#had to do it for the reference. for the bit

[cafeleningrad]

If it's ok, OP, I would like to add a personal anecdote. (If you feel like it's derailing, please let me know, I can delete my addition.)

So, it took many, many years of development but I ceased being a lonely uncool girl. Not in a "fake it till you make it" way but a mix of circumstances, own behaviours and reactions changed.

For one, the circumstances change. The geographical and social environment, especially school and classmates, that did judge me, did not pick me in sports teams, making it difficult to connect with people because personal background and interest were unusual did change.

Second, I sometimes still feel how I don't cease to be "the weird girl" in other environments. Innate habits like derailed rambling, sometimes lacking tact in preferring pragmatism over feelings, and niche interests that are not common are present in new social environments. But what previously did single me out in excluding ways, at some point became what made me myself, and somehow it does connect to others. I mean sure, I did also learn a bit to rail myself in, how to hold small talk, how to properly sort my arguments but in proper shape it turned out I could hold long talks with other people which were fun and engaging for both parties.

I mean, adults are incredibly varied people. Surely none will get along with everyone but one will find their kin. After years of struggling in school, and my first years in university, I did also make friends along the way who kept in contact over years. The thing is, the interest was mutual. The conversations were kept by a constant exchange of messages or if possible meet-ups, sometimes re-connections after pauses. Or it's meeting acquaintances on the street and having a nice chat - it made me realize, whatever little issues I have, even if for formative years caused isolation, people do remember me more kindly than I possibly think of myself.

By, example a former colleague once straight up told me I was weird, not knowing how deeply it struck. However, he did not mean it negatively. For this one comment, he was also the one helping me as often as possible when I needed help, we talk for hours when I drop by at my old work days, and regularly message each other for life updates. What did render me to self-conscious in my childhood, often being the new girl in class needing to double down on new language skills, evaporated because another friend, and him had been in the exact same situation too. They did survive, and we could share this experience of outsider'ness. Exactly my ramblings is something he seeks out because whenever we discuss social issues my dissection is what he wants to receive a clearer picture, even if we don't draw the same conclusions. In his life I might be the weird girl, but this is the weirdo he enjoys being friends with. I met other friends, and new colleagues at my old work place, and they do recall fun anecdotes from the time we worked together. Again, in which I realize that I'm remembered in a fond way.

Which leads me to third: Self interest. Talking about feeling like the "uncool, lonely girl" inevitably comes with using "I". The frequency of self-reference and limitation is unavoidable... however at some point I needed to unlearn to think of myself when interacting with other people. Granted, food service was personally formative, especially after Covid as guest interactions runs on social protocols. Here I did learn small talk, but also what variation of jokes or formality are apt for each group or person.

To say, social interactions at safe emotional distance can be learnt. More so, at some point I entirely got out of my own head, and primarily thought of: "What do the guests need?" And when guests were nice, I came to enjoy a simple friendly chat was enough to mutually create a lovely interaction in a day. I learnt to simply enjoy the company of someone else. Not "how am I perceived?" which is a feeling I only could formerly only shut-off with close friends or overly pompous internet arguments afforded by anonymity (and not having unlearnt the rage bait of social media attention bait yet...) As I first mentioned in how I got to hold long conversations with others, it came in a bit with learning to learn some etiquette which is all about being a bit more mindful of other people. The don't even need to be strict rules, just a little more consideration in interaction is already a start to not set someone off. Or, even if I still struggle to quickly connect with peers in my age, which were especially lonely years at university first, I did still made friendships that now last for years. These same-age group struggles lead me to connect more easily with older colleagues which was also really helpful. My old colleagues are women who were part of the first generation of women to live on their own, lived through much more sexist times at the workplace. The entire feeling of inadequacy is so far beyond them because there were so many external issues to handle that actions and defiance transformed them. And well yeah, at some age the inverted self-dissection really ceases to be of any matter. When we interact they do judge me what I bring to the table, whom I help, what I say in any given moment. To say, whatever I might feel inside, what one does in correspondence to the people around them is telling much more who they are, than whatever self-image I have.

Some people are really great at reading, and influencing people's perception. I'm not.

But the less I think how I want to be perceived, the less I think about an insecure self-image in fear it gets revealed, or discovered, the more I get to enjoy simply being with people. Experienced taught me: Some people like me, some don't, I know what's proper behavior, so I find my people. The more I get out of myself, the more I simply stay curious for other people, what's new in their life, why are some things going good or not so great at the moment, what do they need, is there a fun topic to share?, the less I do feel lonely, because I'm actually connected.

Uncool is such an irrelevant topic in adulthood.

Only immature, and in truth insecure people care about what's cool as adults. Yes it is a dismissive judgement but I tell you, I've had the misfortune to work with enough influencers, celebrities and their entourage during different catering occasions, whatever they try to represent is a constant gambling for social capital, attention which is for worship, translating into sales for redundant products. Sorry, but the self-contortion of behaviours like entitlement by being careless, very noticeable fake nice behaviour just to keep up good social relationships which can be used for collaboration and association. By all what's good on this earth, witnessing these people was an ideal cure. These people who're considered so aspirational, bombarded with attention and advertisement deals are constantly dancing the line between irrelevance and a possible next deal for income. And that's what their perceived aspiration and coolness is all about. I can tell you, whatever I deemed cool as a child, turned out to be extremely vapid and reckless towards other people. The coolest people who don't know how cool they're to me. Their secret lies in not caring about how they're perceived because they're self-assured in how they act about a certain thing. It's their way and nothing else matters. Sometimes it's having cultivated a self-confidence to do something just the way one does considers right.

Sure, a big Harley Davidson bikes aren't something I consider cool by any means. But anyone who deeply enjoys their ride, working on their bike, telling me about who they met and what they saw on their rides is much more in tune with themselves, are open to the world, and much more interesting as a person than someone who drives a Harley to mark what a tough nut they're. The latter are not really themselves because they're a persona build up with material signifiers.

Getting out of myself was one of the toughest developments possible. It is difficult because my superiority-inferiority complex held up my spine for so long in school, dismantling it meant dismantling the pillars of my self-confidence. In fact, dismantling a big chunk of my self perception. That's not to say we never look back inward for self-reflection we should never do that. However... the isolation that previously protected me, was beginning to suffocate me. By realizing how whatever made me feel singled out negatively, either singled me out positively, or simply wasn't relevant anymore, I also needed to change my outlook on other people. If other people's reactions shaped me before, the people who shape me now are different, so I can't think of them as I did with others previously. I don't have to prove them anything, there is no façade necessary to maintain because the more time I spend on others, the less time I have to think about myself - the more my actions towards the people in my life do prove what matters to me, what I indulge in or not, whom I'd like to help or not. At some point I cannot control how other people see me still they do see what I do in the immediate moment. Whatever I might think of myself, how bad, how brave, how awkward, how self-sufficent I consider myself to be... values are only good when put to test, and this is done by interactions with each other. I might think myself as uncool - to a neighbour I'm the one who helped out with cat sitting and groceries when she broke her arm. To a friend I'm the one who listened when they had relationship problems. What I am, is what I am to other people, small things I do, things I tell.

The worst friendships I had were in retrospect those I made because I was lonely, didn't think I could admit that I was struggling because what gave me a sense of superiority in highschool surely didn't apply in work life, and university anymore. By worrying how I didn't want to be lonely, how I wanted draw people to me by a play-acted off-the-cuffness, I remained awkward because I constantly was re-evaluating myself in interactions, wanted to keep the upper hand, but also needed. Well, in the compensation, I was emotionally at my worst. Further, I wasn't developing. The compensation for the uncool, lonely girl, desperately holding onto connections was grasping onto a friendship that did me no good - in fact I was grinding myself to low energy to prove to myself that I am the friend that always cares. It was not about the friend who took certain acts of helping for granted, if not caring primarily about herself, being flippant, dismissive, and self-righteous in order to maintain her self-image as never getting buttered down. Like, the older I get, the more people I meet, the most harmful behavior comes from people who're stuck on creating/maintaining a self image. Newly rich guests who're extra dismissive to staff because they need to mark how they need to care about other people because everyone submits to the money they pay. Guys who got aggressive when they notice that someone is as smart or smarter than they're but thought of themselves as the stiffest fry in the bag - just to give a few examples how self-curation foregoes actual likeability. In our 20s we're pointed towards many directions: Careerwise, we've new as well as many responsibilities, we should be adults, we should've a social life, be a fully-formed person. As we can see on social media we've many templates/archetypes what certain types of fully fledged people should look like, how they should dress, how they should behave, what the people in their life, and their overall life style should look like. But actually many people are just learning how to live on their own, or to earn their own living, gain an entire new input of ideas, impressions, and responsibilities they've to sort out. None is a fully formed person at this age, even if many feel as if they've figured the world out (they've not). So at this age it is much more important to be actually invested in the world, to go out of one's shell, abandon what they previously believed to be universally true. And by that interest in others, rethinking, rediscovering if you actually like or don't like something, figure out what's important to you yourself, you might discover that you're not the person you believed you were.

Maybe who you were was "lonely, uncool girl" as your environment labeled you this way. Maybe can't easily be someone else however, in a different context, experiencing something else, worrying less that who one is could pose a problem, the easier it might become existing without fearing that one is inadequate.

when you grew up as a lonely uncool girl it will never stop haunting you by the way. you will meet a cool person at a bar or the train station or at a friend's party and you can wear your most stylish outfit and striking eye makeup and you will swear that they can see through all of the facade and see the lonely terribly insecure teenage girl you used to be who desperately wanted to connect and you will swear that they know that there is like an insurmountable gap between you. this will happen forever

[elodieunderglass]

Unsure if this qualifies as a Ken Ask but the existential crisis first aid post fascinates me. (I have never had an existential crisis on a mountain but I can confirm that when i have had them elsewhere tea has been the appropriate first aid.)

So now I'm wondering what the appropriate response is for people of other nationalities having an existential crisis on a mountain. Starting with Japan given that Ken left that out. Has everyone from that side of the family been too smart to let him drag them up there?

(In reference to the What To Do When Someone is Having an Existential Crisis On A Mountain comic, starring Ken, the Normal Friend)

Such a great question! I think Ken comes from strong hiking culture on both sides, so they’re probably all more resilient than him. I think he had an existential crisis or two of his very own on other people’s mountains - specifically on the bits he’s done of the the Kumano Kodō. But a lot of that was probably the humidity (Ken is fundamentally at home in cool mist, summer hols were a bad time) and the very upsetting verticality (those trails are STRAIGHT UP) and probably a small amount of WHY ARE THERE SO MANY TREES WHY? WHERE AM I 😭

Ken is definitely going to finish it, though. AND the Camino de Santiago. Imagine him passing up the Badge of the Dual Pilgrim.

Here’s the original, as updated in the comic when Ken cleverly worked out how to handle his new orphaned duckling:

Here are a few more of slightly mixed wins...

you should call your mum, Ken

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Maybe a Jack or Robby x reader who is raising her sibling(s)? The kid/teen is taken to the Pitt for whatever reason and some comforting is needed from one of our favorite new doctors? 😊😊😊

Rating: M

Warnings: Angst—a lot; Reader's half-sister has cancer; some fluff; Reader is a former medical student at the Pitt; implied age gap; mention of the death of a parent

Summary: There was nothing different, nothing new. You used to know the feeling of Robby beside you. You used to crave his attention, his approval. You felt the heat of him against your side now, as steady as it had been just a year ago.

When your mother died, the responsibility to care for your six-year-old half sister had closed in so fast. Her cancer diagnosis had hit as furiously as your mother's death, and you'd had no choice but to drop out of med school, to leave the program that you'd entered in at the Pitt.

"Hey."

"Hi—What? Why are you whispering?" Dana frowned, shaking her head as Robby beckoned her closer.

"Am I having a stroke, or seeing things, or—?" Robby nodded toward central, and Dana didn't have to turn her head to know what he was referring to.

"Her sister is in surgery. Came in half an hour ago." She broke it to him gently, and it was hardly a second before understanding washed Robby's features, his hands flexing and unflexing in the fabric of his hoodie over his arms. He took in a deep breath, raised his hand, pinched the bridge of his nose—

"Any news?"

"No. But it's early."

"She can't be back there. She doesn't work here anymore."

"No, but she knows what it's like." Dana leaned a little closer, nudged her hip against Robby's thigh. "She needs something to do. Keep her mind off of what's happening upstairs."

Robby hesitated before he nodded, raising his hand to scrub at his brow before he slid it back to his neck.

"Okay," He conceded. "Okay."

"Dr. Robby, you're needed in south fifteen."

"Yeah. On my way," He answered Perlah without a thought, glancing back toward the sound of her voice, but his eyes stayed glued to the woman at central.

"...Go on," Dana urged, "I'll keep an eye on her. She's not making decisions without input."

"Okay." He answered again, unthinking. He needed to go. There were patients that needed him—but he wondered if she needed him a little bit, too.

--

"We've got a patient coding in north two!"

You glanced back toward the yell, glanced over as the man near you scrambled out of his chair, leaving something behind.

"Take the pad!" You called back, nodding toward the desk.

He hurried back to his spot, snatching it up—and holding there.

"I, uh—Thanks."

You glanced toward him, brow furrowing.

"Sure."

"I'm Dennis Whitaker."

"Hi, Whitaker." You nodded over your shoulder. "You got somewhere to be?"

"Shit—Yes! Yeah, uh—Yes!"

You glanced after him, straightening up from the computer you'd been leaning over, folding your arms across your chest as you huffed out a laugh, watching him scurry after a few nurses and residents. You heard Dana chuckling behind you, and you couldn't help but shake your head, a smile pulling at your lips.

"Where the fuck did you find Bambi?" You asked, nodding after the medical student.

"Nebraska."

"Huh," You nodded, turning back to the board. "Tracks."

"Thoughts, feelings, opinions?"

"So sweet of you to ask like I know better."

"I don't mind a fresh set'a eyes every now and again."

"You don't need it."

"Maybe I do."

"Please," You scoffed, "You'll outlive us all."

It was a mistake to say, and your eyes darted to your phone screen where it was sitting on the desk. You shook your head, trying to shake yourself from the focus. You knew that you didn't cover well when Dana reached out, rubbing your arm gently.

"Why don't you get some air?" She offered softly. And sure, you knew that it would be for the best, but—

"The uh—" You cleared your throat. "The patient in south three should be sent up to psych."

It took a moment before Dana answered, "We called. We're waiting to hear back."

"How long has he been down here?"

'"'Bout a day and a half hours."

"Jesus," You hissed. "The fuck?"

"I know you've been away from the ED for a while. It's gotten worse." A hand between your shoulder blades, and a soft, "We need ya back."

"I can't afford it."

Your time, your money, your focus, your care—there was no part of returning to the Pitt that you could afford. Being able to return to school would mean losing your sister, and losing your sister would mean—

You turned and braced your hands on the desk in front of you, fighting to settle your churning stomach.

"...Go find somewhere quiet," Dana urged. "We've got it here."

"I really don't think I should be anywhere quiet right now."

"Could do more good than harm."

"Dana—"

"There probably isn't anyone in the chapel this time'a day. Go on."

--

It was the right suggestion to make, and you'd known it the second she'd made it. You eyed the altar with dispassionate numbness, heart thudding in your ears, eyes unfocused as you tried to take in deep breaths and steady yourself. Your phone stayed clutched in your hands, waiting—damn near praying for a vibration, a text, news.

"This seat taken?"

His voice had no right to make your heart leap into your throat, your fingers tighten further around your phone.

"Ten other pews in the place and you've gotta sit here?" You asked. You didn't turn to look, didn't nod approvingly. But that didn't stop him from stepping in and lowering to sit down beside you.

There was nothing different, nothing new. You used to know the feeling of Robby beside you. You used to crave his attention, his approval. You felt the heat of him against your side now, as steady as it had been just a year ago.

When your mother died, the responsibility to care for your six-year-old half sister had closed in so fast. Her cancer diagnosis had hit as furiously as your mother's death, and you'd had no choice but to drop out of med school, to leave the program that you'd entered in at the Pitt.

"Surprised to find you in here," He added. You shrugged a little.

"Dana's idea," You admitted. Then, before you could stop yourself, "It's where mom would be."

Robby didn't answer for a moment. You felt him shift beside you, his thigh brushing against yours, then away again.

"...You think your mom is in here now?" He asked softly. And you knew what he meant, what he was driving toward, but—

"Pretty sure we buried her in a cemetery, Robby."

"Okay—"

"Unless someone moved her and they didn't tell me—Should we check under the pews? You take left, I'll take right."

"What is it with you and sincerity, huh?"

"I'm allergic."

"What happens?"

"Oh, I swell up. Anaphylactic shock."

"Good thing you're already at the hospital."

You couldn't help but smile a bit, shaking your head.

"Were you this bad when you worked here?" He pried.

"You know, I think I was. Something about the Pitt just brings it out in me."

"...How long has she been up there?"

What about the last few things that he'd asked made him think that you wanted to answer that question? But facts were facts. And—

"An hour."

"Not bad."

"Sure," You shrugged, nodding before you couldn't help but shake your head. "You know, I never thought knowing what I know could make all'a this worse?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean—I mean when I was younger and my grandpa was in the hospital...I remember being there with him. The doctor was saying a bunch'a shit that I just didn't understand. It's one of the reasons I wanted to become a doctor, you know, to decipher what he was saying. Like learning to read hieroglyphs. But now..." You shook your head, eyes prickling with tears. "Watching Langdon and everyone work on Ellie, hearing what they were saying, reading the screens—It was worse. How could it be worse, understanding?" You slouched against the pew. "I've never wanted to be willfully ignorant before, ya know. Hearing what they were doing, just—" You tried to draw in a deep breath, failed, "Just confirmed just how fucking—" You tried to draw in another deep breath, but it caught in your throat, "How fucking bad it is." You fought to draw in another deep breath as your chest pounded, your eyes welling with tears.

Robby's arm curled around you as you folded forward, pressing the heels of your hands pressing against your eyes to stem your upset.

"She's going to be alright," He insisted, "Garcia's got her."

"Oh, good. That's good," You mumbled. "She'll hold the fact that she saved Ellie over my head forever."

"She might not."

"Oh, please. Have you met Garcia?"

Robby huffed a soft laugh, raising his hand to gently cup the back of your neck, his thumb sweeping across your nape. You let the movement soothe you the way he intended, leaning up into it.

"...Did you tell Dana to kick me out from behind central?"

"No. Why?"

"I saw you talking to her."

"You think it was about you? Self-centered much?" He knocked his knee against yours. "Maybe you should've been a doctor."

"Don't. Don't," Your huffed laugh came with a plea as you squeezed your eyes shut. Robby smoothed his hand across your shoulders, drawing you into his side. And where you would've shied from the touch a year ago, you welcomed it now, leaning heavily against him. You felt him nuzzle against your hair, rest his head against yours, draw in a deep breath. You let yourself hone in on him for a few moments—his warmth, his steadiness where you've so badly missed it, wanted it.

You drew in a deep breath, held it, sighed through your nose.

"You should get back in there," You mumbled.

"The others've got it."

"They need you."

A moment of quiet, another nuzzle against your head.

"What do you need?" He murmured. And you were tempted to fib, to tell him that you didn't need anything. But it had been so long since you'd been asked what you needed, and even longer since you were willing to be honest about your answer.

"...I don't fucking know, dude," You mumbled.

"Is that the truth?"

You startled when you felt your phone buzz in your hand, and you sat up before you could stop yourself, bringing the phone up to eye the screen and scanning the text. You opened your mouth, drawing in a deep breath for the first time in a few hours.

"What is it?"

"She's in the recovery room," You relayed. "She's in—She's in the fucking recovery room—I shouldn't be swearing in a chapel but oh my god—Oh my fucking god," You breathed, folding in on yourself.

Robby didn't let you get far as you shook, just waited, and held as the news settled.

You leaned up slowly, propping your elbows on your thighs and pressing your face into your hands.

"How long 'til you can see her?"

"Half an hour."

"Okay," He murmured, rubbing his hand over your back. "Go get some coffee in the staff room."

"Staff room is for, uh—Staff? Which I have not been for a long time."

"Cafeteria coffee isn't as good."

"I should get the full Pitt experience."

Robby chuckled softly. "You'll do better with ours."

"Maybe."

"Definitely."

You grunted, leaning back against the pew.

"You should get back," You urged again. "I'll be fine."

"...Okay," He murmured. "Keep me updated?"

"Sure." It was another moment before he stood, giving your shoulder a soft squeeze before letting go. You twisted as his footsteps faded, unable to help yourself. "Robby?"

He stopped in the doorway, and you almost crumbled as he caught your eye. You hesitated before you nodded.

"I did feel her here—Mom, I mean."

Robby gave a small smile before he nodded, too, taking a step and turning away.

You waited until he was fully out of the chapel before you let yourself crumble.

Tag list:

@missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @amneris21

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage​​​ ;  @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity ; 

@millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @dihra-vesa​ ; @videogamesandpoorlifechoices ; @missswriter ; 

@thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ; @realwhoreforfictionalmen

 ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ;  @winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989

[httpvomitello]

False Alarms .｡*･ﾟﾟ

Summary: When Joel notices you’ve been skipping meals, looking tired, and avoiding your usual morning hot chocolate, his mind jumps to the worst-case scenario: pregnancy. What starts as concern quickly spirals into a tense argument that cuts deeper than either of you expected.

joel miller x f!reader

WARNINGS: Angst, age gap, arguing, miscommunication, references to past trauma, hurt/no comfort, mention of pregnancy (false), language.

You hadn’t thought much of it when you skipped breakfast three days in a row.

Jackson was colder than usual this week. Some mornings, the thought of dragging yourself to the mess hall before your shift with Maria felt like too much. That, and you’d been feeling nauseous. Not sick—just… off. A tightness in your chest, a queasiness in your gut. You figured it was stress. You’d been helping with patrol coordination and dealing with Maria’s endless to-do lists. That’d be enough to knock anyone off balance.

But Joel noticed.

He always noticed.

“You eat today?” he asked as you slipped off your coat in the cozy warmth of the house.

You shrugged. “Not really hungry.”

Joel didn’t say anything. Not right away. He never jumped to conclusions. But he was quieter than usual that night. Thoughtful. His gaze kept flickering to you—watchful, almost guarded. The kind of stare that made your skin itch.

By day five, he was no longer quiet. He was suspicious.

And angry.

“We need to talk,” Joel said that night, arms crossed, jaw tense. The fire crackled behind him, but the room felt cold.

You looked up from the couch, half-curled under a blanket. “Okay... what about?”

His eyes locked with yours. There was something behind them—fear? Panic? Disbelief? Maybe all three. But Joel wore anger like armor. He didn’t do vulnerability unless he was desperate.

“You late?”

You blinked. “What?”

He gestured vaguely. “Your... your period. You late?”

The room spun for a second.

You sat up straighter, your heart starting to pound. “What the fuck, Joel?”

“Just answer the question.”

“Why the hell would you even ask me that?”

Joel didn’t flinch. “You been sick. Avoidin’ food. Tired all the time. You haven’t touched a cup of hot chocolate in a week, and you love hot chocolate. Somethin’s off.”

“I’m tired because I’ve been running around Jackson like a damn mule,” you snapped. “And maybe I’m not hungry because I’m stressed, not pregnant.”

His expression didn’t soften.

“You sure?”

That made something in your chest crack.

You shot up from the couch. “Wow. Okay. So what, you think I’d just get pregnant and not tell you?”

“I think maybe you don’t even know, and that scares the hell outta me.”

“Scares you?”

His words stopped you cold.

“I’m twenty-five, Joel,” you said quietly. “Not sixteen. I’m not stupid.”

“You think this is about your age?”

“What else would it be about?” you bit. “You think I can’t handle the idea of a baby? Or is it that you can’t?”

Joel rubbed his face. “Fuck! That’s not what I—”

“You’re not saying it, but you’re thinking it,” you cut in. “You think I’m reckless. That I’m some dumb kid who let something slip. Is that what I am to you?”

Joel’s hands were fists at his sides. “That’s not what I think.”

“Then why the interrogation?”

“Because I’ve been through this before, dammit!”

The silence that followed was deafening.

You stared at him, blinking fast.

He didn’t yell often. But when he did—it cracked something open. A ghost from the past.

Joel turned away, staring into the fire, breathing hard.

“I’ve had things taken from me,” he said lowly. “Things I never got back. I can’t— I can’t go through that again. Not without knowin’. Not without bein’ prepared.”

You didn’t move.

“So you think if I was pregnant, it’d be something to brace for?” you asked, quieter now. “A disaster waiting to happen?”

Joel didn’t answer.

“Right,” you whispered. “Okay.”

You grabbed your coat.

“Where you goin’?”

“Walk,” you said flatly. “I need some air.”

Joel took a step toward you. “You don’t have to—”

“I’m not pregnant,” you snapped, hand on the doorknob. “But thanks for showing me exactly how you’d react if I ever was.”

The door slammed behind you.

Joel remained standing in the middle of the room, thinking about the mistake he had made by letting his fears speak louder.

[socialjust-ish]

This is an interesting post. As a fun tangent, I wanted to note that this:

like, i've said this before, but the year i taught third grade i had multiple students who told me they loved reading and then when i asked them about a book they were reading revealed that they had absolutely no idea what was going on - on a really basic literal level like "didn't know who said which lines of dialogue" and "couldn't identify which things or characters given pronouns referred to" - and were as best as i could tell sort of constructing their own story along the way using these little bits of things they thought they understood.

Is how Hidetaka Myazaki - the director of Dark Souls and Elden Ring - first became enamored with the fantasy genre. While a proficient reader in Japanese, he had limited English literacy (this is not a knock on him - dude is Japanese so any bilingualism is more than I can do). He would go to his local library and the English-language sci-fi and fantasy book covers would catch his eye. But, because he could only pick out words here and there (knight, dragon, cave, monster, etc.) he just filled in the gaps based on the pictures and his own imagination.

He apparently credits this experience with the story structure of the Souls games - with opening cutscenes/major story beats providing really cool set pieces and intrigue, but not really providing the context, and the requirement to dig into the item descriptions to gain the full picture.

i appreciated this study: "They Can't Read Very Well: A Study of the Reading Comprehension Skills Of English Majors At Two Midwestern Universities"

essentially, a pair of professors set out to test their intuitive sense that students at the college level were struggling with complex text. they recruited 85 students, a mix of english majors and english education majors - so, theoretically, people focusing on literature, and people preparing to teach adolescents how to read literature - and had them read-while-summarizing the first seven paragraphs of dickens's bleak house (or as much as they made it through in the 20 minute session). they provided dictionaries and also said students could use their phones to look up whatever they wanted, including any unfamiliar words or references. they found that the majority of the students - 58%, or 49 out of the 85 students - functionally could not understand dickens at all, and only 5% - a mere 4 out of the 85 students - proved themselves proficient readers (leaving the remaining 38%, or 32 students, as what the study authors deemed "competent" students, most of whom could understand about half the literal meaning - pretty low bar for competence - although a few of whom, they note, did much better than the rest in this group if not quite well enough to be considered proficient).

what i really appreciated about this study was its qualitative descriptions of the challenges and reading behaviors of what the authors call "problematic readers" (that bottom 58%), which resonated strongly with my own experiences of students who struggle with reading. here's their blunt big picture overview of these 49 students:

The majority of these subjects could understand very little of Bleak House and did not have effective reading tactics. All had so much trouble comprehending concrete detail in consecutive clauses and phrases that they could not link the meaning of one sentence to the next. Although it was clear that these subjects did try to use various tactics while they read the passage, they were not able to use those tactics successfully. For example, 43 percent of the problematic readers tried to look up words they did not understand, but only five percent were able to look up the meaning of a word and place it back correctly into a sentence. The subjects frequently looked up a word they did not know, realized that they did not understand the sentence the word had come from, and skipped translating the sentence altogether.

the idea that they had so many trouble with every small piece of a text that they could not connect ideas on a sentence by sentence basis is very familiar to me from teaching and tutoring, as was the habit of thought seen in the example of the student who gloms on to the word "whiskers" in a sea of confusion and guesses incorrectly that a cat is present - struggling readers, in my experience, seem to use familiar nouns as stepping stones in a flood of overwhelm, hopping as best they can from one seemingly familiar image to the next. so was this observation, building off the example of a student who misses the fact that dickens is being figurative when he imagines a megalodon stalking the streets of london:

She first guesses that the dinosaur is just “bones” and then is stuck stating that the bones are “waddling, um, all up the hill” because she can see that Dickens has the dinosaur moving. Because she cannot logically tie the ideas together, she just leaves her interpretation as is and goes on to the next sentence. Like this subject, most of the problematic readers were not concerned if their literal translations of Bleak House were not coherent, so obvious logical errors never seemed to affect them. In fact, none of the readers in this category ever questioned their own interpretations of figures of speech, no matter how irrational the results. Worse, their inability to understand figurative language was constant, even though most of the subjects had spent at least two years in literature classes that discussed figures of speech. Some could correctly identify a figure of speech, and even explain its use in a sentence, but correct responses were inconsistent and haphazard. None of the problematic readers showed any evidence that they could read recursively or fix previous errors in comprehension. They would stick to their reading tactics even if they were unhappy with the results.

i have seen this repeatedly, too - actually i was particularly taken with how similar this is to the behavior of struggling readers at much younger ages - and would summarize the hypothesis i have forged over time as: struggling readers do not expect what they read to make sense. my hypothesis for why this is the case is that their reading deficits were not attended to or remediated adequately early enough, and so, in their formative years - the early to mid elementary grades - they spent a lot of time "reading" things that did not make sense to them - in fact they spent much more time doing this than they ever did reading things that did make sense to them - and so they did not internalize a meaningful subjective sense of what it feels like to actually read things.

like, i've said this before, but the year i taught third grade i had multiple students who told me they loved reading and then when i asked them about a book they were reading revealed that they had absolutely no idea what was going on - on a really basic literal level like "didn't know who said which lines of dialogue" and "couldn't identify which things or characters given pronouns referred to" - and were as best as i could tell sort of constructing their own story along the way using these little bits of things they thought they understood. that's what "reading" was, in their heads. and they were, in the curriculum/model that we used at the private school where i taught, receiving basically no support to clarify that that was not what reading was, nor any instruction that would actually help them with what they needed to do to improve (understand sentences) - and i realized over the course of that year that the master's program that had certified me in teaching elementary school had provided me with very little understanding of how to help these kids (with perhaps the sole exception of the class i took on communications disorders, not because these kids had communications disorders but because that was the only class where we ever talked, even briefly, about things like sentence structures that students may need instruction in and practice with to comprehend independently). when it comes to the literal, basic understanding of a text, the model of reading pedagogy i was taught has about 6 million little "tools" that all boil down to telling kids who functionally can't read to try harder to read. this is not productive, in my experience and opinion, for kids whose maximum effort persistently yields confusion. but things are so dysfunctional all the way up and down the ladder that you can be a senior in college majoring in english without anyone but a pair of professors with a strong work ethic noticing that you can't actually read.

couple other notes:

obviously it's a small study but i'm not sure i see a reason to believe these are particularly outlierish results (ACT scores - an imperfect metric but not a meritless one IMO for reading specifically, where the task mostly really is to read a set of texts written for the educated layperson and answer factual questions about them - were a little bit above the national average)

the study was published last year, but the research was conducted january to april 2015. so there's no pandemic influence, no AI issue - these are millennials who now would span roughly ages 28-32 (i guess it's possible one of the four first-year students was one of the very first members of gen z lol). if you're in your late 20s or early 30s, we are talking about people your age, and whatever the culprit is here, it was happening when you were in school.

i think some people might want to blame this on NCLB but i find this unconvincing for a variety of reasons. first of all, NCLB did not pass because everyone in 2001 agreed that education was super hunky-dory; in fact, the sold a story podcast outlines how an explicit goal of NCLB was to train teachers in systematic phonics instruction, because that was not the norm when NCLB was passed, and an unfortunate outcome was that phonics became politicized in ed world. second, anyone who understands anything about reading should need about ten minutes max to spend some time on standardized test prep and recognize that if your goal is truly to maximize scores... then the vast majority of your instructional time should be spent on improving actual reading skills because you actually can't meaningfully game these tests by "practicing main idea questions" (timothy shanahan addresses this briefly near the top of this post). so i find it very difficult to believe that any school that pivoted to multiple choice drill time in an attempt to boost reading scores was teaching reading effectively pre-NCLB, because no set of competent literacy professionals would think that would work even for the goal of raising test scores. third, NCLB mandated yearly testing in grades 3-8 but only one test year in high school; kansas set its reading and math test year in high school as tenth grade. so theoretically these kids all had two years of sweet sweet freedom from NCLB in which their teachers could have done whatever the fuck they wanted to teach these kids to actually read. the fact that they didn't suggests perhaps there were other problems afoot. fourth, and maybe most saliently for this particular study, the sample text was the first seven paragraphs of a novel - in other words, the exact kind of short incomplete text that NCLB allegedly demanded excessive time spent on. i'm not really sure what universe it makes sense in that students who can't read the first seven paragraphs of a novel would have become much better reader if everything else had been the same but they had been making completely wack associations based on nonsense guesses for all 300 pages instead. (if you read the study it's really clear that for problematic readers, things go off the rails immediately, in a way that a good program targeted at teaching mastery of text of 500 words or less would have done something about.)

all but 3 of the students reported A's and B's in their english classes and, again, 69% of them are juniors and seniors, so like... i mean idk kudos to these professors for being like "hold up can these kids actually read?" but clearly something is wack at the college level too [in 2015] if you can make your way through nearly an entire english major without being able to read the first seven paragraphs of a dickens novel. (once again i really do encourage you to look at the qualitative samples in the study, lest you think i am being uncharitable by summarizing understandable misunderstandings or areas of confusion that may resolve themselves with further exposure to the text as "can't read.") not to mention the fact that most students could not what they had learned in previous or current english classes and when asked to name british and american authors and/or works of the nineteenth century, roughly half the sample at each college could name at most one.

the authors of the study are struck by the fact that students who cannot parse the first 3 sentences of bleak house feel very confident about their ability to read the entire novel, and discover that this seeming disconnect is resolved by the fact that these students seem to conceptualize "reading" as "skimming and then reading sparknotes." i think it's really tempting to Kids These Days this phenomenon (although again these are people who in some cases have now been in the workforce for a decade) and categorize it as laziness or a lack of effort, but i think that there is, as i described above, a real and sincere confusion over what "reading" is in which this makes a certain logical sense because it's not like they have some store of actual reading experiences to compare it to. i also think it's pretty obvious looking at just how wildly severed from actual textual comprehension their readings are that these are not - or at least not entirely - students who could just work harder and master the entirety of bleak house all on their own. like i don't think you get from "charles dickens is describing a bunch of dinosaur bones actually walking the streets of london" to comfortably reading nineteenth century literature by just trying harder. i really just don't (and i say that acknowledging i personally have had students who like... were good readers if i was forcing them to work at it constantly... but i have also had students, including ones getting ready to enter college, who were clearly giving me everything they had and what they had was at the present moment insufficient). i think that speaks to a missing skillset that they don't know are missing, because they don't have any other experience of "reading" to compare it to.

just wanna highlight again that although they don't give the breakdown some of these students are not just english majors but english education majors a.k.a. the high school english teachers of tomorrow. some of them may be teaching high school english right now, in case anyone wishes to consider whether "maybe some high school english teachers can't read the first seven paragraphs of bleak house?" should be kept in mind when we discuss present-day educational ills.

[lolab4t]

off duty - part two | 18+

MINORS DNI

ᝰ.ᐟ this is part two of off duty! the first part didn't include smut, but this one does, so please keep that in mind.

pairing: avenger!bucky barnes x fem!avenger!younger!reader summary: days after the tipsy night on the couch, you're left wondering what it meant... especially with bucky acting infuriatingly normal. the tension leads to a steamy exchange between the two, where bucky seems to let go of his gentleman manners for a bit. word count: 8.2k warning(s): 18+ explicit content warning, smut, mature themes, light swearing, some power dynamics, alcohol consumption/intoxication (references to past use), fluff, use of nicknames, age gap, mutual confusion a/n: if you saw the original part two before i deleted it... no u didn't :) i was so shocked by the love of the first part and was super unprepared to make a second, so i made a few indecisive choice lol. i really hope you enjoy :) and if you do, please feel free to like, comment, or reblog! <3 also, requests are open!

a few days had passed since that night on the sofa. it was almost as if it had never happened. you were spiraling, wondering if you had imagined it during your drunken haze. you kept replaying that night on the couch, unsure if it was real or some alcohol-fueled fantasy. the only confirmation? the team’s constant teasing.

but bucky? that asshole was silent as ever.

bucky never reacted. he simply ignored the comments. even when the group had found you on the couch and battered you with questions, his expression remained neutral, as if he had no reason to feel awkward. the amount of comments made by tony that he just brushed off was impressive. you, on the other hand, were a flustered, hungover mess.

not to mention you hadn’t really talked to bucky much since then.

well, you had… technically. a few "good mornings," maybe a nod across the gym… nothing that really counted. nothing that explained any of the tension. maybe he was just being friendly, and you misread it. but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was different in the way he acted around you. he started sitting closer during movie nights… he'd taunt you and give you a playful smirk every time you so much as tripped on a training mat. it was such a stark difference to how he treated you before that night. he was treating you like a friend, which made you consider whether you wanted him to treat you as something more or not. whether you wanted his hands on you again…

now, you found yourself still in your gear after a mission, standing in front of your mirror. you had been struggling with the straps of your vest, too exhausted to deal with any of it. the fabric was tight, and the clasps just wouldn’t come undone.

you hadn’t even realized bucky was standing in the doorway, watching you, until he stood in front of you.

he likely had heard your grunts of frustration and came to check on you. perfect asshole.

"having trouble?" he gently started removing the straps, helping you out of your gear slowly.

was he doing this on purpose? could he not tell how your breathing became more shallow when he did shit like that? maybe he was torturing you.

"why do you always seem to be helping me out of clothing?" you asked, not realizing how dirty-minded it actually sounded until he snickered, causing your face to go red.

god… he's so hot when he makes that smug ass face.

"you know what i mean—" you rushed to clarify, but he was already smirking.

"you mean those pretty little heels from the other night?" he chuckled, putting your gear away. he turned back to you, closing the distance a little, "you remember that?"

so, you hadn't imagined it. it had actually happened. all this time, he had thought you didn’t remember… you felt a little relieved.

how could you NOT remember? you couldn't look at him all week without feeling yourself get hot.

the adrenaline from his closeness caused your head to swim a bit, "of course i do, 'doll.' i was tipsy, not blackout drunk," you smirked, meeting his gaze, refusing to look away.

bucky grinned, watching you with an amused expression.

"really? you could've fooled me. i thought you forgot the whole thing, or were pretending to."

"what's that supposed to mean?" you narrowed your eyes, still smiling subtly.

you would've never wanted to forget it.

he hummed, "i dunno. you've just been acting kind of distant since that night. you're a little young. thought i might've went too far."

went too far? hell, he didn't go far enough.

you scoffed playfully, tilting your head, "you scared of me or something, old man?"

you didn't think your next words through, unable to stop yourself from just saying what you were thinking, "you didn't go far enough…" your voice came out as a whisper.

you could see that cocky look in his eyes start to break. he bit his lip, shaking his head, "you're killing me, doll. here i am trying to be a gentleman…"

his smirk returned as he stepped closer, "unless you'd like me to stop trying."

all you had to do was give him a nod before his lips smashed onto yours.

the kiss was heated and rough. his hands were roaming all over your body, your fingers tangling into his hair.

he groaned into your mouth, one hand gripping your hip while the other wrapped around the back of your neck like he’d been dying to do this for weeks.

"this what you wanted, doll?" he murmured against your lips. you could feel the smirk.

"i want more," you breathed, gripping onto his shoulders.

his metal hand slid beneath your combat gear top, fingers tracing up your spine. cool against the heat of your skin. his touch was teasing. almost maddeningly slow.

"you sure you can handle more, sweetheart?" he whispered into your neck, lips brushing skin with every word. "you're already shaking."

you were. damn it. the adrenaline rush was affecting you physically.

"shut up," you muttered, trying to push at his chest — not really meaning it. “asshole.”

“that’s more like it,” he grinned. “that’s my girl.”

my girl.

your breath caught.

he noticed. of course he did. you could practically feel his cocky smirk against your neck.

bucky pulled back just enough to look at you again, eyes flicking across your face. you could see the restraint in his eyes… like he was holding himself back, waiting for a sign.

so you gave him one.

one hand slid under his shirt, palms grazing the lines of his abs. your other hand fiddled with his belt. you leaned in, kissed him slow, more deliberate this time. no rush. no panic. just want. desire.

he responded instantly, like he’d been waiting for this since that night on the sofa. his hands gripped your waist, walking you backward until your shoulder blades hit the nearest wall.

“tell me to stop,” he murmured against your lips, voice ragged.

you didn’t. obviously.

instead, you dragged his shirt up over his head. that vibranium arm came to rest on the wall beside your head, bracing him, and you, as he pressed closer. the cool of the metal contrasted with the heat of his body, and it made you shiver.

he smiled against your jaw. “still shaking.”

"still an asshole." you snapped back, slightly breathless.

his hand traveled under your top again, “you’re not wearing anything under this,” he muttered, almost like he was scolding himself. “young people these days…” he joked, grinning again.

“then don’t waste time,” you said breathlessly, tugging at his belt.

that did it.

sloppy make out. hands everywhere. your shirt joined his on the floor.

he guided you to the bed, carefully, like he was still asking permission with every step. even in the heat of it, he was gentle. attentive. like if he didn’t handle you right, you’d vanish. still a perfect gentleman.

once there, he wasted no time. he helped you out of your pants, pulling your panties off with them. hovering above you, he moved down, closer to where you needed him most.

“you’re beautiful,” he murmured into your inner thighs, almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

“bucky—” you breathed, fingers tangling in his hair again as you felt his tongue on your clit.

the way he moved was practiced, but not detached. it was about you. every reaction he pulled from you only made him more desperate, more focused. it wasn’t long before your voice was breaking on his name, back arching off the mattress as he took you apart with nothing but his mouth.

when he finally came up for air, pupils blown, lips swollen, hair messy from your fingers… he simply smirked.

god... he was killing you.

“still want more?”

you nodded, dazed. “god, yes.”

he crawled back over you, leaving a trail of gentle kisses on your skin in his wake.

and when he finally sank into you — need seemed to claw through the both of you, hot and impatient.

not rushed, but there was urgency.

it built slowly until you were unraveling in his arms, and he followed with a groan against your throat.

he held onto you like he had done on the couch that night. when you had fallen asleep in his arms.

for a while, you just lay there, both letting out laughs of disbelief.

"guess chivalry is dead," you joked, flashing him a mischievous smile.

"oh, really?" he gave you an amused grin. "i tried to be a gentleman. you told me to stop trying."

thanks so much for reading <3 requests are open!

taglist: @delfitaylorsversion131989 @planetzeidy @weniswow @moinblack @slutforsr @winchestert101

[butyoudidthis4what]

Teaser for No Man's Land Part 3

HELLO!

My ADHD really ADHDed and today while I was looking back for continuity purposes I read the part of No Man's Land Part 3 that I was going to use for the little teaser/spoiler and realized I totally fucking spaced actually posting it. I'm so sorry!!!

Here she is now though! I have not proofread/edited at all. If you see the West Wing reference, thank you.

I know the wait for Part 3 has been long and I'm so sorry, I am really trying to have it out sometime Tuesday night, maybe Wednesday, and then I will start Quiet Part 2. Thank you guys so much for your patience and support, it truly means the world to me and gives me so much inspiration and motivation! I promise I am working hard to get it all out!

If you haven't read Parts 1 and 2 but would like to you can find Part 1 here and Part 2 here. I will post the entire bit under the cut! I'm not going to tag since this is just a small teaser/spoiler.

I like how he looks from behind:

It comes up fairly early on, while you and Jack are both still at home and chatting about wedding stuff one night. You’re on the couch with your head in Jack’s lap, attention split between the show you put on TV, listening to Jack think out loud while he does the crossword and scrolling Pinterest.

“Four words lead to this declaration.” Jack has the crossword on the armrest of the couch, his left hand intermittently resting gently on the side of your neck, thumb brushing over your cheekbone, or on your arm. He clicks his pen in thought. Because of course he does the crossword in pen. “Three letters. Nothing filled in.” You hum in acknowledgment at him, your way of saying you’ll think.

 “Pennsylvania recognizes self-uniting marriages. We could just marry ourselves,” you suggest.

“We could, yeah.” You turn your head and look up at Jack after he says it. There’s something on his mind. “Five letter word for blowhard.”

“Storm,” you both say at the same time, share a little laugh about it. You sit up and Jack makes a little noise of discontent. 

“I’m staying right here, don’t worry,” you tell him as you curl up next to him and wrap your arms around his left upper arm. “You don’t want that.” It’s half question half sentence. You’re trying to give him the space and opportunity to say what he’s thinking about who he’d like to marry you. 

“I, no. It’s not that I don’t want that or that I wouldn’t love that.” He shakes his head.

You give him a second. “But you’d prefer something else? Someone else?” An imperceptible nod. 

“It’s going to sound stupid.” 

“I sincerely doubt that.” You give him an encouraging smile.

Jack clicks his pen a couple of times before turning to really look at you. “I was thinking, what if we asked Robby? I know he’d have to do the whole getting ordained online thing, but…” Jack trails off for a second. “He just, before you, before I had you, Michael saved my life more than once. Metaphorically speaking. And he’s saved your life. Literally. And he’s my best friend and I don’t know. It just felt like maybe it was right.”

A slow smile pulls up on your face, all gooey and in love. “I think that feels perfect.”

“Really?” Jack raises his eyebrows at you. He’s not really shocked per se, it’s just one of those moments where it falls out of his mouth. 

“Really.” You nod. “I know how much he means to you. He means a lot to me too. You know the whole saving my life thing.” You lean in and give Jack a kiss on the cheek. 

“Okay,” Jack nods with you. “We’ll have to find a time to ask him, decide how I guess.”

“I have confidence that we will figure it out. We have time.” You squeeze Jack’s arm and then pull away, start to go back to the position you were in. 

“I do,” you say as you settle your head back on Jack’s lap.  

“A little premature, but I love to hear it.” Jack smirks at you as you look up at him. 

“The crossword clue.” You playfully roll your eyes at him. “Four words lead to this declaration. The answer is I do. The four words are ‘will you marry me.’”

You end up deciding to do it at the Pitt one day. 

You considered planning it and asking to do dinner and make it a thing but that all felt a little too formal and almost pretentious. It didn’t fit. Doing it on the fly while he was working felt right. 

“Can we talk to you?” Jack asks Robby, you standing next to him holding his hand. Jack just finished his day shift at eleven thirty in the evening, had you come to the hospital around seven just in case he got off on time. You chilled in the break room the last four and half or so hours, chatting with people as they came and went. 

Robby looks between the two of you. “This feels ominous.” 

“Yes or no question Michael.” Jack deadpans. 

“Jack!” You chide him a little, but your smirk belies you.

“I’m sorry,” Jack mutters, “can we please talk to you?”

Robby rolls his eyes at Jack calling him by his real name. “Yes. I suppose you can.” 

“Thanks Robby!” You smile at him. 

Robby thinks it’s odd. You seem almost nervous and so does Jack, but Jack is harder to read at the moment. The shift he just finished was the last on his run and he didn’t get off within four hours of when he was supposed to a single one of those three shifts. Plus this shift was particularly trying. Between all of that and him still adjusting to being back he’s exhausted. It makes him even harder than usual to read.

“In here,” Jack nods, opens the door to the family room. 

“Okay, you guys are kind of freaking me out because this is ominous and now you’re taking me into a room where we tell family members their loved ones have died.” 

“It’s not bad, I promise.” You try to smile at him reassuringly. Robby nods at you like he doesn’t quite believe you as he sits down in one of the chairs, you and Jack taking the two across from him. 

“So.” You clear your throat. “Obviously you know we’re getting married.” You hold up your left hand and flash the ring at him, which pulls a little smile from Robby. 

“Robby,” Jack starts. But he stops. He looks emotional, like this is a hard conversation to have but not because it’s bad but because it means something. Jack takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Michael,” he starts again, earning a slight eyebrow raise from Robby because of the tone, “we were wondering if you would consider getting ordained and officiating our wedding. If you, if you’d marry us?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I hope you enjoyed, and hope you will enjoy reading the full Part 3 once it is up!!

The blowhard and storm crossword clue and answer are from the West Wing.

Interact with this post to get on my Jack tag list!

[readingkitty22]

You Were Mine First

Pairing: Alpha! Satoru Gojo x Omega! Reader

description: Gojo Satoru has been everything to you since childhood: your rival, your protector, your closest friend. And always, quietly, something more. From scraped knees to training matches, whispered confidences to shared silence, your lives have always been tangled.When Gojo and Suguru present early as powerful Alphas, and you, later, as a rare Omega, everything changes. Suddenly you're no longer invisible, no longer “just” a friend. You’re desirable. Vulnerable. A political asset to a lesser clan. And when your family arranges a match, Gojo reaches his limit.Because he’s the strongest and he’s always known one truth: You were his before anyone else had the right to say otherwise.

A slow-burn, childhood-friends-to-lovers saga set in an omegaverse where obsession brews quietly, affection runs deep, and nothing stands between Satoru and what he’s claimed.

⚠️Warnings Omegaverse dynamics (presentation, heats, bonding), possessive but not toxic Alpha behavior, sorta-explicit sexual content (18+), mild angst, arranged marriage elements, clan/political interference, emotional vulnerability, pregnancy references, mild language. No major character death. Emotional resolution and satisfying ending guaranteed.

w.c. 6.1k

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a/n: I am still SUPER new to this whole writing thing, but thank you all for liking and reblogging <3, I've been working on this little work for a bit and I'm still unsure about it. Hope y'all enjoy!

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

Age 6

The first time you met Satoru Gojo, he offered you the red crayon.

Not the broken one. Not the short, stubby piece every kid avoided. He handed you the longest, sharpest red crayon in the box like it meant something.

“You can draw the wards,” he said, like you were already part of the team.

Suguru smiled at you from where he sat cross-legged on the temple floor. “He doesn’t usually share that one.”

You glanced between them,two boys from powerful clans, both still too young to know what their futures would cost them. You weren’t like them. You knew that even then. You were from a lower clan of healers, support staff. Useful, not vital.

But Gojo just tilted his head and said, “You’re gonna be around a lot, right?” You nodded. “Then you should start with the best color.”

And just like that, you were part of their world.

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

The three of you claimed a disused storehouse as your base. You brought juice boxes and old charms. Suguru brought manga. Gojo brought chalk and spelled salt he wasn’t supposed to have.

You were eight the first time he laid his head in your lap.

“I don’t get headaches,” he said softly, like he was surprised. “But I do when I’m around too many people. You’re… quieter.”

“Quieter how?” you asked.

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked up at you with those strange blue eyes, too bright for someone so tired.

“Like breathing near you is easier.”

When Suguru fell asleep with a comic book on his chest, Gojo scooted closer to you, drawing lazy circles on the floor with his chalk.

“I think we should make a pact,” he said.

You blinked. “What kind of pact?”

“We stick together. No matter what.” He glanced at Suguru. Then at you. “No matter who we grow up to be.”

You didn’t say anything at first. But you reached out and gently pressed the red crayon to the back of his hand like a seal.

He smiled, soft and secret.

And in the years that followed,when instincts started pulling you in strange, dangerous directions,he would always come back to that moment. The red crayon. Your touch. The feeling of safety he’d never find anywhere else.

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

Age 9

The shrine courtyard buzzed with late summer heat and the soft clatter of ceremonial prep,silk slippers on wood, hushed chanting, incense curling in the air like smoke from a dream.

You weren’t meant to be at the front.

Technically, neither was Gojo.

You were helping your aunt with the offerings,sprigs of purifying herbs, tied together with rice paper and string. It was busy work, meant to keep the lesser clan kids out of the way.

But you caught sight of him before the ceremony started,white hair mussed by the wind, half-buttoned yukata, sunglasses tucked into his collar instead of worn.

He grinned when he saw you.

“I snuck out of greeting duties. Suguru's covering for me.” He leaned close, whispering like it was a secret. “Said I had to ‘see the herbs in action.’ Very scientific.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t tell him to leave. You never really did.

It happened fast.

One of the elders from a visiting clan,tall, grim-faced, the kind of man who wore tradition like armor,caught you whispering over the offering baskets.

“Too noisy,” he snapped, voice like cracked ice. “This isn’t a playground.”

You dropped your head in a half-bow, voice quiet. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“You’re distracting the real assistants.” He stepped forward, hand twitching toward your shoulder. “Leave, child.”

You didn’t move.

Gojo did.

He stepped between you so smoothly, so silently, it almost didn’t register until the man’s hand stopped mid-air, just shy of his chest.

“She’s with me,” Gojo said. Calm. Clear. Unapologetic.

The elder narrowed his eyes. “This is a sacred rite. She is unqualified.”

Gojo didn’t flinch. “She’s mine to watch over.”

It wasn’t possessive,not quite. Not yet. Just... matter-of-fact.

The words hung in the air like static.

The elder backed off without another word.

Later, walking back down the stone steps with your sleeves bundled in your arms and sweat damp on your brow, you caught Gojo watching you from the corner of his eye.

“Why’d you do that?” you asked. “He wasn’t going to hurt me.”

Gojo shrugged. “Didn’t like the way he looked at you.”

You waited for him to tease. To make it a joke. But he didn’t.

Instead, he reached out and tugged a leaf from your hair. His fingers brushed your temple,so light, so careful,and he looked down at the crumpled sprig in his hand like it had done something wrong.

“Next time,” he murmured, almost too quiet to hear, “just stand behind me.”

And something deep in your chest,something instinctive, old, nameless,settled quietly into place.

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

Age 13

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the training field. The air was warm but still, almost too still, as though the world was holding its breath.

You didn’t understand why Gojo insisted on this early-morning training session. You had no intention of trying to compete with him today,not when his cursed energy felt like it was vibrating in the air itself.

“Focus, focus,” he said lightly, jumping into a crouch. His hands were relaxed, casual, like he wasn’t preparing to unleash the full force of his power at any moment. But the air felt too tight, and even Suguru, ever the grounded one, was glancing sideways at Gojo in an unspoken exchange.

Then it happened,without warning.

Gojo’s cursed energy exploded, a wild burst of power that cracked the earth beneath him. A shriek of wind shot through the field. You stumbled back, caught off guard by the sheer intensity of it. Suguru’s eyes widened, but he wasn’t surprised.

You were used to this,used to Gojo’s strength, to his overwhelming presence. But this… this was different.

“Whoa!” Gojo laughed, standing tall and grinning, as if he hadn’t just nearly torn the air in half. He was practically glowing, the sheer magnitude of his power both terrifying and beautiful. “Guess it’s official, huh?”

Suguru didn’t say anything, just walked over to him and set a hand on his shoulder, eyes flicking toward the distance like he was waiting for something.

“Yeah,” Gojo said, lowering his voice. “Guess it is.”

And then, just like that, the storm subsided. Gojo grinned again, as if it was nothing. He’d presented as an Alpha, raw and potent, the kind of power that left a permanent mark on the world. It had been so fast, so quiet, but so intense.

You watched him with a mixture of awe and concern, but before you could speak, Suguru was already turning to face you, his gaze soft but knowing.

“I knew it was coming,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “His energy’s always been too big for anything else.”

You nodded, unsure what to say.

A week later, Geto presented.

His was quieter than Gojo’s,his energy more controlled, restrained. It didn’t have the explosive violence Gojo’s did, but there was something just as intimidating in the way it rippled under his skin. Geto always seemed like the kind of person who would wait until the world was watching before he made his move and when he presented, that’s exactly what he did.

It was subtle. It was almost… calm.

But there was no mistake. He was an Alpha.

When Geto met Gojo’s eyes from across the field, he raised an eyebrow, and a slow, amused smile crept across his face. “Guess we’re both officially off the market now, huh?”

Gojo laughed loud, easy, like the universe was his to control. “About time,” he said, smirking in that way that made everyone around him feel both invited and terrified.

It started quietly.

You were sitting under the old cherry blossom tree, half-listening to Suguru talk about a recent mission while Gojo made cranes out of your lunch napkin. It was normal,comfortable.

Until it wasn’t.

At first, it was just a lingering glance. Then two. And then you felt it,noticed it. The way people were looking at you. Students who’d never said a word to you before. Instructors passing too slowly in the hall. A lingering, curious sharpness in the air.

Like they could smell something shifting.

Suguru noticed it before you did. His head turned toward you slowly, eyes narrowing, calculating. Then his expression softened, something sad and fond flickering across his face.

“…You presented,” he said quietly, like he was speaking a truth you hadn’t caught up to yet.

Your lips parted, confusion still thick in your chest.

Gojo sat upright in a second. His napkin crane crumpled in his lap.

The moment he caught your scent,really caught it,you saw it hit him like a wave. Not with hunger, not with something feral. With something… stunned. Like he’d been punched in the ribs by the universe.

His pupils contracted. Then dilated.

No words. Just pressure.

Suguru said it for both of them. “An Omega…”

Gojo’s jaw flexed.

Among jujutsu sorcerers, Omegas were rare. Especially rare in active bloodlines,your kind burned too hot, cursed energy tangled with instinct too violently. Most faded into support roles. Some were hidden by their clans, used for arranged bonds. And some… disappeared entirely.

You swallowed hard, suddenly aware of just how exposed you felt.

Your scent was faint for now,still settling,but the students around you weren’t stupid. They’d start to recognize it soon. The way Alpha instincts shifted in your direction. The tilt of a head. The tightening of a jaw. The challenge in a stare.

And through it all, Gojo just looked at you.

Not with pity.

Not with fear.

But like he’d just remembered something he’d sworn to himself long ago: Mine to watch over.

Only now… it meant something else.

The next day at Jujutsu Tech felt different.

You tried to ignore it. Tried to walk the same path to class. Keep your shoulders relaxed. Pretend the weight of your uniform hadn’t suddenly become too tight across your chest. But the air knew.

So did everyone else.

It wasn’t even subtle.

The moment you stepped into the classroom, conversations slowed. Heads turned. And though no one said it out loud, their stares pressed against your skin like heat,That’s the Omega.

You weren’t the first in school history, of course. But you were the only one currently in circulation. Most Omegas were quietly moved to private training or matched with a pre-approved bond by their clan before it ever got this far.

You? You were still here.

And that made you… vulnerable.

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

The worst part wasn’t the whispers.

It was the way some of the older students lingered a little too long in the halls. One of them,someone from a mid-tier clan you barely knew,bumped your arm in the corridor, leaned in a little too close.

“You smell different,” he murmured, eyes raking across your face like he had a right to look at you.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t have to. Because before you could move, someone was already there.

Gojo’s voice was flat. “Touch her again.”

The boy turned, surprised. “Gojo—hey, I didn’t—”

“Touch her again,” Gojo repeated, low and cold, “and I’ll decorate the hallway with your teeth.”

There was no smile. No sunglasses. Just Gojo Satoru standing very, very still, his cursed energy curling around his shoulders like a stormcloud.

The boy backed off fast, muttering something under his breath as he disappeared down the corridor.

Gojo didn’t move.

He didn’t even look at you.

Not until Suguru came up behind him and said quietly, “You’re making a scene.”

That snapped him out of it. Gojo shoved his hands in his pockets and walked off, not looking back.

That night, Suguru walked you back to your dorm.

He didn’t say much at first. Just let the silence stretch between you like a thread.

Then, softly: “You okay?”

You nodded. “I didn’t think it would feel like this.”

Suguru didn’t smile. But his voice was gentle. “It’s not your fault people are idiots.”

You looked up at him, biting the inside of your cheek. “Is he mad?”

“Gojo?” He huffed. “Gojo’s losing his mind.”

“…Why?”

Suguru tilted his head at you like you were being ridiculous. “Because you’re you. And now, everyone sees it.”

You swallowed hard.

“He’s trying not to act like it’s bothering him,” Suguru added, almost too casually. “But you’re an unmated Omega in a school full of Alphas. You’ve been close with us since you were six. What do you think he’s feeling?”

You stopped walking.

Suguru paused too, then looked over his shoulder, something fond flickering behind his eyes.

“Just… don’t be surprised if he doesn’t handle this very well.”

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

You couldn’t sleep.

The day had clung to your skin,stares like needles, voices too loud and too soft at the same time. Even Suguru’s calming presence hadn’t helped this time. You’d spent hours turning over what Suguru said about Gojo in your head.

You’re an unmated Omega in a school full of Alphas. You’ve been close with us since you were six. What do you think he’s feeling?

You needed air.

The rooftop was quiet this late. The wind was cool, brushing over your skin like a sigh. You curled your arms around your knees, sitting beneath the narrow lip of the railing. It was one of the only places in the school that still felt yours.

So when Gojo’s voice broke the silence behind you, your whole body jumped.

“Thought I’d find you here.”

You turned.

He didn’t look like himself. No sunglasses. Hair messy. His uniform half shrugged off one shoulder, like he’d thrown it on without thinking.

He crossed the rooftop, quiet for once, and sat down next to you with a grunt. 

You both stared out at the campus.

The silence wasn’t awkward. Not really. But it was charged,a careful kind of quiet, like both of you knew what was sitting between you but neither had the courage to name it.

Finally, he asked: “How bad was it today?”

You hesitated. Then: “I’m handling it.”

“Don’t.”

You blinked, surprised.

“Don’t lie to me,” he said. Not angry. Just… quiet. “I saw your face after that guy touched you. You hated it.”

You dropped your gaze.

Gojo leaned back on his elbows, eyes toward the stars. “I’ve wanted to break a lot of people’s noses lately.”

You smiled. A real one.

Then, after a long moment: “Is it weird?”

He looked at you. “What?”

“That I’m… like this now.”

Gojo didn’t answer right away. When he did, it was soft. Careful.

“You’ve always been like this,” he said. “You’re just… more obvious now.”

You turned toward him. His expression was unreadable. Still boyish, still beautiful. But something in his eyes was older, heavier.

“It’s not weird,” he said, voice low. “It’s dangerous. For them.”

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

Gojo looked away. His mouth twitched,not a smirk. A defense.

“I mean,” he said, “if one more person looks at you like they deserve you, I’m going to forget I’m supposed to be playing nice.”

Something deep in your chest curled up at that. Warm and sharp and aching.

You didn’t say anything. Neither did he.

But you stayed there. Sitting close enough that your arms touched, listening to the wind and the distant buzz of lights. He didn’t reach for you. You didn’t lean in.

But his presence wrapped around you like a barrier.

And when you finally laid your head on his shoulder, he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. Just sat there, frozen and burning, until his voice,so quiet,broke through the night.

“I won’t let anyone take you.”

And he meant it.

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

Age 16

Three years made a difference.

Gojo had always been tall, always been powerful. But now he filled a room before he even stepped into it. Every Alpha on campus carried weight, but he carried gravity. He didn’t just stand out; he distorted everything around him. People moved when he walked past. Students whispered in the halls after he’d gone, like his presence left a burn mark on the floor.

And you… started noticing things you hadn’t before.

It was the way he laughed too loud at his own jokes. The way he chewed his gum and flicked his wrist to push up his blindfold with lazy confidence. The way people stepped aside, but he always reached back,waited for you to follow.

He still walked you home. Still saved your favorite snacks. Still rolled his eyes when Suguru got too philosophical and threw paper balls at his head during lecture.

But it wasn’t the same anymore.

One day, during sparring drills, you caught yourself staring,not because he was flashy, not because of his technique. But because he moved like lightning trapped in a boy’s skin. Fluid. Dangerous. Beautiful.

When he caught your eye across the mat, something flickered there,recognition. Like he knew.

He looked away first.

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

It got worse when you were paired for weapons class.

Gojo held the bokken with casual ease, his grin tilted just enough to be cocky. “Try not to fall for me during this, okay?”

You rolled your eyes, heart doing something it definitely shouldn’t.

The duel was fast, brutal, and completely unfair. He pulled his hits, of course,but even restrained, Gojo moved like he was born to be worshipped. Your body reacted before your brain did, drawn to him on instinct. Not just the Alpha scent, not just the power.

It was him.

After the match, breathless and warm, you met his eyes across the mat.

He looked at you like he’d been waiting.

Later, in the quiet of your dorm, you pressed your hand over your chest. Your pulse hadn’t slowed. You could still feel the heat in your cheeks, the echo of his voice, low and amused:

“You’re stronger than most of the boys that try to flirt with you, y’know that?”

You hadn’t said anything at the time. Just stared at him, too aware of his height, the closeness of his breath.

Three years ago, he would’ve teased you. Tugged on your sleeve. Laughed it off.

But now, Gojo Satoru just stood there, watching you like the only reason he hadn’t made a move was because he wasn’t allowed to yet.

And for the first time, you wondered what would happen if he did.

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

You’d been aware of the stares for weeks.

But today, it shifted. Bolder. Louder.

Someone from the Zenin branch house,older, polished, confident,cornered you after class. He wasn’t rude. He was respectful. That made it worse.

“I was wondering,” he said smoothly, “if you’d consider lunch together this week. I know it’s sudden, but—”

You didn’t get to answer.

Gojo’s cursed energy hit the hallway like a wave.

It was subtle enough to be deniable. Just a tightness in the air, like the pressure drop before lightning. Your would-be suitor faltered mid-sentence. He turned his head slightly, met Gojo’s smile from a few feet away.

Cool. Polite. Murderous.

“Am I interrupting?” Gojo asked, voice light, eyes unreadable beneath his blindfold.

You opened your mouth to say no, but your classmate already took a full step back. “Of course not. Excuse me.”

He left like the air was on fire.

You glared. “Satoru.”

“What?” He blinked, innocently. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Gojo shrugged and leaned against the wall beside you, shoulder brushing yours. “Can’t blame a guy for hanging around when weirdos keep showing up.”

“They’re not weirdos,” you muttered.

He didn’t respond. Just stood there, close enough to smell, his body language casual. But the tension in him? Coiled. Hot. Barely contained.

Later that night, Suguru found him behind the training hall, still burning off energy with a practice staff, moving like he wanted something to bleed.

“You gonna kill every guy who talks to her?” Suguru asked, arms crossed.

Gojo didn’t look at him. “Only the ones who think they deserve her.”

Suguru exhaled slowly. “You can’t keep doing this.”

“She’s not bonded.”

“She’s not yours either.”

That finally made Gojo pause.

Suguru stepped closer. “I’m saying this as your friend, not hers. You’re not exactly subtle, Satoru.”

Gojo wiped sweat from his jaw. “Why should I be?”

“Because if the clans start noticing how you look at her, they’re going to act on it. You’re not just Gojo, you’re the Six Eyes Alpha. That makes her a target.”

Gojo’s expression shifted,still, sharp, deadly quiet.

“She’s already a target,” he said. “I’m just making sure everyone knows she’s protected.”

Suguru stared at him for a moment longer. Then he sighed.

“I’m not telling you to stop. I’m telling you to be careful.”

He walked away, his words still hanging in the air.

That night, Gojo didn’t sleep.

He sat outside your dorm window,hidden, silent,listening to your breathing just to make sure you were safe.

His hands trembled, just a little.

He wasn’t sure how much longer he could pretend this was only protection.

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

Age 18

It started with a letter.

You knew what it was the second you saw the envelope,hand-delivered, pressed with your clan’s seal. Thick, ceremonial, and cold.

Suguru’s eyes skimmed it over your shoulder as you sat in the common room. “You’re not opening that here, are you?”

You hesitated. “I already know what it says.”

They wanted to arrange a match.

A high-ranking Alpha from a politically advantageous family. One with “stability, long-term potential, and no history of excessive aggression.” Their words, not yours.

Your clan didn’t say Gojo Satoru’s name, but you could feel him in every line of that letter. The pressure to bond. The underlying threat of not doing so. You were an Omega of age. Delaying your mating was drawing attention.

It wasn’t a request.

You didn’t tell Gojo right away.

But he knew something was wrong.

You were quieter. Distracted. Distant.

He cornered you after sparring, chest heaving from the workout, a line of sweat curling down the side of his neck. He pulled off his blindfold,blue eyes sharp and worried.

“What’s going on?”

You shook your head. “It’s fine.”

“You’re a bad liar.”

You tried to brush past him. He moved. Blocking your way with barely a shift of his body, not touching you, but too close to ignore.

“Satoru—”

“Tell me.”

So you did.

His expression didn’t change at first. Then, very slowly, something froze in his jaw. A muscle ticked. His hands clenched at his sides like he was trying very hard not to break something.

“What’s his name?” he asked, too calm.

You didn’t answer.

His voice dropped. “They’re trying to pull you out of Jujutsu Tech.”

You swallowed. “They think it’s safer.”

“No,” he said flatly. “They think you’re vulnerable. And they think I won’t do anything about it.”

You tried to reach for his arm. “You can’t—”

He stepped back.

Not from you. From himself.

“I can’t protect you from them,” he said, voice hoarse. “Not unless you let me.”

You blinked. “What does that mean?”

Gojo looked at you,really looked. And for once, he didn’t joke. Didn’t deflect. Just stared like you were the only thing anchoring him to the ground.

“It means I want you,” he said. “I’ve always wanted you.”

Silence.

“I thought I could wait,” he went on. “I thought if I kept quiet, if I gave you space, maybe you’d choose me on your own.”

You couldn’t breathe.

“But I’m not going to watch them take you away and pretend it doesn’t kill me.”

You stared at him. And then—

“You waited too long.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them. Soft. True.

Gojo’s breath caught.

But then you added, quieter:

“Do something about it.”

His restraint shattered.

Gojo stepped forward and kissed you like he’d been dying to do it for years,because he had. It wasn’t clean. It wasn’t sweet. It was messy, desperate, a dam breaking with your fingers tangled in his jacket and his hands gripping your hips like the only way he could hold himself together was by holding onto you.

He didn’t ask for permission.

You’d already given it.

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

The meeting was called under the pretense of “concern.” A gathering of clan representatives, a few staff from Jujutsu Tech, and of course your suitor’s family.

You weren’t supposed to be there. Omegas were rarely permitted to speak on their own behalf in these negotiations.

But you came anyway.

And Gojo was already seated at the head of the table when you arrived.

Not an empty seat. The seat.

His blindfold was gone. His uniform collar open. His posture relaxed in the way only the most dangerous people can afford to be. Casual, confident, and clearly amused.

“Didn’t realize we were having a party,” he said lazily, gaze sweeping over the gathered elders like they were ants on his shoe. “All this effort just to talk about my Omega?”

Your heart stopped.

So did the room.

A clan elder cleared their throat. “She is not—”

“She is,” Gojo interrupted, voice silk-wrapped steel. “She just hasn’t said it officially yet. But I’m sure you’d all agree it’d be wildly inappropriate to suggest an engagement when she’s already spoken for.”

The silence crackled.

The representative from your clan’s inner circle leaned forward, fingers laced. “With respect, Gojo-sama, no such bond has been confirmed. And while your attachment is clear, this matter concerns lineage, compatibility, and the safety of the Omega in question.”

“Safety?” Gojo echoed, smile thin. “I’m the strongest sorcerer alive. Tell me, which one of you thinks you can offer her better protection than me?”

No one answered.

The suitor’s father spoke next. “Your emotions are understandable, but our son has been vetted. He’s mature, politically sound, and has a reputation for stability—”

“And I,” Gojo cut in, “can vaporize a domain in under three seconds.”

He leaned forward then, elbows on the table, voice dropping into something colder.

“So here’s how this is going to go: you’re going to drop the proposal. You’re going to keep your politics away from her. And you’re going to do it quietly, so no one gets embarrassed. Or hurt. Or—worst of all—made an example of.”

A long pause.

“Is that a threat?” someone asked tightly.

Gojo smiled.

“It’s a promise.”

When the meeting adjourned, Gojo caught up to you in the corridor, like nothing happened. Like he hadn’t just threatened half the room without blinking.

“You’re insane,” you told him, heart racing.

“Insanely devoted, yeah,” he grinned. “Did you see their faces?”

“You basically declared war on my entire clan—”

“They started it,” he said, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “They came for what’s mine.”

You didn’t move.

“Am I?” you asked softly.

Gojo’s smile softened, all that sharpness folding inward, just for you.

“You’ve always been,” he said. “Even when you didn’t know it.”

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

Age 21

Living with Gojo Satoru was like sharing an apartment with a hurricane that made coffee in your favorite mug and left his socks on the ceiling.

The top floor of Jujutsu Tech’s private housing had been “technically unauthorized” when he moved you in, but no one was stupid enough to stop him. Suguru called it your castle, which wasn’t wrong. It was all open space, floor-to-ceiling windows, and way too many pillows.

You’d been dating,courting, by clan terms,for three years.

No bond yet. No mark.

Gojo waited. Even though you could feel it,how he watched you. How he barely held back when you kissed. How his cursed energy coiled around you when you wore his clothes or nuzzled your face into his scent gland in your sleep.

“I’m fine waiting,” he’d said once, hand tangled in your hair, voice soft against your throat. “As long as it’s me you’re waiting for.”

Suguru visited one night during golden hour. He brought food and stayed long after the takeout was cold, curled into a corner of your couch with his arms tucked under his sleeves.

Gojo practically draped himself over you, cheek resting on your shoulder, scent lazy and content. His fingers played absentmindedly with the hem of your shorts.

“Ugh,” Suguru said, grinning. “You’re disgusting.”

You hummed. “He’s just clingy.”

“She likes it,” Gojo mumbled into your neck.

“I tolerate it,” you corrected.

He nuzzled you, pleased.

Suguru shook his head. “You know, I was worried at first. Thought he’d suffocate you.”

You smirked. “He still might.”

Gojo just sighed dramatically. “Let me be in love in peace.”

Suguru’s smile dimmed a little,nostalgic. Quiet.

“She’s good for you.”

Gojo didn’t answer, but his fingers tightened on your thigh, just a little.

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

It happened on a rainy night.

No mission. No special event. Just you and him, alone in your shared bedroom, warm from the shower, tangled in sheets and scent and skin.

He kissed you like he always did,slow, sweet, tasting every noise you made. But when you arched into him, scent thick with heat and need, Gojo paused.

“Tell me,” he said, voice hoarse. “Tell me you want it.”

You reached up, cupping his face, fingers trembling.

“I want you to claim me.”

Blue eyes burned.

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve been sure since I was sixteen.”

His control cracked.

The kiss that followed was rougher, deeper,borderline desperate. His hands mapped your body like memorization wasn’t enough anymore. Your scent bloomed under his touch, sticky-sweet and wet with submission, but your eyes never left his.

You weren’t being taken.

You were giving yourself.

Gojo groaned, rut-heavy and shaking, and when he finally sank his canines into the spot just beneath your scent gland, the shock of the bond hit like a curse.

You cried out, hips jerking, body going molten and boneless under him. His cursed energy snapped, flooding through you, marking you.

Not just skin-deep.

Soul-deep.

He licked over the mark, reverent, voice rasping against your neck: “Mine. Mine. Mine.”

Your hands fisted in his hair.

“Yours,” you whispered. “Always.”

Afterward, he held you like he’d fall apart without you,arms around your waist, nose buried in your bond mark, still murmuring your name like a prayer.

When you drifted off, Gojo didn’t sleep.

He just watched you breathe.

His. Finally. Irrevocably.

And if the world tried to take you again?

Let it try.

⟡─────⟡─────⟡

Age 25

Years had passed since the world had first witnessed Gojo Satoru’s declaration of ownership over you. Since the day he'd practically claimed you, raw and unrestrained.

Since then, you and Gojo had built your lives,not just as partners, but as equals. You were stronger. He was more grounded. And the bond, always there, had deepened beyond what anyone outside the two of you could even fathom.

Your home was exactly as it had been before: full of noise, laughter, and chaos, just now with a few extra people. Jujutsu Tech still felt like the heart of the world, but with each passing year, you both had carved out more space for yourselves. Gojo was a legend, but he was also yours. And you were more than his Omega,you were his heart. His equal.

You leaned against the kitchen counter, watching as Gojo fussed with the coffee machine like he hadn’t made the same damn cup a thousand times before.

“Stop acting like you don’t know how to do it,” you teased, smiling fondly. He always made a production out of everything, even the simplest of things.

Gojo’s back was turned, but you saw him grin.

“I know how to make it. I just enjoy the effect,” he said, voice low, filled with that familiar smugness.

“You’re so full of yourself.”

“No, I’m full of you,” he said, turning to you, his blue eyes locking onto yours, soft but possessive. “Always will be.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s new.”

“I’m new,” he said, walking closer, his body heat flooding your senses, that mix of Satoru and Gojo only you knew intimately.

His hand cupped your cheek gently, like he was afraid of breaking you. And you knew that even now, after all this time, despite the raw, unfiltered power he held, he was still careful with you. Always.

He kissed you, slow, deep like you were still the only person in the world.

“I’m not the only one who’s changed,” he murmured, pulling away just enough to rest his forehead against yours. “You’re more than I ever could’ve imagined, beloved.”

You smiled softly, almost shyly, remembering the long path from the moment he first made that choice, back when he was younger, less certain.

Later that afternoon, Suguru came over, as he always did. His usual routine was to catch up with Gojo, drink coffee, and discuss the growing chaos of their world, but today, something was off. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but Suguru seemed a little… distracted.

“Something on your mind?” you asked, leaning against the doorframe, watching him fiddle with his mug.

He looked up at you, smiled a little, but his eyes were far away. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve known you both a long time,” he said, glancing at Gojo, who had his back turned, lost in his own thoughts. “And I have to admit, I didn’t think I’d live to see the day you two would finally settle into this… Whatever this is.”

Gojo grinned from the other side of the room. “It’s called ‘happily ever after,’ Suguru.”

Suguru snorted, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Right, right. But still… I never expected to see you both at peace.”

You stepped forward, cocking your head. “What’s going on, Suguru?”

He sighed, meeting your gaze. “I’ve just been wondering for a while now,what’s next for you two? I mean, you’ve built your lives together. But is that… enough? Or is there something more? Something bigger?”

You stared at him for a moment, before your eyes moved to Gojo, who had finally turned around and was watching you, expression soft and almost… expectant.

You glanced back at Suguru, confused. “What are you getting at?”

Suguru leaned forward. “Well, I’ve been hearing some rumors lately. About you two. And I… I think I know what the next step is.”

You stared at him.

He gave you a slow smile,whispering. “I think it’s time you tell him.”

Later that evening, Gojo had his arm around you, the two of you lounging on the couch as you watched some random movie. His hand traced lazy patterns on your arm, and you could feel the bond pulsing between you.

He wasn’t paying attention to the film, not really,his mind was always on you, and he was letting the quiet between you speak louder than anything else.

But tonight was different.

You turned to face him, drawing his attention, your heart beating a little faster as you reached for his hand.

“Satoru,” you whispered, your voice soft and slightly nervous. “I… I have something to tell you.”

He lifted his head, his eyes meeting yours with that same intensity. “What is it?”

Your hand trembled slightly as you took his, squeezing gently. You knew, deep down, that this would be another step, the next chapter. The one that solidified everything.

“I’m… I’m pregnant.”

He froze for a beat, like the world itself had just shifted. Then,slowly, ever so carefully,he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

A smile broke out across his face, and it was like a weight lifted from his shoulders. His eyes, those impossibly blue eyes, softened.

“You’re…” he started, the words stumbling out, but his smile grew. “You’re really doing this to me? You’re going to make me a dad?”

You laughed, a soft, breathless sound. "You’re going to be an amazing father, Satoru."

Gojo leaned forward, his lips brushing yours with a gentleness that matched the enormity of the moment.

He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, the bond between you thrumming with warmth.

“Our baby,” he said, voice thick with emotion. “Our family.”

And just like that, everything felt real. The years, the bond, the madness and the love. It was all leading to this. Your future. Together.

You rested your hand on your stomach, a soft smile playing at the corners of your lips.

His hand covered yours, pressing it to his chest, over his heart.

And you both knew.

This—this was the beginning of something even greater than you could’ve imagined.

[heartyluv]

I LOVE how you write the lads guys!!! May I please request taking advantage (in a kind way, of course) of zayne’s medical expertise and asking him silly medical questions? Just like really random stuff! lounging around with him at home or being out and about while asking those questions would be so funny and I’m sure he would kind of like it lol

Note: This idea is too cute, I love it. Thank you so much, luvly. I felt like this works best as headcanons, so I hope that’s okay. 😚 Enjoy!

Creds to @/strangergraphics for the dividers!

Warning: Just a brief explicit headacanon after you and Zayne have been intimate.

Zayne/Reader

✴︎ Dating a doctor meant that you officially had a walking medical encyclopedia for a boyfriend and you had no shame in utilizing his knowledge. Thankfully for you, Zayne was always happy to deliver whenever you asked him all kinds of questions.

✴︎ I feel like when you start getting comfortable enough to ask him, it’s really simple things. Like it’s questions about your personal health at first. You’ve definitely asked him something like; “Babe, how do I make my headaches go away faster?” and “What do you think are the best vitamins I should take so I don’t have to keep taking gross ones that aren’t doing anything?”

✴︎ Not only does Zayne answer your questions, but he gives you some deeper insight so that you have your own knowledge about things. And you like learning from him—especially because of the way he looks at you as you stay hooked onto his every word.

✴︎ He loves the little text messages you send him. You ask him something almost everyday, sometimes even attaching a photo for reference LOL. I picture you at the supermarket, stumbling upon these new health beverages that you want to try out. But if your Dr. Zayne says that they’re simply drinks full of more sugar than actual benefits, you’ll have zero problem putting them back on the shelf. “Do any of these actually work for gut health? I sent you the nutrition label. What do you think?”

✴︎ I believe he always takes your questions seriously, but you have moments where you ask him something so ridiculous that he can’t help but laugh. “Zayne, babe… I ate like three apples and a pomegranate, and now my mouth feels weird. Am I dying?” Don’t catch him on a day where he’s feeling goofy either, because he might scare you a little bit.

✴︎ “You may have oral allergy syndrome, my love.” Just imagine his tone being dead serious and the silence that follows. And when you start losing it over the phone, he tries to calm you down, but he’s just smiling so hard at your theatrics. When you search it up and you start worrying if you’ll ever be able to eat another mango again in your life, he tries to suppress his laughter, all while attempting to soothe you at the same time.

✴︎ You’ll be walking around while you guys are on a date and will randomly ask him how many calories does he think you’ve burned, just to see how accurate he is compared to your walking app that tracks all of that for you. Not only does he get incredibly close, he’s also able to do the same with the amount of steps you’ve actually taken.

✴︎ “Quick, we’ve been walking thirty minutes, normal paced. How many calories? Go!”

✴︎ Just wait till you start watching one of those medical shows. You never watch an episode without him because you have to know how accurate the writing is. He’s gotten through three seasons with you and sometimes, he’d answer questions before you even asked because he just knows you so well. And you legitimately learn so much that even you start pointing out unrealistic things yourself.

✴︎ “That doesn’t even make sense. He was hit in a major artery, wasn’t he Zayne? He shouldn’t even be able to argue with a doctor right now.” He’s so proud of you, by the way. How information sticks with you. And honestly? He finds it sexy—particularly knowing that he’s the reason why you know the things that you do.

✴︎ Times when you try to eat healthier, you always ask him how many calories something will be if you take something out or off. Like you’d still eat junk food or foods that aren’t exactly healthy, but you wonder what the difference will be if you add a vegetable. LOLLL.

✴︎ “Zayne, if I put only mushrooms on the pizza, is that better?”

“Honey, I think it’s best to just discard the pizza entirely in order to properly fulfill the goal you intended to reach.”

“But Zayne…It’s Friday and it’s pizza.”

✴︎ Some more questions off the top of my head from you would be; “If I eat more carrots than usual, will the decrease my chances of having to wear those thick bifocals when we’re old?

“If I’m on top more often when we have sex, will that tone my thighs out more?”

“How is it possible to drink a gallon of water a day? There’s just not enough time to drink all that liquid.”

✴︎ Omg, you totally believe that ginger is like the cure all and you even make him eat a raw slice of it a day LOLLLL. He admits that it has its benefits, but when he tries to tell you that you have to do more than just eat ginger, you listen, but you’re still so insistent about it.

✴︎ “Despite the benefits and your complete belief in the sacred ginger, love, please make sure you continue to take your daily supplements. Add to your regimen so that you improve your health—don’t take from it believing that something is an optimal replacement.”

✴︎ This one is a little explicit. But, I imagine you and him finish having sex, he’s on top of you, both of you already came and feel good. And even when you’re breathless, even with the glorious man above you, you can’t help it when you ask: “Do you think we’ve met our quota on physical activity for the next few days?”

✴︎ Zayne can’t help but laugh, leaning down to kiss your neck. But he’s also filthy enough to move his hips just a little, hinting that he in fact could go again and says, “I think it’s best to try again… One more time, just to be safe. I’m sure the quota will be more than met once I’m finished with you.”

✴︎ Of course you’re going to let him fuck your brains out again. Why wouldn’t you let Dr. Zayne take care of you? What kind of patient would you be if you didn’t?

[septembersharvest]

Royal Pains | Viltrumite!Mark Grayson x Alien Princess!Reader | Chapter : 1 18+

CONTENT WARNINGS : war, forced marriage ,grief , light gore+ minimal blood descriptions , death ,mentions death, violence, Foreplay, Male Masturbation

Word count : ~ 4.8K

As if being a princess wasn’t hard enough— you had to be an alien princess on top of it. Your planet is on the smaller side but the resources it offered made up for its size. Which made the offer that Viltrume bestowed upon yu so heinously ;that much more difficult to decline.

In exchange for the insurance of your subjects’ safety and longevity; you were asked to marry their prince.

You had never met him, not once since you sat upon the throne. Most of your time was spent planning , protecting, and preserving the culture of your home.

The species you called family were known for being well beyond advanced in agriculture across the galaxy, a good portion of its herbs and supplies used in intergalactic health care ,grown entirely in your planet.

This meant countless threats of invasion after the death of the previous ruler , your father much more overwhelming. If the crown wasn’t crushing you enough, you feared your determination alone wouldn't suffice .

What followed the threats were even more insufferable; the endless proposals. You promised yourself at a young age that whomever you’d give the privilege of capturing your affections had to be stronger than you and hold your people as a priority such as yourself. A simple requirement that not a single being in the galaxy could meet,except one—-The Viltrum Prince ; Mark.

A Month Prior

Before the deal was even on the table the Viltrumites approached your planet in a group of 3, your planet was lacking size where you army did not. 200,000 all prepared to defend their Princess — with their lives if they had to.

But you wouldn’t let them sacrifice themselves for a simple meeting so you chose your advisers carefully and met them in your atmosphere.

You approached a trio dressed in white and grey suits :standing arrogantly in your aerial territory.

One from the middle floated a bit closer than the rest deeming him the leader of the three. Given the red presented in his uniform

“Identify yourselves.” You nearly spat trying you hardest to compact their threatening nature.

“I am Nowl-Ahn of Viltrum,and I assume you’re the acting rular of this planet”

“You may address me as your majesty, I come from an ancient lineage and will be referred and respected as such. State your business or be gone at once”

“We come to offer you an impassable deal ; one that could benefit both our kind leading much more prosperous nations” you cut him off with a hushed shout

“I do not desire or wish to make deals with the beasts of the galaxy , we ask—I beg , that you take your violence and ‘offer’ elsewhere” The older gentleman doesn’t let it show but tinge of annoyance hid behind the thick strands his mustache.

“Your people will suffer from your arrogance, Do not say we didn’t warn you” They flew off at such an alarming speed leaving you to feel the gravity shift around your subordinates. You comrades weren’t able to maintain their stabilitymid air —-but you did.

Saying it was through sheer will was a lie but the fear of what was to come poked—jabbed your back.

They’d be back and you couldn’t waste anymore time preparing your soldiers.

A week passed—and hell was raised.

When the Viltrumites touched down they gave no warning. You barely had time to process before armored heads scattered like flies at your feet.

They left the women and children alone surprisingly but tore through your army as they did the sky; tearing and slicing .Their numbers were barely 100, triumphing the 200,000 you once paraded like they were nothing’

Blood of your most loyal painted the streets , there was no time to take a head count as everyone scattered, you piled the young and the women into your now barricaded palace.

You’d lay your life down before you’d surrender.

Days passed and you stood guard once more at the gates of what once was your home

You heard the cries of the refugees behind the battered metal doors as you meekly stood your ground one last time. The air burned the deep cuts on your limbs and every movement made every bruise you didn’t know you had ache.

The screams were muffled by the your own breath rattled your skull.

‘I can’t give up, not for them’ was all you thought the stench of corpses scattered the steps ,the streets, the temple.

The Viltrumites hovered over you disgusted with your resistance.

“You army has been reduced to nearly nothing , you have one more chance to comply or we will take what we came for whether you obey or not” with that you positioned yourself for an attack, you were prepared to die before they’d get their hands on what’s left of your people.

Before you could commence , the prince himself decided to grace you with his presence calling off his own men. You could barely pay attention to the words being shared but it resulted in the last of them retreating into the smoky sky.

“Look at this— pathetic excuse of ‘resistance’. Look at what became of the feeble army you celebrated,—reduced to nothing.” His taunting fueled the fire that burned in your chest. It was difficult to see through the rage ,beginning to blind you but was left to keep composed.

You had almost nothing left to lose.

“All that talk—what now little Queen”

Your sight set on his demise, there was nothing more you wanted to do than wipe that smirk off his face. The arrogance to mock what to worked so hard to build all on your own. He was playing with you ,in the game you already lost.

With all the strength left in your body you charged at him , he dodged pushing you to the ground.

You stumble catching your fleeting breath and went in for another hit. It could have been your mind playing tricks but a chuckle was heard.

It enraged you more , but it becoming difficult to keep a level head, your body was screaming but the anger that boiled within you kept you on your feet.

You manage to grab an abandoned sword as you attempted to charge again, before you sliced the air he tripped you with ease and grabbed your wrist.

The sound of metal clashed to ground as he lifted you to his face. The heat radiating off you amused him greatly, it seems he was taking a great pleasure in your destruction.

Your faces now inches apart as you dangled in his grasp. Mark sensed the mixture of fear in your eyes, unsure of the moments to follow

“Surrender.”

“Never” Anchoring your legs around his waist you briefly over power his grip, flipping him over with was left of your strength. You both stumbled to the ground.

He groaned, beginning to pick himself up while you took the opportunity to run back to palace doors.

Not until you felt a sharp pain on the back of your legs hitting the damaged pavement face first.

You wince and look around for something anything to protect yourself, the only thing within reach was a damaged pipe.

The sound of boots grew closer when you quickly turned around to face your enemy.

Instantaneously you were flipped on your back with the pipe being pushed towards your neck, it seemed like Mark was growing tired of playing this cat and mouse game. he straddled your weak form ,beginning to savor the delayed victory.

“Face it, you are no match for my power. Give in”

“Over my dead body” all the force you mustered really wasn’t enough , all the desperation —no luck.

Mark came in closer, the heat of his breath murged with yours.

“I will protect what’s left of yours, it’s in your best interest to simply —obey” Tears fell down the sides of your face, you felt a hand cup your face. Knowing he didn’t need apply as much combat your attempts to fight back only made reality hit harder.

“Don’t worry little princes-“ “I am not your little princess!” You spat still desperate to regain control you refusing to accept the inevitable.

“You were always mine” you vaguely heard through your despair . You softly sob as you shuffled your feet and scrambling under his weight

“Please—just Please don’t hurt them.” His piercing look upon your plee softened.

“They will be spared with your cooperation.”

“No-! You must promise me!” Half grunting in attempts to hide your voice was cracking through your teeth you were crumbling against the pressure figuratively and literally; the tremendous amount of force you applied was beginning to leave you light headed.

You blacked out of exhaustion and failure washing iber your batteredbody

“You have my word” Mark responded only after you were unable to hear,

He was no longer holding you down, truthfully he had been holding back the entire time determined to take you with minimal damage.

Present Day.

Fortunately Mark had kept his word and left the women and children alone. They were mortified by the aftermath. Forced to move on without their leader for the time Being.

In the meantime You were recovering on Viltrum. In and out of consciousness as the masscure of your men reminded you of your failure. During the day you’d sit by the window from your bed hoping who and wgat remain were alright for the time being .

And at night you spent the earlier hours sobbing, eventually falling asleep til late afternoon.

Mark would visit you ,routinely bringing you flowers from you home planet, root attached in all trying to give you his version of comfort.

When you’d wake you see knew them laid at your side. You’d curl into yourself , drowning in their scent not caring how pitiful you came off.

“This extremely unbecoming of the ‘Empress, ” you heard , petals of the dying flows clenched in your palm.

“If you are to stand beside our leader this will not stand, Get it together”

Anissa , you couldn’t stand the gain of her voice. Her presence was easy to pick apart from a crowd, it took a lot to restrain yourself from retaliating physically Unfathomable in your current state so all you could do was glare. It didn’t help that she accompanied he doctors during every visit which you assumed was to egg you on, and it was working.

But part of you knew she was right. Your injuries were only minor most of this was mental. Day after day you rotted in this room. You couldn’t find it in yourself to face your people despite being given the opportunity to do so.

You weren’t ready though —You probably never would be.

Another week passes and you finally recover to the best of your ability. Mark had given you permission to roam with supervision of course but you simply floated floor to floor of the white fortress mindlessly wandering where you were allowed.

You almost forgot why you were here; To marry Mark.

’For your people.’.. or what's left of them you'd remind yourself , as talk of the wedding emerged.

All you could think was ‘so soon’.

You’re dreading it of course, men on your planet would line up hours at a time to get the chance to propose while your father was still alive, he always gave you a choice and yet you always declined. As the King's right hand AND only daughter , there was no match for you on that planet.

It was easy to detect who wanted what you possessed — what your power offered. Not for you.

To marry with no purpose, no connection—nothing but an empty vow of loyalty that could be broken in a night's time.

All princesses fantasized of a charming prince, dashing, charismatic, to be drunken off love laced words. Love written in the stars was hard to come by. Could Mark of all people give that to you. Did you think the ice prince of space deprived of it himself , could offer you the passion you desperately desired?

You’re due to walk down an aisle of your men’s blood soaking your veil , you're not sure how you’ll do it but you must .

On the other hand you felt selfish for pondering such silly thoughts when you haven’t even faced your people yet, though you were assured of their safety many times and even been given periodic updates on their wellbeing. But was that really enough?

With him on your mind. His little ‘check in’s’ became frequent but you had only yourself to blame. You’d been rather destructive, Throwing trays of food. Denying care from doctors. These ‘tantrums’ only happened after Anissa would visit.

‘Pathetic excuse for a leader’

‘Hiding away again are we?’

‘All that talk and this is how you act’

She’d taunt you into fits of rage her words were jagged and sharp against your ego, eroding what’s left of your pride.

You’d hate to admit it but in the back of your mind you questioned if she was right. Who haven’t you let down? Your empire, your nation, your purpose was nearly reduced to rumble and you couldn’t do a thing about it.

On this particular day Anissa visited you on her own. Her words were always blunt and cold cut, never having to say much to get under your skin.

Your back was always turned from the entrance but you became familiar with theThe Frequent presence of visitors.

There was always a shift in the air when a Viltrumite entered, never a gust of simply change of pressure.

“You need to get a hold of yourself if you’re going to be apart of this empire, you comply whether you like it or not” your jaw clenched in preparation for the waves of anger that would followed. Your irritation never subtle.

“I will never comply, but I’ll manage”

“Manage to what, fail at being a leader here too.”

You lunged at her for the first time and with ease she caught the hand you flung to her neck. She gripped you tight enough to warn but still leaving you defenseless on the grasp.

“The only reason force hasn’t been used to subdue you’re little tantrums is because he ordered us to refrain from physical restraint” she practically hissed shoving you to the ground. “—At least be grateful for that” she turned and left you there seething ,staring daggers into back as she left the room. You failed again to control your emotions.

Usually Mark wasn’t there to experience your outburst first hand. He was far too preoccupied than he’s like to handle you.

But for once he caught a glimpse of it or the aftermath at least ; the faint sobs leaking from your room, tucked away ,hidden in a tight space between the window and bed. He had assumed you were out on one of your walks and took the chance to check up on you.

He didn’t expect to be met your damp puffy face. The look of a kicked puppy.

You smirked, wiping tears off your face when we started to approach , but before he could you’d already pick yourself off the ground trying your best to avoid his eyes of slight concern.

“I hate that look, even worse when it’s only coming from you of all people.” His face stayed still choosing not to answer.

“This is the second time you’ve seen me cry”

“You’re keeping count of such a thing”

“It’s not as if I have much to keep track of anyway! I’ve been reduced to nothing, I’m pathetic.”

“Don’t say such things about yourself —” Mark had nearly yelled while making strides towards you. You had started rambling before you could take notice

“But they’re true! I am nothing now. I have no idea why we are still to wed, what is left of me- my kingdom is -is in ruin I’m in ruin!”

In a matter of seconds a only inches set you apart.

You may have been silent but your heart was making enough noise for you.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair ,gently taking your face in his hands to cut the distance even shorter.

“I know you’re— strong ,dedicated but you come to me. If we are to marry you need to understand; you can call on me instead of this ” Destroying yourself , he couldn’t say that part out loud. That’s the only language he’d ever known but you were different, more deserving of a lighter tongue.

Despite the outcome of the battle was rather soft on you.

Bringing you flowers, speaking to the remainder of your palace staff to figure out your favorite foods , he even began rebuilding what he had destroyed. It was odd but this was his way of courting you, convincing you he wasn’t like everyone else on his planet.

So every time you’d damage property or waste food it didn’t anger Mark, it fueled him to try harder to gain just a bit of your favor. This wasn’t going to work if you kept fighting him, he didn’t want to break you , to turn you to shell of what he was beginning to love about you.

“Although We’re close in age , you’ve been able to accomplish so much more than me regardless of the obstacles placed to sabotage you… You’re better than this Y/N”

The two of you stood there for a moment as you collected yourself. Mark slowly pulled you into his chest ,awkward , it felt stiff yet the effort was endearing enough to ignore.

It had been so long since you felt the warmth of another. Your parents has passed , friends died in war long ago, so You couldn't risk being vulnerable, you had too much to lose. But your body began to find comfort in the embrace, easier to mold yourself in his touch.

Mark placed a hand on your head carefully guiding your gaze to his.

“I promise.. I’m not going to hurt you-ever”

There it was.

It melted away the hard exterior you spent so long constructing. The crushing weight of walls you had to build finally falling.

Maybe you could be his little princess. You hope being with him wouldn’t be so bad.

You buried your head in his chest and your bodies sank to the floor and you— cried ,he held you securely ;how you should have been held all along

Some time has passed, enough for the sky to change. The sensation of you pulling away already felt agonizing, now somewhat in his lap. You looked a mess but he didn’t mind he was determined to be there for you even at your worst.

You meekly place your hands on his chest propping yourself to his level eye to eye.

He raised a brow at the sudden movement before you fully pulled away and stood up.

“Swear to me you're not going to hurt me or my people and—I will give my all to you” Mark lifted himself off the ground eyes locked and towering over you once again.

“I will never break such promise to you or any promise for that matter, You are becoming—important to me”

Mark with no concept of personal space finds himself only a breath away from your lips. He notices time moves slower when you’re near, he hesitates in your presence but is fully confident in what he plans for you.

“In what ways Mark?”

“Ways I —struggle to find words for.”

You felt a hand graze your forearm before he roughly took you into his grasp. You still felt the heat of his breath against yours. His touch made goosebumps cover your limbs.

Your heart was sinking into the tension and banging on walls of your chest.

“Is something the matter?” He asked, holding you firmly in place. Without making a sound you protested with a subtle nod. What stopped you from giving in. What was to hold you back from this.

“If you can find it in yourself to trust me; I will give you the stars and beyond”

“Who’s to say that’s what I want now or ever?”

“ Why don’t we start, what is it you want now?” Your eyes dart to his lips , your breathing became inconsistent. You knew deep down what you wanted but he was waiting for you to choose this— choose him.

It didn’t take long for you to make your decision when your lips landed on his. The kiss started off soft , desperate and grew into a playful fight. His hands wrapped around your waist , yours around his neck the both you pulling each other as close as you possibly could.

Mark allowed you to fight for dominance in his mouth. You fingers glide through his hair ; his hands find the small of your back. Perfectly in-sync pinning, desperate of acceptance.

Without a chance to catch your breath your back mad contact with the bed ,you gasp as your eyes adjust to the dim room. Marks arms were propped next to your body eyes fixated on your form with hunger.

“If you wish to stop we ca-“

“I would have said so” Your hands run up his arms drapping around his shoulders preparing to pull him down. Until a knock interrupted your bold advance. You quickly began to push him off but he remained still.

“Come in.” Your eyes went wide at the invitation not ready to be caught in such a compromising manner. Your hands cover your face out embarrassment.

“Her - Dinner has been prepared upon your request”

“Leave it and be on your way” irritation presenting in his tone,un moved by the server’s presence. They left as he had commanded but you were too busy trying to comprehend what had just transpired.

“They are gone, let us continue” He gently pried your hands away revealing your flush cheeks and placed soft kisses on your open palm. “That— was wildly inappropriate-“ he cashed his lips into yours before you could protest, barely able to handle him in general you kind it hard to resist this desperate behavior to connect with you.

It felt good. Natural to be devoured.

He delicately planted more kisses on your body starting with your arms and up to your neck. You didn’t know what to do but simply allow him to explore. Soft moans filled his ears encouraging him. Mark was being gentle ,he could tell this was new to you, every touch was hesitant, each breath, sharp.

You felt hands along your waist and another soft moan escaped your lips, He chuckled when your hand flew to your mouth but he uncovered just as fast.

“Don’t be shy, make as much noise as you desire—they sounds magnificent” the praise ignited your core. He was doing strange things you, causing you to form feelings you’d only dream off. Mark took a hold of your hands guiding them along his chest,a grin creeping on his face , his own encouragement.

“You can touch me too, I don’t bite” you doubt the half hearted sediment, but you managed to make moves of your own. You pulled him in for another hungry kiss.

Neither of you made time for air, The room reeked of depravity. A mix of soft exasperations and grunts filled your ears. But you needed to see his face again just to know if this was really happening.

You pushed his face away and he almost looked sad.

“It’s almost like you want this more than me” you tease out of breathe “But you want it too ,no?” A hint of begging and cockiness’s hung over his response,you felt his hands grip your waist feeling something pressed against your inner thigh.

It didn’t take a genius to guess what it was. His stiff bulge eagerly waited against your thigh, This was really happening. “Your body is more than ready” he wasn’t wrong, he wasn’t even the slightest ashamed of his wording but neither were you, the heat in your between your legs aching , anticipation turning to pure impatience as each second passed.

Mark aligned his pelvis to yours and he was firmly pressed against your aching center. You body was acting on its own when your legs wrapped around him accepting his presence, only layers of clothing keeping you apart. Lips connected; your fingers woven in strands of his hair as you pulled him closer. Excitement with each time he palmed the fat of your thighs. When the kiss broke, a bridge of layer of salvia remained. Mark licked his own lips enjoying the taste of the two of you. He swiped a thumb over what was left on your lip.

“But I’d prefer if we wait until the night of the wedding, at ease my eager little Princess.” You'er obviously puzzled but he reassures you with another kiss soft in nature. He cups your face and takes a moment to look at your face ; frustrated ,impatient.

“Do you not want me?” You softly plee.

“Of course I do , but this; you , were meant to be savored , treasured, it was wrong of me to tease you this way” in wave of sadness ,he grabbed your hands and place his forehead on yours.

“I don’t regret this ,What I’m saying is I want to give you time. Not just to process but to prepare.” the wave of emotions swirling in your stomach sends you in a quiet frenzy.

“You’re insane” you’re able to say ,lighting pushes him away to hide a grin but Mark grabbed your chin before you could.

“Why do you think you find yourself here and not in my own chambers, it’s certainly not for my own sake” he brought you close enough to kiss but instead planted a kiss on your temple.

Mark smirked at your subtle enthusiasm.

“You need to rest now, we have a wedding to plan, and please eat the food this time, it be a waste” he planted another kiss on the back of your hand and touched your face once more, locking eyes. Mark didn’t smile, he was serious ,focused on remembering every pore, every strand on your head , finding it hard to look away.

“Rest well.” And that was that.

He left you there flushed ,stunned, a mess at the edge of your bed. What transpired with Mark played in your mind on a loop. Your face was flushed for quite some time; unable to form a coherent form a thought.

You sat in the bed attempting to rationalize it , stringing together the events but only finding trouble doing so when you sat on one moment for too long.

His lips

His hands

The warmth that radiated off his body

You’re not as strong as you thought, losing yourself in the reminiscence of a touch you quickly learned to yearn for.

Unbeknownst to you he was else where , contemplating every second himself.

Mark had to retire to his chambers immediately after the encounter. He spent hours comforting you , almost taking it a step further. These emotions were foreign until his eyes laid upon you.

Making no detours he went straight for his own bed ,neat,clean, tidy, yet he didn’t undress, he didn’t even remove his boots. In silence he sat where he usually imagine; Your lips, Your hands ,your warmth ;all were enough to drive him mad , mad enough to pleasure himself as soon as he could to release his own frustrations.

He desperately grabbed a fist full of his suit bringing the cloth to his nose. He couldn’t bare it any longer with your lingering scent fanning the flames.

For second time tonight he felt himself hardened at the sheer thought of you.

‘Again’ Expressing annoyance with the inability to control himself.

The more his mind replayed those scenes in his head ,the more beads of pre cum leaked through the cloth.

He didn’t hesitate any longer ,tugging his pants down but never moving an inch off the bed. The second his cock sprung from the prison of his garment he gripped his girth and indulged once again in thought of you.

The farther his mind wondered the faster He pumped himself in his palm. He could even still taste you in his mouth. He could still hear your moans in his ears. All Mark managed to muster were curses under his breath. Angry he had to restrain himself ,angry that he had to wait even longer.

“Damn it..”

Despite the frustration in his strokes, It didn’t take long til he had released in his hand ,though Mark wasn’t nearly as satisfied as he should have been if he had given in to his growing sins.

This desire to feast on your flesh, leave marks on your skin.

“Enough of this.” He'd say to himself every time you’d distract him without knowing, every night since you crept in his head. But this isn’t enough. He needed you in more ways than one

[brain4stew]

I was wondering if u could do something with this post https://www.tumblr.com/brain4stew/776674413350404096/forsaken-killers-with-a-deceased-so-perchance

But make it like a part where boom their body's are suddenly gone and now there suddenly alive but the killers don't believe it at first!! if possible then just a lil fluff.

I really wonder where you people get ideas from… 🧍‍♀️ DID YOU STEAL MY BRAIN JUICE?! 😦😦 /J

But yes, I shall make this for you, anon. 🙂‍↕️

Those that do not know what post the anon is referring to, it is,

This one.

(Note: Characters may be ooc, since I do not know how the characters actually will work/be like!)

That being said, here is your request under the cut! ;

1x1x1x1 (1x4).

We all know that this creature is the embodiment of hatred, right? And he had you as their lovely s/o.

However, you were dead. You were a minion for a while, a special minion.

But after a round where 1x4 was the killer, and she killed every survivor, and won. Imagine her shock, when you’re gone.

Now just imagine, his hatred but now tenfold.

Way more relentless in rounds, bringing actual hell on their victims. (Survivors.)

But one specific round, she sees you alive.

He doesn’t believe it of course, and kills you for a few rounds. Before he notices that very same look you always have, when you were alive, and didn’t die.

Another round, and they immediately starts rushing to find you. Ignoring every and all survivor now, surprisingly.

When she finds you, oh, when she finds you again… She won’t leave you be alone ever again.

He’s practically growling at any and all survivor and killer within your vicinity. He just doesn’t want you to die again…

In private, they’ll be scared to touch you, let alone hold you. But as you reassure them that you will be alright, they can’t help but hug you, hold you close, and pepper your face with kisses.

You both fell asleep with each other again, cuddled up with each other. 1x4 obviously is the big spoon, scared that you’ll be gone the moment she wakes up again.

John Doe.

This poor, confused and corrupted guy…

His corruption was far too bad when you were dead. That his corruption ended up corrupting the killers and survivors a bit.

He doesn’t notice that you’re alive, as he kills you for many rounds, until a survivor yells out your name, to warn you of him.

He pauses his hand, mid-strike, stiffening up.

Did he hear that correctly? His s/o? Alive again? Couldn’t be…

When he glances down at you, he is arguably… Shocked and confused.

He lowers his hand, hesitating for a while-

You ended up tackling him down into a tight hug. He’s shocked by your sudden strength, how did you manage to tackle him down?!

He’s glad you’re alive however. So each round where you’re in it, he searches for you, and stays by you everytime. His corruption gradually becoming stable again.

(The survivors and killers that were affected by his corruption also became free of the corruption.)

He glares at anyone, everyone and anything near you. He quite literally does not trust anything near you, afraid that you’ll die once again.

In private, he’s clingy as hell. He always has to have at least one singular claw on one of your fingers.

He’s hugging you, and cuddling you quite a lot. He missed you, a lot.

Jason.

Jason was still and is still killing each and every survivor, until his mother tells him that your body, is gone.

He’s scared, livid also! Did your body get taken? No, because then someone would have to go inside his room, and search for both you and his mother’s head…

He’s more feral this time, killing anyone and everyone. He doesn’t notice it, as he kills you for a few rounds, until…

His mother, recognized you. She immediately tells him to stop, and to look closely at you.

He does as told, stopping his attacks, and looking at you closely. Oh. My. MOTHER. (😇)

He drops his machete, and chainsaw, before rushing to you, and hugging you closely. Not caring at all that the survivors are looking.

In private, you and him will be making diy’s, knitting, learning and listening to his mother. Listening to what she has to say about her youth, and learning how to do and make things.

He also hugs you a lot, tensing up whenever a survivor or killer is nearby you.

Mafioso.

He’s relentless in rounds. Killing any and all survivor, in debt or not, he does not care.

He always watches over his goons, practically glaring death daggers at them, if they ever are close to your capsule.

Imagine his shock and horror when his boss, Eunoia, tells him that you are gone. You disappeared. Your dead body, gone, vanished.

He immediately rushes back to your capsule and his boss after his round of being the killer, and sure enough… You’re gone. Eunoia has already sent some goons to look for you, whilst having trackers on each and every one of them.

The more rounds he is in, the more frustrated, angry and mad he is. Where did you go? Did one of his goons betray him again? Did a survivor take you? Did a fellow killer take you away? No, Eunoia would have seen, heard and taken care of them.

So imagine his reaction, when you tackle him from behind, hugging him tightly from behind, and calling him that lovely and sweet nickname you gave him that he remembers dearly.

He stops in his tracks and turns around to face you, taking his hat off, and placing it on top of your head, as he hugs you back.

He holds you, hugging you for a while, before he calls his most trusted goons. (Soldier, Contractee, Consigliere and Caporegime.)

Their shock when they see you again, they immediately ask Mafioso if they can hug you too. When they get a confirmation from Mafioso, and he backs up from you.

You’re immediately tackled down into a group hug. The guys crying and hugging you, as you smile, and hug them all back, telling them that you’re okay and safe. And how you missed every and each one of them.

You look up at Mafioso, and grin, you reach up an arm, and pull him down into the group hug. (He’s surprised by the unexpected gesture and strength, so much so that he actually stumbles.)

In private, you and his goons are making bracelets, items and everything you all can make together.

You, Mafioso and his goons listen to Eunoia, occasionally asking questions, and giving advice.

(Whenever you’re supposed to be sat on the ground, you’re instead sat on Mafioso’s lap. He put you on his lap.)

Mafioso’s bunnies squeak and whine when they finally see you. You’re immediately swarmed with bunnies, and Mafioso sat behind or beside you.

In private, Mafioso will hold you like you’re something fragile, afraid that you’ll die and disappear again.

He doesn’t show it much, but whenever he’s with you, or Eunoia, he lets his bunny form show. You and Eunoia are the only ones he trusts to be able to help groom him in his bunny form/state.

He’s also cuddling you a lot, even nuzzling you a bit too, he’s glad you’re alive and back again, but he’s still scared it’ll happen again.

Eunoia also treats you like you’re fragile glass. She knows how vulnerable people are, and she’s afraid she’ll damage you.

(Anyway, thank you for requesting this, anon! 🫶)

[mejaemin]

also if possible could i do prompt 1 with mark😞🙏

mark + neither of them raise their voice—a love so gentle and kind that it makes your teeth rot

warnings: so fluffy !!! and a lot of references to the firstfruit an: this is not who i had in mind when i chose this prompt, but there couldn’t have been a better person to pair it with 🤍 i’m so in love with this and ofc annie made the perfect choice

you’re mark’s everything. you make him feel so high, so free in the best way. you’re his oasis, you give him a kind of love that gives him confidence, makes him feel like he can do anything. you’re his sweet, precious girlfriend, and for him to treat you as anything other than a fragile piece of glass, he’d better be imprisoned.

that’s why he’s always so sweet to you, so kind and gentle. you genuinely can’t think of a time where he’s been angry at you, nor a single time where you’ve fought. any time things get tense, he’s keeps his voice level, so calm as he works things out with you. he loves you so, so much, too much, and he’ll never ever let you feel otherwise.

outsiders looking in on your relationship sometimes consider if you’re even actually together. it’s so normal to fight, they tell him, you don’t have to lie about not fighting. he’s so confused at this because.. really? how can you be so casual about hurting your partner’s feelings? it’s not okay at all, he thinks, and unlike with you, his voice gains a little bit of attitude, some negative emotion when he explains how easy it is to communicate and avoid getting to that point.

he loves you fully, with no limits, spending all your days with gentle forehead kisses and soft hands loving your entire being. neighbors are lucky to have you next to them, your home so tranquil. he wakes up next to you every day, smile bright and oh so adorable as he leans in with a kiss, greeting you good morning and asking you “is there a special place you wanna go?”

of course there is, it’s in his arms, in his heart, your love so gentle it’s permanently engraved in his memories with a pink, loving filter over it all. you make his whole heart, he’ll never treat you as anything less than special.

[yestrday]

( passive su*cidal tendencies, slow-burn yandere, mydei insulting u??!?, cooould be a bit ooc on mydei's part, dead-inside reader )

thinking about... yandere! phainon and yandere! mydei having lost your affection and trust.

ever since the three of your crossed paths under the great tree of cerces, you had always shared a strong bond despite your many differences. people could understand mydei and phainon, who despite being on the opposite ends of the temper scale, were both great warriors that bore the prophecy of the chrysos heir. but they could not comprehend their attachment to you, a mere scholar under nousporism.

you don't understand it yourself, but you were happy for their affection nonetheless. you didn't mind being tended to by two handsome scholars, even if the questioning stares made you uncomfortable. but the chrysos heir journey is arduous, and you had always insisted that they focus on that rather than you, which had always received complaints from them. that is, until they finally heeded your words.

you're not that familiar with chrysos heir business, but you had assumed they had stopped talking to you because they were busy with their work. it's okay— so were you. but that didn't stop you sending letters to okhema in hopes of knowing about their conditions. none were replied to, and even one was sent back to you after being... rejected.

you bit the inside of your lip, looking down at the wax-sealed letter in your hands. that's... okay. maybe they didn't want anything to bother them at this moment in time.

so you eased up on the letters. but hyacine oftens go to and fro okhema and the grove for business, so you'd pass off trinkets to her to gift your friends. they may not hold the grandeur that the prince of castrum kremnos was used to, but they held your love and affection for them. alchemical products that, though not life-altering, could slightly increase their combat speed and power. you thought they enjoyed it, seeing as hyacine had always told you they received it, till one day the cleric came back to the grove with a scowl unfitting her gentle face.

"don't give them anymore gifts!" she huffed. "they don't deserve it. they don't deserve you!"

the meaning of her words were lost on you. but that's alright. professor anaxa— er, anaxagoras has tasked you on retrieving important research references from a middleman in okhema, so you were bound to see them anyway. research is nice, but it was lonely not having the two rowdy boys around to brighten up your life. surely they must have missed you as well—!

"o- oh, you're here?" phainon looks surprised, but not pleasantly. he awkwardly shifts his weight from his right leg to the left, scratching his back. "i thought you had some research at the grove to do...?"

you do, but this is not how friends who haven't met in a long time greet each other. still, you carry the conversation with forced lightheartedness, if for the sake of maintaining civility. you watch as phainon soon cuts off the conversation short and scurries off, dejection laying heavily on your heart.

you go out of your way to see mydei. he's not the type to be mingling with the crowd like phainon does, so you try and catch him training with the other kremnoan soldiers. you're happy to see him, but you soon grow timid when he approaches you with a scowl. mydei has always been unapproachable but not with you... before.

"you shouldn't be here," is the first thing he says when he's finally standing in front of you. now you understand why people keep their distance, because never have you felt more scared for your safety than you are now standing in front of him.

"professor anaxas sent me on an errand and i– i..." your words falter, now feeling stupid when you're clearly unwanted here. "i... wanted to see you." you watch as his face shifts slightly, before going back to its usual state.

"well, finish it and go back."

your face burns as you watch the nearby kremoans stare at you and whisper to each other. some of them assume that you're some whelp wanting to seek a bed with their prince and shame settles so deep in your stomach that you feel like throwing up. maybe... maybe mydei is just having a bad day. surly and grouchy as he is, mydei would never brush off you like that. and phainon probably had a prior arrangement to attend to, being a chrysos heir and all that. surely after things have settled you three can chat and laugh over cups of coffee.

"nikador's blood, you really don't get it do you!" phainon is trying to stop mydei, but he's towering over you with the angriest look you've ever seen on him. "when i say you go back, you go back!"

"mydei, that's enough," phainon pleads. "they're hurt and bleeding badly. now isn't the time—"

the prince ignores him, doubling down on his words as he continues, "instead you go running off trying to save some kids when you can't even save yourself!" you can barely hear anything, the lack of blood is making your head faint, but the only pain you can feel is the squeezing in your chest. "for titan's sake, [y. name], must you always be this stubborn!"

"mydei—"

"go back to the grove, [y. name], and never come back here." mydei glowers at you from above, the blood on his body and the glowing ire in his eyes making him look madder than the titans. "i already have to shoulder the weight of an entire city. i don't need another burden."

you haven't registered that you've started crying until you realize that mydei's retreating form is blurred by your tears. phainon only sighs and shakes his head. mydei perhaps might have turned his back on you, but phainon, the flawless chrysos heir, surely he wouldn't—!

"i'm sorry [y. name]," he whispers, regret in his voice. his smile is soft as he wipes away your tears. "he was rude about it, but mydei's right. you should go back. it's safer in the grove."

"safer in the grove, or because i'm just a burden?" you bite, spite yet heartbreak in your voice. phainon looks taken aback, never having heard you talk with such bitterness before. he looks torn up about it, but he doesn't answer. he smiles that awkward smile again and calls over a medic to help you with your wounds. soon, he joins mydei's body in the distance.

you can't even see them anymore, sight too blurred by the torrent of tears.

the grove has been attacked by the black tide. professor anaxas has been missing in action ever since and so have you, his dear student who’s been with him ever since. that was the first news they’ve had of you in a long while.

phainon is worried. he’s been asking the survivors about your whereabouts ever since they sought refuge in okhema. they've always been fond of you, saying that anaxas didn't deserve having a student so soft-hearted and understanding, but today their faces twist uncomfortably at the mention of you. they recount how you've evacuated them out of the grove and they're grateful for that but...

"you've been best friends ever since, right, my boy?" a senior researcher tugs on the hero's sleeve. "if they ever come back, please help that poor child... they begin to resemble their mentor more and more everyday and, well." phainon is eager to rush to the grove, to find you and puzzled about the senior's warning. aglaea sends the trailblazer, castorice, and trianne instead, and so he's forced to play the waiting game and wonder what might be going on with you.

the trio come back from the grove with anaxas but no one else. hours later, hyacine rushes past him with a team of medics, pushing someone on a gurney. it doesn't take him a second before he recognizes the face beneath all that blood. how could he, when that was the same face crying for him and mydei all those years ago?

phainon and mydei (after being near-tackled by the panicked deliverer) rush to the place where you're being held. hyacine and a doctor is performing vital surgery on you, so they wait the long arduous hours outside your room pacing back and forth and barely saying anything. phainon watches mydei's face go from barely restrained anger to regret to quiet self-loathing as he finally stops pacing around and defeatedly slump on the seat.

hyacine finally comes out from the room, looking exhausted. hyacine's anger at them has simmered quickly— she's not the type hold grudges, after all— but she still looks hesitant to let them in. working with you closely, she knows better than anyone about the rift between the three of you. but looking at their desperate faces, she sighs and holds the door open. she only a mutters a plea to be kind to the patient, before leaving and taking a well-deserved nap.

mydei enters the room with the intent to keep you a piece of his mind until he sets his eyes on you. you look near-dead, like a walking corpse, and possibly... insane? rather than eating the porridge set for you, you're busy scribbling in your notebook. you're deeply invested in whatever you're writing, muttering incomprehensible and inane things to yourself. phainon tamps down the rising alarm within him. professor anaxas always holds himself to a high degree of self-confidence and collection, so your haggard looks can hardly be compared to him... but he can see it. that dangerous obsession with research, tiptoeing the line of self-harm...

he clears his throat. "[y. name]," he softly calls out. you flick your eyes to them and he flinches at how you don't even bother to hide your annoyance at being disturbed. he's never seen you look so... bleak. you were always shining in his eyes, full of curiousity and eager to purse the new and wonderful. "are... are you okay?"

you let out a noncommital grunt and go back to writing. it's a heavily bookmarked journal with loose paper peeking out. the two warriors watch in silence as you continue on, obviously ignoring them. mydei clicks his tongue.

"say something," he demands of you, coming out gruffer than he intended. it's hard, but he has to remind himself that you just survived a near-death experience. you sigh and put down the journal for good.

"i'm okay, my lords." dry and sarcastic, you look like you'd rather do anything than be talking to them. "thank you for paying attention to a mere researcher like me." you jut a thumb to the door. "now, exit's that way."

phainon looks like he's been stabbed in the gut. "[y. name], i know we've hurt you, but still—"

you crack a dry smile. "hurt? why would the chrysos heirs ever hurt me?" you look like you're thoroughly amused by your own act, while phainon and mydei look like they can barely control themselves. "so long as the flame-chase journey continues, you are heros who protect our homeland. how could you possibly hurt me in anyway?"

you've certainly inherited your professor's backhanded compliments, phainon thinks, but mydei grits his teeth and steps toward you. "cut this act," mydei snaps. "what the hell has gotten into you? we're here because we're worried and you just...!"

"snub you? disregard you?" you offer, smiling ruefully. "oh gee, wonder how that feels."

"we were doing it to protect you—"

"let's not mince words here, son of gorgo. we all know i'm just a burden for you heroes, i've long come to terms with it. now—" you pick the journal back up and give them a pointed stare. "— i have observations to write."

mydei clenches his fist and grits his teeth. there is a moment of hesitation, certainly not satisfied with this conversation, but he throws you a glare and stomps out of the room. phainon, meanwhile, stands still. he looks at you with the face you used to cherish, soft and boyish yet matured at the same time. "... [y. name]," he calls your name again, sweetly like the ones in your memories. "what... what happened to you?"

you don't even bother smiling anymore, staring back at him with those discompassionate eyes. the answer is reflected in them.

"do they not understand anything at all?!" mydei's voice booms throughout their private bath. the golden-haired prince always seems angry, but today he is furious. "they've always been the weakest one out of us three. they're not even a chrysos heir! it makes sense that we protect them!"

"we... we were too harsh on them," phainon says, thinking back on the day they turned their back on you. "we said all those awful stuff. even declined their gifts. it... it makes sense that they were hurt."

mydei scowls. despite it not being in his nature, he always made a point to exercise patience with civillians, but you just seem to drive him insane. "scholar," he scoffs. "they should be smart enough to figure it out on their own. the council of elders are on our every move and things could get worse if we continue fraternizing with them. can't they see that?!"

it's times like these that phainon is reminded how different the two of them are. mydei expects due diligence and perfection from you, while phainon is eager to claw his way back to your side. he furrows his brow and stands. "i'm going to apologize," he announces resolutely. "even if i have to beg on my knees. i didn't want any of this to happen in the first place."

"i knew you were pathetic, deliverer, but not like this." mydei stares disapprovingly at him from across the room. "don't you have any shame?"

"can't you see!" phainon's voice grows louder. "look at them! don't you know what the other scholars are saying? they grow more and more like the profesor each day, their experiments are near-fatal, heck, they don't even look alive!" his blue eyes waver as the picture of your gauntness passes him. "how can you just stand there and let it be!"

"because every day for the past years i've been training and honing myself so that no harm could come their way," mydei snarls, approaching phainon. his friend glares back at him as the two men meet face to face, not willing to back down from anther. "while you've been sighing and daydreaming about them this entire time. all this was for them."

"and yet they nearly died," phainon spits right back. "some protector you are, prince."

stubborn and prideful like the young men that they are, it takes more than a few moments before mydei's face softens and he backs down, turning away from phainon. "i'm not apologizing. grovel all you want, but i don't care. i did nothing wrong." phainon's face contorts back to anger and he opens his mouth before the prince cuts him off. "i've done everything i can these past few years to protect the grove and in turn them. this black tide was an oversight on my part, but i've protected them to the fullest extent that i can."

"and i know you have too." mydei turns to phainon. "i know the secret talks you've been having with those council of elders' lackeys. you persuade them to avoid the grove. you deter them from ever looking into [y. name]. you protect them in ways i can't."

"... they'll never understand. not now. not after what we've done."

"no," mydei admits. "and yet for all the protection we've done, they've still gone and gotten themselves in trouble. if not the black tide then this near-suicidal tendencies they exhibit."

they call mydei a prince bathed in blood. history books talk of the cruel and oppressive traitor who heartlessly murdered his father. phainon has never once seen this side of him before... except now.

mydei looks downright tyrannical.

"you agree, phainon, don't you?" mused the prince, golden eyes awaiting his agreement. "they can't be trusted with themselves."

phainon swallows the dryness in his throat. "they hate us now."

"like they said, we're chrysos heirs. it's in our nature to get what we want." red crystals form on the palm of the kremnoan, sculpting themselves into a carving of his desire. "i know you're not daft. we've known this for a long time, you and i."

he stretches out his palm. a cage of blood red. phainon averts his eye.

"come, deliverer. i've always liked that greedy part of you."

[coldranger]

Go vote for Archivist vs. Raccoon

Skeptics of @graynide and @pixiefeatherkw3 I do hope you'll vote wisely...

Extra details, refs, other goodies

The extra pixie doodles don't mean anything I just had to get his silly face down. If anything having a design that clicks easily is a compliment in its own way

Here's some chair details and the ref image I used to trace most of the shape. Some fun facts, that top piece has references to some ch.3 princesses (drowned, den and needle). That angry thing on the bottom is just another fun lil piece, you could see the crown it wears as damsel for a hea/beta reference.

Oh and I made the cushion look like the mirror a bit

I don't have a screenshot of the chair's lineart so just have it without everything else. I did a silly so some of the lineart is messed up with Pixie's skeptic's hands go

[linkspooky]

THE PHILOSOPHY OF KAGURABACHI

So, Kagurabachi is my favorite manga in shonen jump right now, but my enjoyment of it comes from a different place than most people's. While I liked the first chapter, the manga did not really click for me until chapter 17 when Chihiro was forced to recognize that his enemy had interpreted the actions of his dead father entirely differently, and he was fighting with a conviction too, even if Chihiro did not agree with that conviction.

Since then, Chihiro has slowly been changing his outlook on the world from a simple avenger to acknowledging the complexity of the world around him and this is the most interesting aspect to me - Chihiro and his changing beliefs over the course of the story.

I have been waiting in anticipation for Chihiro's reaction to learning the truth about the war, and the genocide one of the sworsman carried out with his father's weapon. We see his reaction this chapter and I was a little bit surprised to say the least.

Chihiro states that it's wrong to kill all five of the sword-bearers in order to disarm the nukes essentially, remove the potential for anyone else to cause another disaster and wipe out hundreds of thousands of more people. This seems inconsistent with something that has been Chihiro's belief since chapter one, his entire mission is to take his father's swords back in order to make sure they never end up in the wrong hands and can't be used to hurt innocent people.

I had to ask my friend @kaibutsushidousha for Chihiro's reasoning here, but thankfully Comun is really smart and has good taste:

I feel like Chihiro is extremely influentiable. He has a lot of moral opinions inside his head, but can only use one at a time. And the one he holds changes easily depending on the most recent thing people tell him. What he's currently holding is how much he relates to Iori, so he's in it to prevent Iori from losing a father like he did Only once that's resolved that he can start thinking about his other moral opinions that conflict with this one.

When I read that I returned to the question of: what are Chihiro's morals? I finally realized the answer that Chihiro is practicing what we call moral relativism. If we dig in a little deeper we can see some of the ethics and morality that Kagurabachi is exploring in the story as a whole.

LETS TALK ABOUT ETHNICS

Moral philosophy is defined by the oxford dictionary as "sign up to pay a $9.99 subscription in order to read the rest of this article."

Moral philosophy is the study of morals. What people do, how should they act, what principles should guide their lives. Which started out all the way back with Plato who argued for the "form of the Good." Plato was theorizing on where higher-minded ideas like "justice" comes from and his conclusion is that these ideas exist as "Forms", perfect, eternal, and changeless concept existing outside of space and time.

Plato asserts that goodness is a force outside of us, that pushes us to strive towards things like justice. His argument essentially that good is inherent, that people possess the spirit of good inside of them and that drives them to seek out good.

This is what you would refer to as moral absolutes. That morals exist outside of us and they are absolute rules we should follow. "Goodness" isn't just an idea, it's a force which compels us to do good.

Rules like "Don't kill people" are absolute. They don't exist because someone wrote down in a law that it was bad to kill people, but because the moral principle of "don't kill people" is universal and should be followed by everyone.

The question is if these moral principles are absolutes then where do they come from? Plato put forward the idea of an objective moral order linked to a transcendent reality, while Aristotle believed that morality came from objectivity and human nature.

Under Christian doctrine morals are also absolute and there is an idea of good which we all strive for, but the reason those morals are absolute is because they are given to us by god. "Don't kill people" becomes "Thou must not Kill."

The opposite of moral absolutism that morals exist as a set of rigid principles that exist outside of us, is moral relativism. Moral relativists assert that there are not "objective" morals, usually following two basic principles.

1.  Moral judgments are true or false and actions are right or wrong only relative to some particular standpoint (usually the moral framework of a specific community). 2.  No standpoint can be proved objectively superior to any other. [SOURCE].

If I say "killing people is wrong no matter what the situation because human life has inherent value", I'm arguing for moral absolutism. If you rebuttal with "Chihiro was killing human traffickers, who if they had lived would have created more victims" that is an argument for moral relativism.

To dive deeper into moral relativism though, let's explore one of the biggest critics of moral philosophy.

In Beyond Good and Evil: Prelude to the Philosophy of the Future, Nietzsche rejected the works of all of the moral philosophers that had come before him, especially to Plato who argued for that "form of goodness." He took a special offense to the idea that good and evil and in the first place. Nietzsche suggested the modern man and the modern philosopher needed to reject good and morality entirely.

"Let us not be ungrateful toward it, althought it must certainly be admitted that the worst, most drawn-out, and most dangerous of errors hitherto has been a dogmatist error- namely, Plato's invention of the Pure Spirit and the Good as such. But now that it has been overcome, when Europe, rid of this nightmare, can again breathe freely and at least enjoy a healthier sleep - we, whose duty is wakefulness itself, are the heirs of all strength which the struggle against this error has fostered. turning the truth on its head and denying perspectivism itself, the fundamental condition of life, to speak of the Spirit and the Good as Plato of spoke.

Nietzsche's took particular umbrage with the idea that good is fundamental and innate. That these are not concepts just made up, but they just exist... somewhere.

"Here we need to learn to think differently, as we have learned to think differently about heredity and "innateness."

In Nietzsche's viewpoint humans aren't rational creatures striving towards some objective good, but rather they are extremely subjective, and all of them fallible to their own personal biases. People aren't driven by the spirit of good, they are driven by emotions and instincts, and their own personal values.

"Conversely, in the philosopher there is absolutely nothing impersonal; and expecially his morality furnishes a decided and decisive testimony as to who he is - that is to say, in what order the innermost drives of his nature relate to others.'

One of these most important drives is what Nietzsche labeled "the drive to power", but it could also be translated as the "drive to agency".

"A living being seeks above all else to discharge its strength - life itself is will to power - self-preservation is only one of the indirect and most frequent results thereof."

A lot of the material covered in this book is a criticism of christian doctrine, which puts forth that we must follow these absolute morals because they are imposed on us by god. Nietzsche pointed out and rightly so that for a large chunk of european history, a peasant class has been ruled over tightly by an aristotcratic class, one that is supported by the church.

His explanation for why the peasants never rebelled against the aristocrats and why this structure remained in place is that christianity wishing to keep the lower class complacent began espousing morals about "turning the other cheek" and "the meek should inherit the earth". Suffering under the boot heel of the rich and not fighting back became a moral virtue. In Nietzsche's mind the church has hoodwinked the general population into believing that instead of rising to power they should remain powerless and suffering in this lifetime, for the reward of happiness in some theoretical afterlife.

"From the beginning, Christian faith is a sacrifice: sacrifice of all freedom, all pride, all self-confidence of spirit; at the same time it is enslavement, self-mockery, and self-mutilation."

I'm not going to go into religious philosophy, but I do think these are important questions to ask. Why does the church tell us we shouldn't envy our neighbor? Why does the church tell us we should not desire for more than we have?

You could apply this very easily to the modern day. Several christians say that trans people are immoral, because god says there are only two genders and these two genders are absolutes there is no wiggle room. Not only is being transgender immoral, but also they have the right to create laws regulating what people do to their own bodies. Governments have to make laws violating people's personal autonomy like this for the greater good? But, for who's greater good is this?

Nietzsche's describes the origin of christian morals as master and slave morality herren- und sklavenmoral. Master and Slave morality has some negative connotations so let's try to explain this using memes instead.

[Source]

Nietzsche's assertion was that the chads of the world don't listen to the church and the people in power telling them that suffering is righteous, that they should fast, and stay impoverished. That they should not make a morality of suffering like it is some kind of virtue.

"It cannot be helped: we must mercilessly call to account and bring justice he sentiments of surrender, the sacrifice for one's neighbor, and all self-renunciation-morality ... There is far too much magic and molasses in these sentiments "for others" and "not for myself" for us to not have to be doubly distrustful...

The chads of the world are out there employing chad morality. They are goated enough to invent their own morals, to think for themselves, and assert their own power. Not only is the nietzschian viewpoint that morality is relative, but also that a free thinker must create their own morals.

Which is where we finally tie this back into the manga, is Chihiro as a character following Nietzschian principles? Is he employing Chad morality to become a truly goated individual?

Has he taken the steps beyond good and evil?

Well, to start with you would have to ask what Chihiro's morals are which is a hard question to answer because they are not consistent. Early on he states that the swords are to: defeat evil and protect the weak. He definitely believes that evil exists.

However, he doesn't view them as absolutes. He admits himself that murder his horrible, that killing people makes him a monster and therefore evil, but he also believes that this evil is killing others can be done to commit good.

There's a pretty obvious contradiction in Chihiro's ideals. He is simultaenously both a killer, but also a hero protecting others. He maintains that same paradoxical view of his father and the other sword-bearers, they are responsible for the deaths of countless people but they are still: "heroes." Chihiro may be going to hell for everyone he has killed, but there's still a nobility to what he is doing.

The idea of going to hell and being punished for his evil means he knows on some level murder is horrible and he'll eventually face punishment for it, but he is going to do it anyway even if he goes to hell?

Is there a paradox to this statement? How can one be a hero and a murderer at the same time? For Nietzsche there isn't. Nietzsche would argue that following christianity's ideas of meekness and turning the other cheek you can never be a hero, and the only way to be a hero is to transgress.

That the only people truly capable of being heroic are not those who passively turn the other cheek, but those who have the strength to to fight back and assert themselves.

"A man who seeks to achieve goathood, looks upon every one whom he encounters on his way either as a means of advance or a delay and hindrance - or as a temporary resting-place. His characteristic, lofty kindness to his fellow-men is only possible once he has reached the height from which he rules."

So, let's touch briefly upon Chihiro's choices again. Chihiro's father is murdered and he is left alive with a scar, and all the blades his father made to end the war are stolen by criminals except for one. Chihiro could have gone into witness protection like Iori and lived a normal life. You could see that in one of two ways, Chihiro is deciding to be above revenge and trying not to continue the cycle of harm. Or you could see it as Chihiro passively accepting all of the harm that's done to him, shutting up and taking it instead of choosing to fight back against the evil done to him.

Chihiro has a second choice which is assert his will-to-power, and evolve into Chadhiro someone who has the power to fight for what he believes is moral.

A man who says: "I like that, I take it as my own. nd will guard and protect it from everyone", a man who can conduct a case, carry out a resolution, remain true to an idea, keep hold of a woman, punish and overthrow insolence, a man who has his indignation and his sword, and to whom the weak, the suffering, the oppressed and even the animals willingly submit and naturally belong; in short, a man who is a master by nature- when such a man has sympathy well! That sympathy has value.

Because Chihiro embraced Chad morality and became the Chadhiro, he gained the power and strength to help people, people who would not have been helped if he did not decide to become an avenger.

So you may ask in the first chapter what does it matter that Chihiro did not quibble over slaughtering human traffickers in the first chapter? He was using his power to do what he thought was right, killing criminals in order to prevent them from selling any more human beings in the future.

Then I would ask: Who gets to decide whether they deserve to live or die?

The Nietzschian response is Chihiro does. Chihiro decides his own morals for himself, and has the power to assert them over others. In fact if he didn't, he would be completely ineffectual. If Chihiro passively turned the other cheek and forgave his enemies, then he would not have the power to help anyone.

Is there something wrong with this? As we see in the story, Chihiro is very principled, he hates unnecessary killing, he has sympathy for people like Hakuri and Iori and won't sacrifice them for the greater good.

He's even capable of putting aside his revenge if it means saving people like Hakuri and Iori. If all morality is relative, then isn't Chihiro just doing what everyone does, deciding for himself in the moment what is moral and what is not?

Even in opposing Samura's decision to disarm the nukes that could potentially blow up the country at some point in the future Chihiro is raising an interesting point, is it fair that an orphan like Iori has to lose her father because of a danger he might represent? Is it alright to trample over an orphaned little girl and take her father away?

If Chihiro has the power to protect the people he wants to protect, to punish the people he sees doing evil and harming innocents, then what is wrong with him asserting this power even if it means killing people?

Is the option to choose to passively suffer somehow more noble?

"It has the same effect on them as Epicurean philosophy on the sufferers of higher order by refreshing, refining and effectively using suffering and finally even sanctifying and justifying it. There is perhaps nothing so admirable in Christianity and Budhism as the art of teaching even the lowest to elevate themselves by a piety to a higher, illusory order of things and thereby keep themselves satisfied with the actual world in which they live in great hardship - but precisely this hardship is necessary!"

Well alright, it seems like we've got this figured out. Chihiro is someone we can trust, because he creates his own morals and he has freed himself from the biases society's morals. We can trust he will do good, because he has the strength to always think for himself and follow his own morals and he doesn't submit to anyone else. Chihiro would never submit to anyone else's morals, and he would especially never join a shady government organization that was totally cool with doing nothing when humans were being sold on an auction block in the auction arc.

Oh, wait hang on a second.

DR. STRANGELOVE: OR HOW I LEARNED TO STOP WORRYING AND LOVE THE BOMB

The flaw with moral relativism is that it is at best incoherent and vague. Let's take the nietzschian argument, if there are special people in this world who have the right to transgress over other people in order to achieve great things, like the way Chihiro has murdered so many in order to achieve his revenge then how do you distinguish that type of special person from a normal person.

"They begin executing other people?" "If it's necessary; indeed, for the most part they do. Your remark is very witty." "Thank you. But tell me this: how do you distinguish those extraordinary people from the ordinary ones? Are there signs at their birth? I feel there ought to be more exactitude, more external definition. Excuse the natural anxiety of a practical law-abiding citizen, but couldn't they adopt a special uniform, for instance, couldn't they wear something, be branded in some way? For you know if confusion arises and a member of one category imagines that he belongs to the other, begins to 'eliminate obstacles' as you so happily expressed..." Crime and Punishment

This quotation is taken from Crime and Punishment where the main character Raskolnikov is discussing with a detective his theory that certain people have the inherent right to remove obstacles out of their way in order to achieve greatness. The detective's counter argument is the obvious: Well, what makes them so great exactly?

Well, from Nietzsche's perspective there are in our society members descended from an ancient Aryan race... wait, what?

"Was Nietzsche Woke?" Philosophytube

Nietzsche died in 1900, but fascists loved using his ideas as justification for their actions, especially Hitler and Mussolini. Does that make Nietzsche specifically responsible for it, well not really because he's dead.

Instead of discussing whether Nietzsche's ideas are inherently fascist which I think is a boring discussion, I am going to touch why fascists find these concepts of moral relativism and nietzsche's rejection of morality so applicable to their won ideas and the answer is that it's vague. If your entire belief system is just "everything is relative" then you're not really operating under any kind of consistent rules.

Trying to string together a consistent ideology from Nietzsche's writings is hard because so many of its writings contradict itself, that his message becomes very vague. Trying to describe what moral relativists believe is like trying to describe post-modernism or porn to other people, I don't know how to describe it but I know it when I see it.

I talked about how earlier that if you reject the notion that "Thou must not kill", then Chihiro has every right to assert his power over the human traffickers and kill them in order to punish them. Yet, if as Nietzsche argues that the "drive to power" exists within everyone then what about the human traffickers? Don't they have the same "drive to power" and right to assert their power over other people, in this case by kidnapping humans and selling them in order to make money? If there are no objective morals, then slavery isn't objectively evil either. Neither Chihiro or the Human Traffickers are good or evil, they are just both asserting their power. Then Chihiro isn't the moral victor, he's just STRONGER than them.

"All morals are relative" is in itself, paradoxically, a moral absolute. As much as Nietzsche challenges us confront our own biases and challenge what society taught us to think for ourselves, there's also no such thing as an unbiased person. If you read Nietzsche's work, a lot of what he says is also parroting pretty common attitudes of Jewish people at the time in germany.

Chihiro is definitely not unbiased either, he is extremely biased by his hero worship towards his father. So far we have seen him completely sidestep the greatest moral dilemna of this entire manga.

When Oppenheimer was released, a lot of Japanese people protested the movie, especially the decision to focus on the man who made the bomb instead of the over 200,000 victims that the bomb created.

The swords are nukes. They are explicitly nukes. They were dropped on an island nation and wiped out the entirety of the population in order to end a war. Nothing short of godzilla crawling out of the water to attack Chihiro could make them more obviously a metaphor for nukes. 200,000 is around the estimated number of dead at Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

The enemy had surrendered, a peace treaty was signed to preserve the civilians of the island, and then one of the five swordsmen decided that was not good enough and killed 200,000 people in an instant.

Who's fault was this?

Well, one obvious one is the guy who made the nukes in the first place. If that weapon had never been placed in the hand of the fifth swordsmen, then he never would have had the means to kill an island full of 200,000 people.

The justification that the Kamunabi give is that they needed the magical swords in order to fight off the invaders, and if they didn't have those swords the number of casualties would be much higher.

I am an American and this is the exact same justification I have heard over and over again for Nagasaki and Hiroshima. "Well, the japanese never surrender so way more people would have died in a land invasion if we didn't drop the bombs."

The underlying point though is that if you decide who gets to do what based upon who has the power to do it, then that very quickly slides into fascism. Why did the last swordsman decide that he had the right to kill 200,000 people because someone gave him the power to. He used his power to do what he believed was right even if it means stepping on other people, and eliminate his enemy.

Is Chihiro killing criminals the same thing as killing an entire island's worth of people? Not necessarily, but in principle Chihiro is killing people because he believes he has the right for himself to decide who lives and who dies, and the way he asserts that right is by power.

Am I being reactionary by saying that Chihiro's philosophy that he is entitled to revenge resembles fascist ideology and can spiral out of control into fascist ideology? Well, maybe - but objectively right now Chihiro is working for a government that committed a genocide against a nation of 200,000 people that they had signed a peace treaty with and then covered up the fact that they committed that genocide in the first place.

It's also very easy to fall right down that slippery slope. Fascism is very appealing to people who are feel they have been injured or victimized by something, and want the power to take vengeance against that vague something.

Chihiro would not kill civilians right now, he draws the line very clearly and will even give his life to protect civilians but it is also true that Chihiro is not unbiased and his morals are very bendy.

As I said above, Chihiro says he that he will do anything to protect innocent people, but if that's the case then shouldn't he be in support of killing Samura and disarming the nukes even if it means all the swordwielders have to die?

He is making a personal judgement that Iori is more important than the potential deaths of hundreds of thousands of innocent people, not based off of any ethical principle but because his dad died and he relates to Iori and she also loved her father.

Chihiro's morals are not consistent and well-thought out, and that is dangerous because Chihiro doesn't really submit to anyone's authority other than his own and he definitely does not follow due process. We as the reader have to trust Chihiro's judgements that he is a moral person, but Chihiro is biased.

Chihiro is currently working for the government organization that decided to cover up their mistake in killing an island full of people, use the heroes as propaganda and brand the island dwellers as inhuman savages, and then not disarm the nukes.

Why didn't they disarm the nukes? Is it because the government thought it was unfair to kill the four other heroes for the actions of one of the swordwielders and that they didn't deserve to be punished for rewarding their country? Or is it because of the much more likely reason that they didn't want to give up the magical swords that could completely wipe out an enemy army if they ever needed to use them for self-defense again?

For example, if the Kamunabi had done the opposite then what then? What if the Kamunabi had arrested Chihiro's father in front of his son, dragged him into court, gave him a fair trial and then decided to hang him for his crimes against humanity in his decision to build the bomb I mean the swords.

If that had happened would Chihiro have accepted the decision, or would we be reading an entirely different manga where Chihiro was fighting against the government in order to avenge his father?

That's a hard question to answer, because Chihiro's morals are so vague and easy to influence. Hopefully Chihiro will figure it out for himself over the course of the story, because as badass as Chihiro saying that he'll choose to face god and walk backwards into hell in order to get his revenge I think it would be much better if he found some other reason to live for revenge by the end of the story.

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

On the topic of titles, while I dont think Meghan misses the life she had in the UK as a working member of the family, she absolutely loved the fact people bowed and called her your highness. She had crowds of people greeting her when she had an event and referring to her as a Dutchess. The crowds and love she got in the UK are like nothing like she's had in the US and it very obvious she's misses that. America has a different culture here that never going to give her that.

Not exactly.

She had everything going for her to be treated like that in the US - she even set up her own PR to get that kind of glowing America’s Sweetheart coverage over here, and for a while in the early days, she was actually getting that kind of coverage.

The major inflection points that caused Americans to turn against her:

1. William kicked the Sussexes out of KP (and eventually the foundation), the news of which followed closely by stories of Meghan’s attitude and behavior against The Queen, Kate, and Charlotte. All four of them are well-liked by Americans (The Queen is everyone’s grandmother, Kate is the modern Cinderella fairy tale come to life, Charlotte is the real life Disney Princess) but mostly it’s to do with William inheriting the Diana fan club, so if William has a problem then we have a problem. So that’s how she lost much of the American royal fandom (minus Sussex Squad, of course).

2. The timing of Megxit and COVID. The global lockdowns meant everyone was stuck in their houses not really doing anything and the pandemic itself caused a little bit of reckoning in what celebrity is and what they do. Megxit meant the Sussexes couldn’t get the deals or PR traction they wanted from the US market, plus being “out” meant they couldn’t participate in the BRF’s pivot to virtual engagements. So by the time lockdowns ended and everyone was getting back to work or launching new projects, the Sussexes were so far behind everyone else, including both BRF and Hollywood, that they were chasing tire tracks - not even the dust, that’s how far behind they were. That’s how she lost the pop culture/celeb fandom.

3. The Sussexes’ insertion of themselves into the 2020 election with their GOTV commercial. A lot of people were very bothered by that, in a “what gives them the right” kind of way mainly because it’s a British prince and his wife using their British titles to interfere in American politics. It crossed the line for a lot of people of all political stripes. That’s how she lost the politically-engaged.

4. The airing of dirty laundry in the Oprah interview. The Sussexes did the interview intending to establish themselves as the victim - they were copying not only Diana’s Panorama interview but they were also copying their own (accidental) earlier PR. If you remember, when the relationship first came out and later when the engagement was announced, Meghan’s former friends and former family came out like a wild pack of hyenas briefing against her. This got Meghan quite a lot of sympathy because it gave her an incredible victim edit that made Harry look like quite the hero, and it also made her look more Diana-like because of Diana’s accusations that her own friends and family (aka the BRF) were smearing her name in the press in a bid to take her down or dim her light. But as we all know, Meghan absolutely didn’t get the victim edit this time; she got the villain rap. And that’s because Americans don’t like people who broadcast the dirty laundry of people who can’t defend themselves and we don’t like liars. That’s how she lost “the silent majority” (if you will, for lack of a better identifier).

At that point, the US sort of culturally wrote Meghan off. We don’t like privileged people who complain they’re not privileged enough or wealthy enough and that basically Thanos-snapped American crowds, American interest, and American respect in the Sussexes. Particularly Meghan.

So long analysis short, the absence of American likability (fondness?) is Meghan’s own doing. All she had to do was stay quiet or be publicly appreciative of her time in the UK and she probably would’ve kept American crowds, interest, and favor - that’s why the victim edit in 2017/2018 worked; because she didn’t participate (as visibly) and let the court of American public opinion judge. But in 2021, she basically took a scud missile to her own reputation by crowning herself the victim.

Probably the #1 thing most Americans have in common is that we hate with a fiery, burning passion being told what to think and what to do. So when Meghan told us she was the victim, despite contrary evidence, most of us went “fork that” and bye-bye Meghan’s American Dream.