, you are well aware that it is he himself who he seeks to soothe.

He doesn’t know, you realize, broken out of your post-coital mental haze with a pointed moment of clarity.

Yuuta has no clue what lurks inside the haunted catacombs of his soul.

What does it say about you, then, that his naivete only serves to further incense your want, smoldering like an inferno brewing at the base of a pyre, threatening to engulf your sorry corpse in entirety?

;

As third year trudges on, instruction takes less time in the classroom, or on campus. More frequently, you find yourself out on missions from sun-up to sundown, running around Tokyo-to and even surrounding prefectures. The grades of the curses you go up against only increase with time, and so, to, does your proximity to mortal danger.

Through it all, Yuuta is present. Indignantly so. Despite your rank as a semi-special grade sorcerer, you have yet to embark solo on an assignment. The pair of you are one combative unit, at this point so intertwined in sentiment and instinct that rarely is it necessary to reach for verbal exchange while engaged in battle. It is as though the reserve of cursed energy you draw from is a pool shared between you, a combination of your innate abilities plus an additional overflow, supplied by the Binding Vow you had consummated all those months ago.

So close are you, now, that Yuuta grows comfortable – confident, even – with your hold on his proverbial leash. These days, he is less neurotic when you inquire as to his whereabouts. Your prying questions provoke within him nothing other than a deep-seated sense of reassurance. He no longer doubts where he stands with you, as he once did when you were still a fresh-faced, mid-year transfer adjusting to life at Tokyo Tech.

In retrospect, he recognizes that he should never have let his guard down.

It’s his fault, really. Entirely his fault. The extra strength provided by the powerful effects of the Binding Vow deluded him into a false sense of security.

He shouldn’t have been so careless with your life. He shouldn’t have strayed so far from your side. He shouldn’t have let you out of his sight. He shouldn’t have left you alone, even if it was only for a split second–not even.

Once again, he has failed to save the most important person in his life. Somehow, losing you is worse than losing Rika. He is no longer a child. He possessed both the skill and ability to save you.

And yet, he had been absent in your time of need.

The one time you’d been off on a mission without him. The one and only time. Principle Yaga’s sorry excuse was that the higher-ups found it strange that you, as a semi-special grade, had never completed a solo assignment. Apparently, your rank was being threatened if you refused any longer to display independent capability.

Well. Now there’s no rank for you to claim, anymore.

After news of your death reaches him, he roams campus like an aimless specter, as though he is the one who has been robbed of life.

In a way, he has. Half of his being has perished. He limps, lopsided, dragging the phantom weight of your body with him wherever he goes.

It takes a while to get used to the absence of your physical, living, breathing manifestation. As a fellow sorcerer, you have been wholly eradicated from the fabric of his reality.

But as a spirit…?

Death is not enough to break a Binding Vow – this, Yuuta knows better than anyone. He retains his augmented cursed abilities, along with your presence. The two of you join once more in battle, as he summons you to protect and guard him in life as he failed to do for you. Your selfless nature has never been more clearly evident. Not a single call goes unanswered, not a single need of his unmet.

Is this a haunting?

No, he doesn’t think so.

When the two of you had still been skittish and shy around one another, nothing more than a pair of innocently covetous children, you’d dared him to reflect on his relationship with Rika. What had been translated to him as a haunting, you reimagined as something more corporeal, something genuine, something worthy of gratitude, and love.

This is how he chooses to think of you – the both of you, together, still joined in perfect union. No matter the fact that you will watch him age, change, develop, and eventually die, one day, should he be so lucky. You do not haunt his waking hours. You do not terrorize his dreams.

You love him in a way that transcends the bounds of space and time.

He has not been cursed. Rather, he has been blessed with your unconditional love.

To earn true forgiveness, he must show you his, as well. You must occupy his every waking thought. You will invade his every intention. You are at the forefront of his mind when he rises with the dawn, and the memory of your breath against the shell of his ear whispers to him good night. You dress him. You urge him to sustenance. You machinate his combat. You heal his wounds. You wipe his tears when he sobs, alone, terribly alone, sobbing into his knees after each time the life of a friend meets a senseless, violent conclusion.

You are still there when he wraps a rough, harried palm around his throbbing arousal, thrusting up into an elusive, now long-gone pleasure. You guide his hands’ journey across the hazardous dips and valleys of his rib cage, the grotesque concave of his stomach, the sharp blades of his hip bones. His skeleton threatens to crawl outside of his flesh. It yearns for something beyond this senseless cycle of bloodshed, grief, and rage.

Never does he feel closer to salvation than when he is on the precipice of ecstasy, dehydrated, underfed, delirious, heart beating so fast that it limits his vision, his lung capacity. When he occupies this liminal space, it is not the brink of orgasm which he straddles. As he approaches climax, he yearns not for an explosion of wet heat, but for the euphoric embrace of a final ending: your arms around him once more, real, tangible, warm.

Until then, he will trudge onwards. Miserably alive. Cold inside and out. Numb to physical pain, constantly inundated with the wounds inflicted on his spirit, his sentiments, his soul.

Solace finds him in the fact that you committed to remain by his side, forever. How could he wallow in total despair when this remains true?

You chose this, after all.

You chose him.

You did.

Didn’t you?

531 notes · View notes

redjademilktea · 2 months

Text

I've talked about this before, but with the final episode of Downfall and the Cooldown that followed it I feel the need to write about it again.

The morality of saving the gods of Exandria was never going to be clear cut. Stopping Ludinus, stopping the Ruby Vanguard maybe. But there's an important conversation to be had about the nature of divinity that needs to be had. And Downfall makes this discourse more salient and pressing than it's ever been.

I really liked what Brennan brought up in the Cooldown, about "achieving enlightenment on their terms," or suffer the fate of "not being able to understand." The gods as they exist have protected and will continue to protect the way of being that allows for their continued existence. They dismiss anything that challenges that existence - anything that makes them confront the nature of mortality, as Brennan elegantly phrased it - as something not worth considering. As something that simply doesn't grasp what one needs to grasp to do what must be done.

And if doing what must be done means calling a truce in their great war. If that means collaborating with the very siblings on the opposing side of that conflict, which has led to so much loss of mortal life and desecration of the face of Exandria, then so be it. It has to be done. We are mere children, we wouldn't understand.

I'm reminded of Ann Stoler in her book "Along the Archival Grain," along with Avery Gordon's "Ghostly Matters." Both authors talk about the lengths and extents colonial states go to legitimate and justify their existence through the policing and curation of knowledge. It is in the best interest of the colonial state to produce and maintain knowledge that justifies its being. They are doing what they do because they define it to be right, to be just.

And those contradictions? The holes in colonial logic born out of the anxieties and fears of losing that legitimacy? Those inconsistencies that necessitate their reproduction and continued existence? Poor child, you do not understand. It is the right thing to do. There are things at play that are beyond fathoming for you. It simply must be this way. It is right for it to be this way. Fallicies and contradictions in colonial logic become justified and legitimated via the production of knowledge produced from the colonial archive to reproduce itself.

The knowledge of the divine killing weapon. The people, the complex, ephemeral, fleeting, textured, beautiful, pained, vibrant lives of those that held that knowledge. That knowledge that was spread to touch every soul on that floating city. All of it could not persist. For them to persist would mean the possibility of the way things are, the way things are ought to be from those who know better, could come to an end.

So it must be this way. The city must fall, despite its infinite arcane beauty. Lives must be lost, and so too must their chance for redemption, for a new beginning. All things must come to an end, if that means preserving the infinite. Family must persist. *They* must persist. And so it must be this way.

I say all this to highlight the fact that the morality underlying the theme of this campaign is not clear cut. The nature of it prevents that. The members of Bells Hells are not good or bad because some of them remain ambivalent to the existence of the gods. No single one of them is inherently right or wrong.

But you cannot argue there is a "right" answer when it comes to the gods. They simply are. Much like anything simply is. And what their existence means, especially for what it means to the lives of mortals on Exandria who must suffer the consequences of that divine existence, must be reckoned with.

I really am impressed with the bold scope of thematic ideas that Campaign 3 introduces and continues to grapple with. It is phenomenal story telling, and is strikingly resonant with the enmeshed struggles that permeate the very real world that informs the lives and experiences of its creators. All of them continue to blow me away every Thursday night!

#critical role #critical role spoilers #cr spoilers #c3e101 #cr downfall #exu downfall #I'm knee deep in literature review and discussing epistomology for my diss #in case you were curious what the fuck this all is

136 notes · View notes

eve-dawntower · 8 months

Text

Dream of Eternity (Xavier x MC)

Ever wonder why Xavier prefers to sleep? What was he dreaming about?

Warning: None

Pairing: Xavier x Reader

Tags: Angst with happy ending

Here he was again. Or should he say, he was home again. This place was his dream. Every night, ever since that fateful day, he had started to consider the dream world as his home. Why not? His beloved was there. And no matter where his beloved are, that was Xavier's home.

In the realm of dreams, Xavier found solace, a respite from the long life he bore. Tonight's dream carried him to an idyllic scene where he lay in bed, cradling his beloved. The room was aglow with a gentle light, and the air was filled with a serene tranquility.

In this dream, time had no grasp, and the weight he carried in the waking world lifted momentarily. The woman he lost was not a distant memory but a living presence. Her silent breath, her small figure on his arms, creating a world where they could be together once more.

This future that he used to envision, unfolded in vivid hues – a future denied by the cruel hands of reality.

The dream wasn't just a fleeting escape; it was a sanctuary where Xavier could experience the happiness denied to him in the waking world. His beloved, seemingly untouched by the ravages of time, embraced him with a warmth that transcended the boundaries of mortality.

Yet, even within this dream-induced bliss, a subtle ache lingered. Xavier knew the ephemeral nature of these moments. As he held her in his arms, the awareness of her absence in the waking world persisted, and the weight of his immortality bore down once more.

Slowly, his beloved's eyes opened. He knew this was a dream, but he didn't care. In the dreamworld, his beloved was alive. That's all that matters.

A small smile slipped from her as her eyes met his. "Good morning, Xavier."

"Good morning," Xavier returned.

Still feeling lazy from her sleep, the dream version of his beloved snuggled closer to him.

"It's early, and you're already awake," she stated.

Xavier only let out a small hum, knowing he was still asleep and currently inside the dream. Yet, he didn't bother to say anything. She didn't need to know that she was in a dream, that she was a part of his dream.

Instead of saying anything, he just hugged her much more tightly. He had only managed to hug the real her twice – once when she was alive and the other time when she was fading away before she disappeared.

Here in his dream, he was happy. That was why he preferred to sleep. He always wanted to sleep, knowing that she would meet him in his dream once he slept.

As the dream continued to unfold, Xavier held onto every precious moment with his beloved. The bittersweet reality of this dreamworld became more palpable. The happiness he found here, wrapped in the ethereal warmth of her presence, was a stark contrast to the emptiness that awaited him in the waking world.

Xavier was aware that this joy was fleeting. The dream was a reminder of what he had lost, a glimpse into a future that could never materialize.

He had a lot of dreams for the two of them back then: breaking free from the shackles that held him, living together with her, creating many happy memories, watching the meteor shower, getting married, having a family, and then becoming stars together at the end of their time. However, those dreams mean nothing now.

The dream version of his beloved remained blissfully unaware of the complexities that weighed on Xavier's shoulders. Her contentment in the dream was genuine, but for Xavier, it served as a poignant reminder of the irreversible separation between their worlds.

As the dream progressed, Xavier's embrace tightened more if possible, as if trying to anchor this ephemeral happiness. He knew the dream would eventually fade, leaving him with the lingering ache of unfulfilled longing.

"Stay a bit longer," he whispered, the words almost lost in the dream's embrace.

She smiled, a smile that held both affection and an unspoken acknowledgment of the inevitable. The dream continued its dance, a delicate interlude in the perpetual quiet of Xavier's existence.

And then, with a gentle touch, she faded away, leaving Xavier alone in the dreamworld once more. The room lost its glow, the air grew still, and the reality of his solitude settled in. Closing his eyes, Xavier embraced the remnants of the dream, savoring the bittersweet taste of a love that persisted only in the realm of slumber.

Only the echo of her voice, remained.

"Xavier..."

...

"XAVIER!"

Xavier woke up startled, his unfocused eyes turning to you, who was struggling to breathe from being held tightly.

"[y/n]?"

"Lemme go. Are you going to kill me?"

Xavier realized he had been hugging her tightly; she was having a hard time breathing.

"[y/n]," he whispered, releasing his grip on you. His eyes searched yours, filled with a mix of concern and a lingering sense of the dream's warmth.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..." Xavier's voice trailed off, his thoughts still lingering in the dreamworld where you were his solace. Yet, here you were, in the waking world, unaware of the dreamscape he traversed every night.

That's right, once upon a time, his dream was his solace. But now, you're finally back on his arms.

You blinked, confusion etched on your face. "What was that? Why were you hugging me so tightly?"

Xavier took a moment to collect his thoughts, a smile playing on his lips as he looked into your eyes. "I guess I just missed you," he admitted, the weight of eternity lifting for a moment.

You furrowed your brows in confusion but couldn't help smiling back at him. "Missed me? I am here."

His smile widened, a glint of happiness in his eyes. "Yeah, well, sometimes it feels like I've been sleeping for years so it's like I haven't seen you in years."

You chuckled at that. "Well you better stop sleeping so much and actually spend time with me."

Xavier smiled as he cupped your cheek. "Yeah. I'll do that from now on. After all... You're here."

The warmth of Xavier's smile enveloped you. In that moment, you felt a profound connection that transcended dreams and waking reality. His promise to cherish each waking moment became evident in the tenderness of his touch.

"I'm here," you echoed, your heart resonating with a newfound understanding.

As the two of you embraced the present, Xavier's once-isolated dreamworld expanded to include the vibrant colors of your shared reality.

Under the gentle glow of the morning sun, Xavier embarked on a new chapter, where dreams were no longer an escape but a beautiful prelude to the joys awaiting in the waking world.

This is a love story that echoed through the realms of both dreams and reality, a tale of a man who found solace in dreams and a love that blossomed with the dawn of each new day.

And so, hand in hand, you and Xavier embraced the fullness of their intertwined destinies, hearts harmonizing in a melody of everlasting love, filling the air with the promise of a happy ever after.

END

MASTERLIST

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace xavier #xavier #xavier x reader

232 notes · View notes

kimazuiiii · 6 months

Text

Also obsessed with how she’s the physical and metaphorical embodiment of a cherry blossom…

In Japan, the cherry blossom possesses contradicting significances and embodies matters that are mutually incompatible.

While cherry blossoms are aesthetically beautiful, they also represent violence and the ephemerality of life. From an individual level, cherry blossoms displayed both the joy of life (reproductivity, feminine sexuality, etc.) and the sorrowful side of life (impermanence of things and the significance of death).

The dual nature of cherry blossoms is present in Sakura as a character. This is made blatant through the appearance of sakura vs inner sakura which is clearly a metaphor for the concept of honne vs tatemae.

To further elaborate, the dual nature of her character is the crux of many of her inner conflicts throughout the series and it is also what fuels her growth. In both of these situations, Sakura is unable to express how she truly feels. Her actions contradict her thoughts and feelings, this is a consistent aspect of character within the manga.

(ino vs sakura and kage summit arc for instance)

Throughout the manga, she mentally struggles with being a shinobi. Her growth as a character is dependent upon her inner conflicts contradicting one another in an attempt to understand what it means to be a shinobi. Are they merely tools for the state, or is there something more?

The land of waves arc covers this explicitly but this question is posed once again for Sakura during Sasori vs Sakura where Sakura’s opponent, Sasori, quite literally turned himself into an emotionless puppet in order to deal with being a shinobi. He is the product of the teachings of Sunagakure, an oppressive military regime like many other shinobi villages, but also the result of someone who refuses to let go thus filling him with grief and resentment over the years (Art is eternal). It is no coincidence that Sakura, whose namesake symbolizes the fleeting impermanence of human existence, is the one to fight him.

Tied to the Buddhist themes of mortality, mindfulness and living in the present, Japanese cherry blossoms are a timeless metaphor for human existence. According to Buddhism, we live in the very midst of universal, fleeting impermanence. Any refusal to let go entirely whatever has now vanished inevitably leads to pain.

The meaning of cherry blossoms is also said to reflect the philosophy of a Japanese person, who lives in a country of impermanence, of earthquakes, tsunamis, and volcanos. Thus, like cherry petals, they are willing to fall at the height of one’s life due to their awareness of the impermanence of life. The death of one’s flesh means a returning to the kami’s land, and the cherry flower becomes the bridge that links life to death.

#MORE OF ME RAMBLINGGH #META KIND OF?#there’s also the theme of death and rebirth being tied into how she develops as a character throughout the series #anyway happy birthday again to this queen..

120 notes · View notes

wordsinhaled · 1 year

Note

21 24 !! hugs for dream boy !!

thank you for the prompt and i’m so sorry this is atrociously late, i just got done prepping for an exam that is now over! ❤️

from the soft prompts list — “this is a very long hug now sort of hug” and “just really needed a hug sort of hug.” and i threw in ‘i missed you’ as a bonus

Dream has not known himself to be one for hugs, or indeed embraces of any kind.

Of course he understands their appeal, from the slightly removed perspective that is uniquely his as the lord of dreams. He has crafted more than one reverie of nothing more complex than a single, protracted, yearned-for embrace from someone special to the dreamer.

He comprehends—if only academically—that a simple hug can be, under the right circumstances, blissful. Healing. Transformative. So say the psyches of the visitors to his realm.

Still, Dream is not prepared to experience this firsthand. He is not prepared for the unrestrained enthusiasm with which Hob Gadling bounds up from his chair and opens his arms to him, as though this too is part of their familiar ritual.

Nor is he prepared for how much he is pleased by this welcome. For how much he feels immediately eased to be once again in Hob’s presence, even after so short a time.

Dream has surprised him; it is not their usual evening of the week but a Sunday afternoon, and the Inn is mostly empty: only a few patrons sitting at the bar, Hob comfortable at his customary table, sunlight streaming over the papers surrounding him.

It should feel like Dream is trespassing—he is unexpected, and Hob had clearly been busy—yet somehow it does not.

Instead, it feels startlingly ordinary—a tableau of Hob’s day-to-day life; one Dream finds himself pleased to become a part of.

Hob says, “Hello, my friend,” soft and full of fondness, as though a year of weekly meetings has done nothing at all to make a dent in the joy of calling Dream such. He opens his arms wider.

Dream does not normally indulge himself in Hob Gadling’s subconscious, but Hob was daydreaming of just this not a moment ago, loudly enough that Dream could not help but to see flashes of it.

And Hob Gadling’s daydream is thus: Hob would hold Dream’s narrow frame as though each atom of his form manifested in the Waking were cherished, with enough cherishing left over to bleed over into the Dreaming as well. He would squeeze hard enough to lift him slightly from the floor—if Dream would allow such a liberty; for Hob would fain do only what Dream would find pleasing and not a thing more. Hob Gadling daydreams of what Dream would smell like at the crook of his neck, were Hob to bury his nose there; of how Dream’s hair would feel brushing his cheek. He imagines it soft as cornsilk and ephemeral as shadows, which is, impressively, not far from the truth.

And in Hob’s daydream he says “I missed you,” quietly enough that Dream might not hear. But—secret fear, or dearest wish, or both?—there is every chance that Dream could hear, for Dream, Hob knows, does not have the hearing of a mere mortal.

“I missed you too,” Dream says aloud. He cannot help himself. Who is he, if not a bringer of men’s dreams? This one is easy to fulfill. It requires only that Dream offer up a truth he finds suddenly easy to admit, standing here, sharing the same shaft of sunlight that pools in the smile lines around Hob’s eyes.

Dream takes a step towards Hob, until it is only natural that he finds himself within the circle of Hob’s waiting arms.

He drops his forehead onto Hob’s shoulder, and curls his fists into the thick wool of Hob’s sweater. His hair, shadow-soft, brushes Hob’s cheek, and he knows that in this moment he smells of all that Hob likes best.

(Later, when he thinks of falling in love with Hob Gadling, he imagines he began to realize it then.

For it was a single embrace that set his manifested heart to swaying like a boat settling at anchor; a single embrace that made of him a leaf drifting groundward on a warm spring breeze.

A singular moment of bliss.)

#the sandman #dreamling #god this feels… very rusty but here it is #quite possibly not good at all but i have lost the ability to tell i am 😴😴😴

293 notes · View notes

youremyheaven · 1 year

Text

Beauty & the Beast: The Path of Venus (Vedic Astrology Analysis) 🌸🔥

Beauty & the Beast is essentially a "bad boy meets good girl" esque story, although that is oversimplifying things.

Love is a transformative tool and it is true love that lets both individuals transform. the Beast turns into a prince and Beauty understands the true nature of beauty, which is not shallow or superficial.

the reason, beauty is said to be in the eye of the beholder is that, when you look at someone or something with love, it becomes beautiful to you. Their character and essence transcend their physical form; beauty becomes a sentiment that is deeply felt; its profound and moving, like the beauty of nature or of ancient monuments; its beauty that is beyond the mundane; such as perfectly symmetrical features or adhering to every "trend".

Yun Hyongkeun, the esteemed artist once said, "True sorrow is connected to true beauty"

He had Purvashada Moon and Venus in UBP (Venus exalts in the sign of Pisces)

Here's an excerpt from an interview:

“What is a beautiful thing? It’s associated with the humanity’s inner world. To live most beautifully means to survive after experiencing extreme suffering and hardship,” Yun said.

imo, this is a very Venusian sentiment; Claire Nakti in her video had mentioned how Venusians are "externally splendorous but internally corrosive"

this is to say that these natives create beauty, are drawn to beauty and perhaps are physically beautiful but more often than not, it does not come from a place of ease or comfort. just like how the beautiful lotus blooms in the mud, Venusians create beauty in the midst of chaos and ugliness.

Fun fact: Namjoon has a song called Yun dedicated to the artist which paraphrases this sentiment as "true beauty is true sadness". Namjoon himself has Purvaphalguni sun so it makes sense why he feels connected to this sentiment.

something that is truly beautiful affects us deeply. be it certain people or certain places, it almost makes us melancholy. now why does beauty make us sad?

innately, we understand that beauty, like life, is ephemeral and being in the presence of it, triggers our own sense of life/time passing and mortality. everything and everyone one must die; including the beautiful things and its almost painful to accept that.

now we must first understand that there is nothing shallow or superficial about beauty. Belle does not love the Beast DESPITE his ugliness but perhaps because of it. she finds him intriguing, his character, and his essence all appeal to her. if she were repulsed by him truly, she would not have wanted to marry him. although she was put off by him initially, she warmed to him after that, if that weren't the case, this story wouldn't progress the way it does.

in Claire Nakti's video about Venusian men, she mentioned how Venus's influence gives these men "true masculinity" but they're also often not considered conventionally physically attractive. She cited Pete Davidson & Travis Scott as examples and how what's appealing/sexy/magnetic about them has to do with how they carry themselves, their personality, their vibe, etc

so, we understand that Beauty & the Beast is not about a young woman who in her kindness and generosity, agrees to marry a Beast; she is attracted to him; but what makes him attractive to her is his essence, his nature etc

Now that we've established that, let's look at the story of Psyche & Eros; there are many parallels between this tale from Greek mythology and Beauty & the Beast

like all tales, this too, is a spiritual and philosophical allegory

i will quickly sum it up:

Psyche was a princess famed for her beauty, so much so that it made Aphrodite (Goddess of love & beauty, equivalent to Venus) jealous. She decided to send her own son, Eros (aka Cupid) to shoot Psyche with his arrows of love, to force her to fall in love with a hideous Beast. Much to her dismay, Eros himself fell in love with Psyche and decided to marry her.

now remember that Psyche is a mortal and Eros is a God. This union is not easy. back in her kingdom, people are in mourning because according to them, she's marrying a winged beast. after a while, she's with Eros at their abode, living a life of marital bliss, however, Eros can only visit her at night and she is commanded to never set her eyes on him. so she literally has no idea who or what he is.

one night after her sisters convince her that her new husband is a ghastly and terrifying beast, she decides to take a look at him. however Eros wakes up and realizes that she betrayed him and loses his trust in her and subsequently abandons her.

Psyche has to face several trials and tribulations before she can redeem herself and unite with Eros again; this time in the presence of all Gods, including Aphrodite, they get married, she ascends to the status of a Goddess and later on they have a child, Hedone, Goddess of Pleasure.

Psyche is the Greek word for "soul" or "mind", curiously, its also Greek for "butterfly" or "moth"

Eros means "love" and "desire"

Hedone means "pleasure"

Aphrodite is associated with love, lust, beauty, pleasure, passion, procreation and prosperity.

This is essentially a love story. Psyche is the personification of the soul, which innately longs to unite with the object of its desire. Like all mortals, Psyche despite finding it, does not trust it or understand it. It is only when she loses what she had, that she realizes how precious it was. Psyche must undergo a painful process of self-realization and undertake several trials in order to redeem herself and prove worthy of Eros.

Desire is the source of everything and Eros is the first god to have come into existence; he is self-formed. it is desire that got Psyche into this mess but its love that will get her out of it.

Thus, the quest for love finds its end in the union between soul/mind and love/desire; together they create pleasure (literally)

looking at it as an allegory, the trials that Psyche undertook were necessary because they led to her growth and development as a person. if you're familiar with Carl Jung, you will recognise this as the process of individuation.

Jung saw it as the process of self-realization, the discovery, and experience of meaning and purpose in life; the means by which one finds oneself and becomes who one really is. It depends upon the interplay and synthesis of opposites e.g. conscious and unconscious, personal and collective, psyche and soma, divine and human, life and death. (link to the article)

the story is one of Psyche's transformation; she leaves behind her kingdom to marry a complete stranger she has never seen and is later abandoned by him, then must strive to redeem herself and win him back. metamorphosis is synonymous with butterflies and Psyche is symbolised by butterfly wings.

so what does this story tell us? Psyche was a renowned beauty who harbored doubts that her new husband was a ghastly beast. but it is she who goes on an arduous and challenging journey to win back the man she feared was a beast, not the other way around.

the soul evolves, matures, and develops, and comes to unite with their love/desire and that creates pleasure. this is essentially a Venusian story.

Venus concerns itself with love & beauty and the story of Psyche & Eros, or its fairy-tale rendition, Beauty & the Beast both explore these themes.

in the same video, Claire also mentioned how Venusian influence often manifests as ugliness in men, but they are also said to possess "true masculinity" the kind that women deeply desire.

Venus creates elitism; Venusians attract each other but Venus being a corrosive planet means they have to prove worthy of each other's company.

the Venusian nakshatras are : Bharani, Purvaphalguni & Purvashada

also, keep in mind that Venus exalts in the sign of Pisces

its interesting that all 3 Venusian nakshatras are Ugra nakshatras that are "cruel" in nature, assigning the native qualities like fierceness, a tendency to be torturous and cruel. the gem associated with Venus is the diamond; they are beautiful stones that come into being after being subject to immensely straining conditions of heat & pressure. this is imo, very telling of the nature of Venusian natives. they endure so much suffering in order to create the beauty that others know them for.

one of the earliest screen adaptations of Beauty & the Beast is Cocteau's 1943 adaptation, in which Josette Day plays Belle.

She has Venus & Ketu in Purvaphalguni

Penelope (2006) is a gender reversed retelling of Beauty & the Beast and it stars Christina Ricci who is Purvashada moon

James McAvoy has an exalted Venus in Pisces (UBP) which is a placement signifying ultimate devotion to the lover, its interesting how in this story he's the one who must help Penelope ("the Beast") break the spell she's under. the whole thing is sooo Pisces coded ngl

Emilie de Ravin plays Belle in Once Upon A Time, she has Moon and mercury in Purvashada

Kristin Kreuk, Purvashada sun played the Belle based character in the tv series, Beauty & the Beast

in 1997's Beautician & the Beast, Fran Drescher plays a Belle inspired character. She has Ketu in Bharani

Jane Eyre is considered by many to be loosely based on Beauty & the Beast.

To begin with, Charlotte Bronte who authored Jane Eyre, was Purvaphalguni rising with an exalted Venus in Pisces (UBP)

As such we'll look at the actors who have played Lady Jane in its film & TV adaptations.

Zelah Clarke played Lady Jane in the 1983 miniseries Jane Eyre. She is Bharani moon

Ruth Wilson who played Jane Eyre in the 2006 tv series, has Purvaphalguni moon

Sussanah York who played Jane Eyre in the 1970 adaptation has Purvashada sun, Purvaphalguni moon with Ketu in Bharani

A Court of Thorns & Roses, is a highly popular fantasy novel that is a retelling of Beauty & the Beast. its author, Sarah J Maas has an exalted Venus in Revati as her amatyakaraka

Anthony Trollope’s Ayala’s Angel features a heroine who rejects the honourable Colonel Stubbs because of his appearance and ugly surname, until she is persuaded by events that he is “the real Angel of Light” she has been seeking all along.

Trollope has Ketu in Purvashada

The Tiger's Bride is a post-modern retelling of the Beauty & the Beast. its written by Angela Carter who has Sun & Moon in Bharani.

The Beast must learn to express his heart and mind to become worth loving. He has his own journey of growth, acceptance and forgiveness.

It’s a pattern echoed in many Jane Austen novels, including Pride & Prejudice in which the proud, rich Mr Darcy must reveal his true goodness to win the witty and sharp Elizabeth Bennet.

in its perhaps most famous adaptation, Liz is played by Keira Knightley who has an exalted Venus in Revati, with Mars & Rahu in Bharani

in another adaptation of the same, the Liz character is played by Aishwarya Rai who is Purvashada moon.

to an extent, Marianne's character arc in Sense & Sensibility, also by Jane Austen is very similar. she initially falls for the handsome, young and ultimately found to be shitty John Willoughby and later realises her love for & marries Colonel Brandon, who is much older and an amputee but who truly cares for & loves her.

the 2011 movie From Prada to Nada is a retelling of Sense & Sensibility. it stars Alexa PenVega as Marianne. She has Ketu in Purvaphalguni

the 2000 Indian adaptation, titled Kandukondein Kandukondein stars Aishwarya Rai in the Marianne equivalent character. She has Purvashada Moon

Conclusion:

Beauty & the Beast focuses on Belle’s awakening to the Beast’s virtue rather than the Beast experiencing a change. it is a story about the path of a Venusian woman.

it is a quintessential Venusian tale about the union of two equals. true to Venusian nature, they have to undergo several trials and tribulations before this becomes possible.

Thus when the body (the beast) unites with the soul (beauty) it creates pleasure and harmony, thereby fulfilling all the promises of Venus.

#venus #venusian #venusian nakshatras #bharani #purvashada #purvaphalguni #feminine journey #beauty and the beast #vedic astrology #vedic astro notes #sidereal astrology #astro observations #nakshatras

248 notes · View notes

stickandthorn · 2 years

Text

One of the most interesting things about the whole “we’re just batteries for the gods, they use our faith” arguments to me is like. Well. Ok. But that’s basically what it says on the back of the Religion in Exandria box. It is explicitly a relationship you can choose to have or not have, and besides potential cultural fallout, there is literally no consequence to opting out. People like Ludinus and Frida act as if they’re explaining this huge revelation about the gods and how they’ve been secretly tricking everyone, but the nature of that relationship has never been a secret. Faith in Exandria is explicitly an exchange: in return for worship, worshippers get something, be it things as ephemeral as comfort, or things as solid as powers. It’s never been a trick.

Besides that, there is no actual emotional commitment required to participate in this exchange, and no downside if you don’t participate, besides not getting the things the god provides. This is demonstrated by Deanna, she clearly does not actually like the Dwanfather, but she does provide faith for him in her own way, and she gets Cleric powers in return. It is a symbiotic relationship and that’s never been a mystery. To be honest, how involved the gods were in the creation of people is kind of moot, because the mechanics of the relationship between gods and mortals on Exandria is not a secret. Societal rules around faith like the Dynasty’s required worship of the Luxon (which I believe should generally be considered differently because the Luxon is not a part of the pantheon in the same way as the other gods), or the Empire banning worship of some gods, seems to be entirely things mortals have made.

Even situations that do involve some amount of trickery from the gods follow those rules. Fjord is put into this warlock/patron relationship with Ukatoa (which also is not the same mechanically as cleric/paladin of a full god locked behind the divine gate) without full knowledge of what was happening, but he pretty successfully severs that relationship by getting rid of the powers he was given in return. So while I understand some of the anger in a “the gods could do so much to help, and once did, but they no longer do it and still feed off of us” way, and to an extent in a “maybe they aren’t our parents like I was lead to believe they were” way, I still think. Bro. You don’t have to worship them??? That doesn’t do anything to you??? This relationship is not and has never been a mystery, and you do not have to participate. What are you trying to say here.

#critical role #cr spoilers #cr meta #Cr 3 #bells hells

533 notes · View notes

cherri-ying · 6 months

Text

Thinking about Yan! Scaramouche's response to the death of his beloved........

It won't matter if it was from some freak accident or a spontaneous encounter with a coterie of drunken eremites or the gods-forsaken old age that's brought about by time’s perpetual erosion. Like the ultimatum that is death, the state of affairs pledges no substance, because the outcome is all the same. As Kabukimono, as Kunikuzushi, and as Wanderer, his reaction will be all the same.

It’ll be a complex transgression, an incessant samsara in which he gravitates back-and-forth between the first four stages of grief and never quite grasps the conundrum of “acceptance”.

Of course, there will be variances. Kabukimono once confided in you for self-transcendence. Like a moth drawn to a flame now condemned to an eternal Midnight's onyx domain, he’ll be subjected to the vacuum in his chest left behind by your absence, his mandated independence inert. He’ll saunter about, wandering in vain for something that’ll fulfill that absence. But even a functional human heart couldn't surge enough blood through his artificial veins to accomodate for the enormity of his loss. Perhaps godhood could?

Mercy will not be upon Kunikuzushi nor those who succumb to his machinations. Grief swathes itself in its cocoon and emerges a wrathful butterfly. He’ll reign terror upon nations. He’ll witness his barbed lighting cast its violet tempest of despair upon the populace and he’ll lament over its twisted metaphor with your absence that lords over what scarce embers remain of his overcast sanity. All the while, he’ll never negate your voice which cascades through the tumultuous current that is his thoughts; your ceaseless voice chastising him, divulging your contempt towards him and his brutish incentives. You provoke him, you exist in his thoughts. You exist as a thought, only as a thought, only as a thought…

Alas, Wanderer isn’t incredulous. There is naught which can accommodate for the vacancy you once engulfed. This he knows; yet this he preserves himself from acknowledging. Enveloped in the dissonance between reprieve and anarchy, Wanderer is… Dither. He spectates vacantly, witnessing the seeds of his once dormant irate tendencies burgeon their roots but wither before they fester their invasive weeds to envelop his cogency. He weighs the scant feasibility of acceptance, only to tenaciously loiter upon your memory. Wanderer finds himself visiting the place where your fates first overlapped. In his endeavors, he finds himself vacillated between the gentle urge to savour the idyllic scenery and the memories they nurture, and that to set flame to the expanse, stand idly by as the area descends into ashes, yearning in vain for the subsequent memories of you to follow suit… Such is his oscillating nature, does he preserve your memory or kill it along with you?

Through it all, Scaramouche will despise you. He’ll despise your betrayal. He’ll despise your tenacity in his thoughts, and as his memory. He’ll despise you for the mortality which claimed you, a testament to the eternity from which he was condemned from and condemned to. He’ll despise you for the tranquility bestowed upon your departed soul from finally having evaded his nefarious stratagems which he pursued in the name of love, his pertinacious love for you, even centuries following your death.

And he will relay the fault to you because he knows that even if bestowed with a heart that pumps blood or a gnosis which courses with unquantifiable power, he could never salvage you from the ephemerality that is human nature.

Yet even through and following your death, he loves you and grieves for you all the same.

Is there any curse so forlorn as that of permanence?

#genshin impact #genshin imagines #original writing #fanfic #x reader #reader insert #gn reader #genshin scara #scaramouche #wanderer #genshin #angst #light angst #drabble #Im sorry this makes no sense #Im incredibly scant on sleep #scaramouche x reader #yandere #yandere imagines

58 notes · View notes

doumadono · 7 months

Note

EMERGENCY REQUEST

hello ! ok so im feeling a bit embarrassed for making this request but like lately ive felt like there is something missing in my life yet i can't find out what it is . everytime i feel joyous , i know that later on i would mourn that moment because time is running . no matter what pace i want time to go on time will keep on running as fast as it can . it's only a matter of time until it finally catches up to me and ill perish . sorry for the sudden vent but like yeah muzan comforting reader about this ? thank you 🎀

Muzan & gn!reader feeling bad about passage of time - headcanons

EMERGENCY REQS MASTERLIST

It's not often for you to come to the Infinity Castle, but your many pleas have persuaded Muzan to agree, allowing Nakime to teleport you to his place.

Despite the incongruity of a liaison between a demon king and a human being, Muzan harbors sentiments for you. He consistently aids you whenever the need arises, even though an alliance between a demon and a human seems implausible.

Muzan's presence is as imposing as ever, his crimson eyes gleaming in the darkness of his throne chamber in the Infinity Castle. "What pitiful human woe brings you to me, seeking comfort?"

You hesitate, nervously shifting under the piercing gaze of the demon king. "Muzan-sama," you finally speak, your voice barely above a whisper. "I... I don't know what's missing in my life, but every moment of joy feels like a fleeting illusion."

Muzan remains composed. "Time is but a feeble construct, my dear. Mortals always dwell on the ephemeral."

Your eyes glisten with unshed tears as you pour out your heart. "No matter how much I want to hold on to happiness, it feels like time is mocking me, always slipping away."

Muzan approaches you with an elegance that contradicts his demonic nature. "Time is your true enemy, my dear. It devours everything, leaving behind nothing but dust. But do not despair. Embrace the inevitable, and you may find solace."

You look up, searching for some semblance of understanding. "How do I find peace in knowing that time will eventually claim everything?"

Muzan's gaze softens, a rare moment of vulnerability flickering across his face. "Acceptance, my dear. Embrace the ephemeral nature of existence, and perhaps, you'll find tranquility in the chaos."

"But it feels so overwhelming, like I'm caught in an unstoppable current. I try to savor every moment, yet they slip away too fast."

Muzan smiles a little, taking your face in his cold hands, using his thumbs to rub your cheeks. "Time is a fickle companion. It dances ahead, leaving you to grasp at shadows. Cherish the present, for it is all you have. Worry not about the inevitable end; focus on the beauty within the ephemeral."

"Do you think... Do you think I can truly be happy?" you ask him as one of his thumbs wipes a single tear off your flushed cheek.

"Yes. There's only one thing you need to do," he tells you.

"What is that?" you ask, your lips slightly parted.

"Live, little one. Immerse yourself in the pleasures of the moment. Revel in the fleeting joys, and when the darkness creeps in, let it be a reminder to seize the light with both hands."

61 notes · View notes

oneknightstand-if · 10 months

Note

Say deep into the romance(the notorious L word has been said and everything), how protective of the MC's are the RO's? And how would they handle losing the MC(i,e the MC died in the final battle/sacrificed themselves to win the day or something angsty like that)?

Well, a bunch of the ROs will already be trying to protect the MC as much as they can even before any romance, so there's not too much room to improve there. Also high affinity platonic bond can trigger this as much as any romance.

Merlin: Already the resident bodyguard/babysitter/cat-herder of the group. May give the MC a bit more attention when the group is in danger... but they're already watching over you. They'd perhaps feel more regret if they had to cut the MC loose.

For them, MC's death is... expected. Human lives are so ephemeral, after all. They'll always remember you... even thousands of years later and will bring the MC up in random conversations to random people. Probably MC's most embarrassing moments. For anyone paying attention & talking extensively to them in the game, Merlin already has repeatedly brought up their last longterm lover.

Biggest change here would be Merlin nearly killing themself to make certain that the MC's soul doesn't get dragged to Heaven or Hell. That's the fate that they'd find horrific for a loved one, not the natural death expected of all mortals.

Adrian: He's already potentially carrying the MC away from danger through half the city whether they like it or not so there's no room for Adrian to get more protective without going full yandere on you.

If the high affinity MC is dead, then Adrian is also most likely dead as well. He's the most ride or DIE of all the ROs and this already has implications if you go through the route where the MC refuses to leave their apartment and gets kidnapped by Merlin and Adrian.

Arthur: Due to his nature, he's already MAXIMUM THE PROTECTOR. He may be paying a bit more attention to you during times of danger, but he's already protecting you to his full capability and won't be acting any differently... after all, he's the High King and can't prioritize your safety over all others.

The same goes for the MC's death. The Post Apocalypse is still going to be a complete clusterfuck so he won't have time to stop and grieve. (The same as he won't have time to stop and grieve the fall of Camelot and the deaths of most of the people he knew because unlike the other Harbingers who reincarnated or who actually lived through the 1500 years span of time, to him Camelot fell last week.)

He'll create a suitable memorial customized exactly to the MC's tastes once things have calmed down. And Merlin will sneak over to comfort him, because Merlin's one of the few who can see past Arthur's strong front.

Percy: He's going to be hanging around a high affinity MC a lot, romanced or not. You're probably not going to notice much difference protection-wise as he's the sort who'd jump in to help you without a moment's notice even if he didn't like you.

At the MC's death, he'd probably disappear into a forest for several weeks without anyone being able to find him. He'll eventually return to the group though because he knows that he's needed. The MC would've been his first romantic love... and most probably will be his last as well.

4̷0̸4̸ ̷E̷r̷r̵o̴r̵ ̶N̶o̴t̷ ̴F̵o̸u̵n̶d̵: [SPOILERS]

Cassandra: She's a cop, so she's already keeping a protective eye out on the entire group as a whole. She'll be making extra special precautions for a high affinity MC. (This is probably one of the safest positions to have during the Apocalypse... as long as the MC behaves themselves).

Cassandra has some pretty traumatic stuff in her background, so this won't be the first lover she's lost. Her reaction will also depend on how you went... in an awesome blaze of glory (she'll build a statue for you) or something painfully drawn out & full of regret (heads will roll).

Vivian: Uh... you are probably going to need to have a 'discussion' with Vivian regarding her protectiveness. It can get a bit overwhelming at times. Like Merlin, she is well aware of the inherent ephemeral nature of a mortal.

So wouldn't it be better if she just 'took care' of all those people who approach you, just in case they turned out to be dangerous? And actually, why don't you stay with her at the bottom of the lake from now on? All the time. That would be very safe.

Otherwise, whatever killed the MC better hope it's already dead before Vivian gets at them.

Gwen: She's more the type that people protect than the type who protects people. The support from the background type. But you get close enough, that will not stop her at all and she will absolutely try to protect you to the best of her ability. Like right up there in the frontlines. You both may need to end up saving each other in that case.

About the MC's death... it's fine. It's fine. You've already died and reincarnated once. It can happen again. She'll be waiting for you. Eternally if necessary.

Lorelei: She'll already be highly protective of certain types of MCs (romanced or otherwise). Unlike some of the others, there'll actually be a noticeable change in her demeanor.

She's not the type to ever abandon someone in danger, but she will absolutely prioritize a romanced or high affinity MC over others. To the point where highly skilled fighter MCs may need to tell her to take a step back because she's jumping in even when it would be better that she did her own thing.

Will be quietly having a BSOD upon the MC's death (which she' ll blame entirely on her failing to protect and be there for the MC at the last moment). She'll eventually come back to the group as the icy version of Wrath, barely interacting with others while still carrying out her duties. (The other Harbingers are going to really have their work cut out for them there.)

Broderick: Another one who's demeanor will change after getting close to him... especially after what happens in his subplot. He'll be constantly protectively hovering over high affinity MC. But just during the dangerous times. (Which is actually all the time.) The MC will probably need to work through a few issues with him.

He'll be completely gutted by the MC's death and not really functional for quite awhile after that point. Definitely a changed man (and not for the better). It might take years for him to recover.

#Having so many Dead Ends in the game means I've already basically ironed out how the others would react #At least in the way they present themselves throughout the first book #oks-asks #oks-ROs

86 notes · View notes

mirrorbvllhoon · 2 months

Text

FATE (Orpheus!Heesung x Eurydice!Fem!reader)

I lost everything

Become an undead monster

But now

I know what I have to do (I know)

Follow the blood testament

₊˚ ✧ Fate (Dark Blood)

WC: 1.8k Warnings: mentions of death/dying and that's all I think (?)

There once lived a young man bestowed not only with beauty, artistry and grace that no other mortal had ever possessed, but blessed with a beautiful voice and a talent with words as well, his name was Heesung, whose existence was blessed by the great Apollo, the god had bestowed him with a talent to sing and play the lyre, bewitching everyone who surrounded him, neither enemies nor beasts could resist the power of his melodious voice and his ability with the lyre, and although many had dreamed of being with him, his heart already belonged to a beautiful young wood nymph, y/n.

Y/n, not only loved Heesung, but his talent as well, there was no other nymph in the forest or woman on the earth who adored his voice and his talent as she did, she loved every part of Heesung, when he was playing, people were bewitched, coming from everywhere to contemplate the view and listen to his melodies, a creation of him, however she stayed there to listen to him even when everyone else had left, as if hours didn’t exist and time was frozen, sometimes Heesung got jealous of his own talent and how it captivated the young woman.

“Why do I feel you love my music more than you love me?” He had asked one time, in the intimacy of the presence only the two of them shared under the moonlight, his hand still playing, the music of his made even the wind enamored to sing and dance with the leaves of the trees and the rivers flow.

“Don’t be foolish my love, I love your music because it comes from you, and I love you, it’s only natural from me to love your music as well” the young woman had answered before kissing her lover’s cheek and rested her hand on the nape of his neck.

Days and weeks had passed and anyone who had the privilege of attending the young couple’s sacred wedding, could swear by any god and temple, how they longed and loved for each other, there was no other mortal love who could be as pure and sincere as Heesung and yn’s.

The couple was ready to be promised in marriage, already in their wedding attire, the two of them stood in front of Hymen, the god of marriage, who they hoped could bless their sacred union, but oh were they wrong, did they even know the fate awaiting them?

“Although you’re meant to be, life is beautiful for it is ephemeral, time is tickling and perfection is not meant to last” said the god, who far from blessing them had given them one last chance to separate their lives and reconstruct their fate, but oh, fate is not meant to be constructed or deconstructed, it is just meant to happen,

Although fear crippled in their love, and the same tried to break their perfect wedding day apart, the sweetness of their young love kept arising, until one cruel day where the gods of fate decided to mischief, chaos arose from one singular mundane scene.

There was y/n who with the rest of her nymphs, stood in the middle of their forest, dancing and enjoying herself in the gift the gods had blessed them with, when a young foolish shepherd of name Aristaeus saw her, and astonished by the beauty of her, beauty that he desired but couldn’t have, started to make advances and eventually chase her, because what mortals always desire is what they cannot have, and his ambition cursed the young woman and her lover to an imprecation that not even the cruelest mortal was boarded with, as y/n kept running and finally found rest in a secluded area of the grand forest, fate again, decided to toy with her, she was barely regaining her breath when she felt a pair of fangs in her talon, a snake had bitten her and as if her life hadn’t been important the snake left, crawling to the forest after completing her task, in a second instant she exhaled, awaiting to be transported to the underworld, her lasts thoughts were of her short life with her now husband, remembering how Hymen had advised them of the fate that awaits him as well.

What a surprise did Heesung find, when he arrived at the forest to search for his wife, she hadn’t arrived at sunset, as she always did, he found the nymphs, he found the dead shepherd who perished by the same bite of fate as y/n, but in the darkness and cold of the night, he couldn’t find his lover, and when he finally did, he was faced with her cadaver, and as the night was full of death and darkness, life had left y/n’s body so many hours before, he held her close to her chest, as if hoping that the gods would bring her back for only a glimpse of time, but it never happened, she was far gone.

And with the cloak of Nyx abandoning the sky, and the sun arising on the blue canvas, Heesung, full with grief played his lyre and sang, being this the only things remaining that could remind her of his lover, in that very moment every object in this earth and sky, whether it had life or not, every mortal good or evil, rich or poor, wise or fool, every god and goddess learnt about the pain he was bearing through his powerful melody that could move them to sorrow and grief.

Full with lamentation, Heesung arrived in the presence of Zeus, hoping that he, of all gods and goddesses could grant him his one true desire; to have y/n back, however the olympian god couldn’t interfere in the affairs of the underworld, as it was his brothers domains and not his, nevertheless he encouraged the Heesung to descend to the underworld, and ask it’s king, Jay, for help.

Once Heesung had arrived to the deepness of the underworld he encountered cerberus, the three-headed dog, who guarded the underworld for any mortal to trespass, but with the melodious symphonies that his voice and lyre made, the dog stayed down, and allowed the young mortal to trespass, the same happened when Heesung encountered with the boatman Charon, who moved by his symphony, agreed to allow him to cross the styx river without any cost.

Jay and his wife, the rulers of the underworld, were surprised to say the least, when the young man’s presence entered their domains.

“How dare you, a simple mortal, to invade my domains? You should tell me your motives unless you want to perish in the abyss for eternity” scolded Jay, his tone deep and strong, his voice resonating through the valley of the dead.

“I’m begging you to allow me to retrieve to the world of the living my beloved y/n..:” Heesung started talking, but his words weren’t enough to demean the feelings that burdened him, so with his lyre he started to sing, about the life that was taken away from them, of love and sorrow and lost, of fate and it’s bittersweet ways and of the pain that y/n’s departure had left him with.

The whole tartarus stopped, the furies for a moment forgot to punish the sinners and thieves to shed tears, the captive souls in the styx stopped their laments and cries, Sisyphus stopped rolling his stone moved by the youngster’s voice, and even Jay, the king of the dead, shed an iron tear.

Finally, Jay asked for y/n’s presence to be brought before them, when the young couple reunited with a passionate kiss and a hug full of love and hope, the king had one last commandment for the couple, before they could depart for the path to the living world, and hopefully, for their merry life awaiting them.

“Y/n must follow you Heesung, you will have to lead her way, and you are not allowed to look back for her, for if you do so, her soul will be taken back to the depths of the tartarus and you will lose her again”

The young couple looked at each other, before giving the underworld’s king thanks and preparing themselves to start making their way upwards to the living land, with Heesung leading, and y/n following; but Heesung was afraid, afraid that the god, with mischief boiling in his olympian blood, had tricked him, each step he gave, he couldn’t hear her lover’s step following him, or her voice humming a melody he had composed time before, he couldn’t hear her breathing, as if she wasn’t there, yet Heesung stood with his head up, and tried to not succumb to the temptation of looking back, scared to loose her or scared by the feeling of having lost here even before walking towards the earth.

When finally the light of the sun had touched their skin and engulfed their eyes, and when he stood his feet on the earth’s grass, he succumbed afraid of being tricked and losing her lover before even having her, he looked back, and in that very moment, Y/n was engulfed by the underworld, and taken aback cursed by the inhuman love Heesung had for her, the same reason Jay had given him that task, he knew that for Heesung, that would be impossible, for he loved y/n.

Days passed and Heesung swore to never love another woman, because in his eyes and heart there was no place for another woman, there was only y/n. So he played the lyre full of melancholy and love, putting the air and the trees to dance with the spring of the night, and the birds to chipper with the haze of the sun, moving the world with his music full of the love he had for y/n.

But Hymen’s prophecy hadn’t been completed, for a group of jealous women, who couldn’t understand how such a being full of love, music and poetry couldn’t dare to love again, they decided to end his life as a punishment, throwing his lyre to the river, where a group of muses transformed it into a beautiful constellation that would embellish forever the cloak of the night, remembering for eternity the love that once upon a time moved the world with it’s melodies.

But for Heesung, death was far from a punishment, for in the afterlife he could reunite again with his beloved, and in dead they could live the life, life itself had taken away from death, death couldn’t tore apart the love Heesung had for y/n for even in death his soul crawled towards her, engulfed in her presence he could find peace, to this day the couple walks along the styx river, sometimes Heesung is leading her and looking back to see her beloved following, other days it’s y/n going upfront, but no matter who leads or follows, they always look back, longing for the presence of the other, and the safety of knowing that they’re not alone, hoping that once they drink from the lethe and allowed to step on the earth again, fate will reunite them again, for one life or death or a thousand of them wasn’t enough to contain their love.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

a/n: Hope that you enjoyed reading this story, feel free to comment, reblog or like <3

tags: @solfolgi

#mirrorbvllhoon #enhypen #lee heesung x reader #jay enhypen #sunghoon #hyung line #greek mythology #orpheus #waiiiiiit for me #i just rewatched hadestown so... yeah #enhypen au #enhypen fic #enhypen scenarios #enhypen fluff #enhypen reader

29 notes · View notes