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#i think at one point they would have to fake their deaths
hollowingearth · 1 day
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I'm sorry but the more I think about the Rebirth ending the more I love it actually like. The whole trilogy has been a meta commentary of sorts and, specially, Aerith's death is at the epicenter of it. She both dies and doesn't die exactly because us, as an audience, want both things to happen.
People have been clamoring to be able to save Aerith since 1997, there were fake hidden hacks, AU fictions, retellings, everything. Everyone has been at Squeenix's doorsteps begging them to let us save her. Like, it's at a point where the "Square will let us save Aerith if you pay for the DLC" joke is much more than a decade old.
On the other side, there's this very expressive unwant for any change whatsoever from the source material. It's not a feeling that is exclusive to FF7 either, there's this very clear pushback against any new remake/adaptation that deviates, even slightly, from it's original. People don't want new content, they want the old one they experienced when they were younger, but prettier, they want to both feel the nostalgia and experience everything as if for the first time again.
From that camp, I think the most prominent argument is that FF7 is about loss, right? And they're not wrong. Aerith's death is the crux of the story, it's the very thing that made FF7 as known as it is, there would be no actual weight to what it's trying to tell if the heroine doesn't die in the middle of it, an unexpected, hurtful, avoidable death. What's the point of a narrative about grief if you can just... avoid losing someone? Avoid having it be cruelly taken from you?
And yet, you see, if want someone to die, if you want something to be taken from you, are you really losing it? In the original, part of the impact was that no one could see it coming, it was a straight representation about how death is sudden and takes away opportunity from you. Aerith doesn't go into the sleeping forest willing to make a sacrifice for the greater good, she has barely started her adventure, she makes a promise to go on the highwind, the group is one location away from finding out more about her ancestry and her family.
That's not true for the remake, tho. Everyone knows about her fate, about what is going to happen to her. That's probably the most spoiled moment in video game history. I personally knew about her death before I truly understood what Final Fantasy even was. So now we have an audience that is extremely aware of what, when and how her death is going to happen. That's why the Confluence of Worlds is put at that moment, because it's the single most expected moment in the entire triology, it's the one moment that made the narrative resonate so well.
The impact is impossible to recreate now, even for newer fans of the series. People want a 1:1 retranslation but such a thing would always be a gimmicky shadow of it's original. It's why the focus shifts, now the most emotionally impactful scene is not the killing of her but of her goodbye, in the church after the dream date. "Thank you," Aerith echoes "It's been fun", a callback to her conclusion on Remake where she says "I'm grateful for all the words we shared. All the moments and the memories. You've made me more happy than you know."
So she dies and she doesn't, both at the same time. Effectively in limbo now, narratively explained by lifestream shenaningans. We put her there ourselves, by refusing to move on, refusing to accept her death but also refusing to change, allowing a different outcome. I don't think that's necessarily a bad thing, at least, Aerith's words sound like the very sincere feelings of the developers, who are grateful for all the love we all have powered into their work all these years.
I just love it so much, I could spend hours talking about it.
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sloppy-rants · 2 days
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Rottmnt Rant #2
(Leonardo centered)
One thing I adore about rise is that if you pay attention there are no character traits that ever come out of the blue. They have always been present within the show, they just don’t have any spotlights on them.
One example of this is Leo’s martyr complex, as well as his habit of making jokes out of serious situations. These traits are very present in the movie, and are even main plot points that push the narrative forward. These traits have always been present in the show, however one episode that I think contains multiple examples of these is the episode “Flushed but Never Forgotten.”
⚠️SPOILERS AHEAD FOR THE EPISODE AND THE MOVIE⚠️
In the episode Flushed but Never Forgotten, the boys accidentally flush their dad’s pet fish, Piebald. They decide to cover it up, lying to their dad and replacing piebald with a ‘perfect’ replica (a rock with googly eyes glued on). After about a year, Mikey starts to feel guilt over the loss of piebald, and tells the rest of his brothers about writing on the walls and voices he’s heard that he thinks are coming from her.
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We find out that Piebald has returned, and is now a mutant capable of talking and possessing abilities such as turning invisible/camouflaging with her surroundings. Upon initial discovery, the boys are terrified. All of them except Leo.
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Leo responds to seeing piebald with “Okay so she’s a mutant.” While the others are obviously scared shitless. This only lasts for a moment, but it demonstrates his true nature, as in this moment he hasn’t had enough time to lie and come up with some sort of fake or funny reaction. He uses one of his coping mechanisms, humor, to deal with the situation. Now of course, after this he goes right back to being scared with all of his brothers, as one would do, but I find it interesting that his initial reaction was to tone down the situation and after that he showed fear, rather than the other way round. Moments like this are sprinkled through the whole show, but I decided to focus on this one simply because of how small and fast it is. It would have been so easy to have Leo just scream along with all the others, but the writers decided to add this bit in. You might think of this as just a joke the writers added in for shits and giggles, but he does this multiple times in the series. A rather popular example of this being his line “Soo.. you guys from Jersey?” in the very first episode.
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Now his Martyr complex, I know is a very popular topic for Leo. It provides juicy angst, and it’s a wonderful topic to use for drawings, fan fictions, and rants such as I’m doing now. But usually, those are all centered around the movie. The movie’s climax features Leo locking himself in the prison dimension with Krang prime, sacrificing himself for those he cares about. What I don’t think people talk about enough is that this isn’t the only time Leo does this. This is another reason why I decided to focus on this episode specifically.
Later in the episode, Piebald ends up taking Leo’s entire family. His brothers, his dad, even the paper foot ninja they took in. Initially, he has a plan to gain the upper hand against Piebald. He uses her own trick against her, camouflaging with his surroundings to use the element of surprise against her. Once this fails, however, he finds himself backed into a corner. His family is tied together, hanging behind him as they dangle over a large whirlpool of sewer water, about to be flushed as they had done to Piebald so long ago. In one last desperate attempt to save his family, he pleads with Piebald to let his family go, and take him instead.
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He says, “flush me and let my family go.” Clearly stating the he wishes to sacrifice himself for those he cares about. He’s been running this whole episode. Running from the monster, running from the responsibility of Piebald’s “death”, and running from telling the truth to his dad. Now, as the only one left, he knows it’s him who has to save his family, and when given no other choice, he chooses himself as the sacrifice. It’s not even suggested to him that he sacrifice himself, he came up with that on his own. He doesn’t know what will happen to him, he just wants his family to be safe.
Sadly, this moment is short lived as immediately after he says this Piebald cuts the rope to drop the others into the whirlpool, which is where the whole thing is revealed to be a ruse made up by Splinter and Piebald to teach the boys a lesson. But I still think this moment should be talked about more. It’s so interesting to me.
It’s one thing that I think people get wrong a lot. A popular trope I see with Leo is that in any danger whatsoever he will deliberately go out of his way to sacrifice himself first. It’s his first and only plan, and he truly believes it will 100% work out. Watching the show though, this just isn’t true. Leo is a good leader, and he knows what his brothers are capable of. He’s able to use their skills to come up with a clever plan that almost always works when he really puts thought into it. It’s when he’s backed into a corner, stuck between a rock and a hard place that he resorts to his final plan. His last chance to keep everyone he loves safe and more importantly alive. If it comes down to it, he will use himself as the scapegoat willingly, even if the others don’t want it. I love Leo angst so much, and I love it even better when it’s done right. Leo is a smart guy, he knows when he can find an easy way out of things. That’s what makes it even more devastating when he resorts to his martyr complex, because it’s always either a last resort, or a split second decision. I think what people try to do is make it his first instinct, which I can agree with if written to be believable.
Moments that represent these traits come and go quickly, but I think that’s part of why Rise is so well written. The creators trust their viewers, and are aware that things don’t need to be spelled out in order for us to understand them. This show is honest to god just so amazing, and a wonderful example of when artists put out a work that they really care about for others to enjoy.
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maevearcher · 2 days
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...um, okay, so, @pennyblossom-meta, here is part one of my two cents. I...I actually decided to peruse the manga again, so I'd pay more attention to specific things instead of...just living it over and over again, and beyond... So, I've decided to split things into parts, so it doesn't get insanely long either. This first part covers up to the point where Misa introduces herself to Light.
…I never know how or where to start these things….
First things first, I want to be clear on the fact that this, everything that I’m going to say, comes from the perspective that I’ve held true to my core values over as many years as I remember, ever since I learned how to read, namely that the book is better and truer that the movie. That the original written word is the baseline truth on which I must build any interpretation that will not result in me falsifying the very essence of what I’m trying to understand.
On that assumption, in any analysis of the character of L, I always, but always refer back to the manga, with the anime serving as completion of details here and there, with the anime giving me the absolutely exquisite feel of actually hearing him (and for me, the English dub is the best, I love Alessandro Juliani’s low, vocal fry-ish rendition, I love his harsh tones here and there, which I find most fitting for the particular manga scenes they are constructed upon.
It is true that anime and musical and whatnot paint a much more….humanized, softened picture of L A rounder, more sympathetic, more socially palatable picture. An image of this lonely autistic genious, locked inside the confines of his ways, waiting for the right person to come along and save him from the banes of his solitary existence…until he meets Light and realizes there’s someone out there who he can relate to, for understanding and stuff. I personally don’t buy too much into that.
I am not going to debate too much whether or not he’s autistic, because I cannot presume to understand that kind of a mind, that kind of an IQ, and the emotional development losses that come with it (because nature doesn’t make presents, almost always a high IQ comes with a lower EQ, grain of salt added). However, I can see neurodivergent traits, such as preference for low-stimulation environments, perhaps sensory sensitivity (such as preference for one particular type of fabric or comfort in clothing style…. – or perhaps he simply can’t be bothered with style choices and all, and tee and jeans seem like a safe perpetual go-to option)….but these have been analyzed to death.
As for the Ryuzaki persona theory….from what I’ve read and from what evidence I can put together, I find it only partially correct. Excluding the autorial intent (or rather, lack of) from the equation, going completely in-universe and treating fiction as reality….it is true that he acts differently when he is alone, prior to meeting the task force. He stands up straight and sits differently, he even does yoga and meditation to think. But later he slips into this total weirdo of a person…but I think this is highly intentional. I mean, he doesn’t fake his personality when interacting with the task force, he blatantly exaggerates some behaviors, with the purpose of being underestimated, as well as to cover some of his tracks, which people can chalk off to him just being a weirdo. Another thing….I think he has a waaay better understanding of social norms and regulations than people usually give him credit for. I mean, he is not socially awkward, that would amount to making involuntary mistakes out of genuine ignorance of social norms, because one cannot figure out the appropriate response. However, I cannot see him doing that. He is blunt and sarcastic and mean because he’s sort of a jerk when he wants to be… and he has little reason to be otherwise in the little slice of his life we are shown.  
What I believe he truly struggles with is an understanding of emotions  apart from their motivational aspect. We always see him having a very fine understanding of behavior, but he’s always, always asking “why? what are they hoping to achieve? what are they after? what is their purpose?....”  I don’t think he has ever been confronted with the possibility of having someone be kind, nice, affectionate towards him for the simple enjoyment of his company, without being out to get him, or get something from him. He sees people either as neutral entities, or as people who either will hurt him or will use him.  (And I would soo much like to see more of his life outside this particular situation when adrenaline is through the roof both from the chase, the thrill of the game, and from the fact that he is , in fact, in very real mortal danger, much more so than the relatively risk-less situations he has been in in his previous cases.)
What he comes across at first is…extremely self assured, to the point of egomaniac from the point of view of a normal person. But…he HAS to be this way in order to do what he does, he has to over-believe in himself because if he were to second guess himself and waver, he would have self destructed years ago.  At first, he acts  from this higher ground vantage point, allowing himself to even show Light that he was unsure about the action plan, during the initial televised confrontation (how he was like “I…I don’t believe it…I couldn’t believe it until I saw it with my own eyes…”) Then, his choice of words, how he is always using his pronouns well (“Listen to me” instead of just “Listen”, “I want you to…” instead of “Please do…”) he is very assertive about his position of authority.
What I also love is that he’s sooo expressive through body language, especially frustration (fist slam to the floor, clenching fist, gritting his teeth in frustration, throws the stack of papers on the floor, especially before meeting the task force, when he can actually afford such transparency). That fades a little bit later, and is only apparent in him gripping his knees a little more forcefully and (what I imagine, with the help of the voice dub in the anime) slightly colder and more distinnctly pronounced words, these being the ways of conveying. frustration and anger.
However, that’s not the only emotion he is expressing. He is caring and considerate. He refers to the FBI agents as “precious lives”. He acknowledges the integrity of Soichiro Yagami (a man who earns L’s respect and keeps it throughout….)  and allows him the privacy of secrecy over the surveillance footage from his home (and again, as my only concession to the anime, the warmth in his tone when he allowed him this privacy…). He repays transparency with  sincerity - he tells Soichiro that the surveillance period of seven days will not be extended secretly, telling him that he has his word on this…. And you can feel the honesty radiating from him at this point, he's never being a jerk for the sheer hell of it, in a completely undeserved fashion. One can argue about the way he belittles Matsuda, but let’s not forget Matsuda screwed up majorly a few times, and I for one would have been harsher on him than L was, so…. Besides, I do think, as  I said in a previous post, that L actually came to like Matsuda  and was affectionately cruel towards him the way you make life hell for a younger sibling. Which in turn proves (a manner of) attachment from L, he certainly does not see them as pawns.
I love it how he proves himself to be soo far from the image of the recluse genius, working only from behind the comfortable shield of his computer, unable or afraid to face the world outside……no, guys, he is aggressive and decisive, both in his opinions and in his actions, he is dead set from the beginning on having Kira commit a murder in front of him so he’d find out how exactly Kira kills, therefore, being pushy and (almost) reckless in some decisions, he takes the step of actually meeting Light and forcing him to make his next moves….He’s being force-of-nature aggressive….while having this…strange duality between cynicism and idealism where he almost wants to believe in the normalcy of Kira’s psyche, how no one can be so absolutely cruel as to kill someone without batting an eyelash…..
Somehow, I don’t believe for a second that he’s as listless and apathetic as he sometimes wants to appear. There are all these emotions brewing under the surface, barely masked by the “please” politeness, almost like I can see the “go fuck yourself” underneath haha. But there are times when he breaks that stance, for instance when he is confronted with the possibility of the shinigami being real, which disrupts his whole thinking system. That’s what he’s reacting to, to the internal earthquake (which he quickly tries to rationalize away), not out of fear of the supernatural... Also, I love his instinctive spasm of a reaction in the manga, compared to the long-drawn panic mode in the anime (completely out of character and unjustified imo)....
Aand...the reason I fell in love with him oh so many years ago. I mean, not The reason, but the moment where admiration morphed into love. The moment where he basically bled right there, emotionally, for Ukita. Now, I don't see it for one lousy second how Aizawa was abusive in his touch (he was just...having a normal emotional reaction using normal male tools), AND I don't interpret it as aversion to be touched, on L's part, as he is shown to shake hands with Light and such normal human interactions. What's happening here is his desperate attempt to remain in some semblance of control, to not let this whole situation unravel into tragedy (as he actually says, in so many words), not to break down emotionally under the weight of the guilt....for a man whose blood is directly on his hands, as well as the "precious lives" of the FBI agents. He is basically shaking with guilt and sorrow, and, of course, a little fear (he's human after all).
To be continued...
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hayaku14 · 2 years
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kaishin au where kaito unwillingly received immortality from pandora. kaito is torn and broken upon the burden of eternal life. shinichi promises to stay with him forever. to do so, he drinks aptx 4869 every 10 years.
years go by and soon everyone in their life passes. kaito and shinichi learned how to create the poison from haibara before she left the world as well. but though it works in consistently turning back time for shinichi, it is still a deadly poison. accumulated, it slowly weakens him.
as shinichi's body slowly deteriorates, the poison chipping away at his life, kaito spirals. once again, torn and broken, kaito is desperate. feeling this to be their last years together, he decides to find a way to stay with shinichi forever.
a way to reverse his immortality.
a way to die together.
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detshin · 1 year
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With all the hype going on because of the hp game I'm just going to say:
Heiji in griffindor and Shinichi in slytherin.
That's all, thanks.
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hershelwidget · 5 months
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Giggles !! Hey here’s seven stupidly powerful characters in the Octonauts AU. Only three of them look even remotely like Octonauts characters btw
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From right to left:
Rosemary, Philliam, Polly & Jarvis, Charley, Lars, Theatre
I’m just gonna say what they are (not in order) so that you can have a GRAND time wondering who’s what :) In our roster we GOT
• Someone who figured out the secret to immortality
• Some Guy™️
• The Literal Actual Grim Reaper
• Act of Love gone horrifically wrong
• Narrator^2
• Colours Georg
Closeups :)))))
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can i just say that is the most gorgeous these characters have ever looked
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suddenrundown · 5 months
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considering faking my death to get out of this project. would still like to get a passing grade for it.
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kissmefriendly · 8 months
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Okay I’ve started outlining the first instalment of The Amelia Project crossover fics.
For anyone who’s wondering which one I’m starting with. It’s Hornblower. I’m sorry. I enjoy way too much historical fiction for it not to be and there is a certain somebody’s death that still pisses me off so it’s only right that —
:)
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kiwibirdlafayette · 4 months
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now even my fucking dreams are tryna get me to write more bc im not kidding that I had an Aitheaca dream last night that somehow has given me a possible scene idea?? idk it was kinda cool ig
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nixtorr · 6 months
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eight and liv but they enable eachother’s murderous tendancies instead of their actual dynamic
#eighth doctor#liv chenka#eight and liv but eight is the same eight who would have killed davros gladly if they were the only victims in terror firma#eight and liv but eight takes more traits from caerdroia’s the nasty one#eight and liv but eight resembles the eight who was like ‘give me the code and i shant break your arm’#gets the code and whomps the guy’s head against a wall in vanishing point#eight and liv but eights character actually makes sense to be like that after de1#im sorry but eight is rarely an optimist. he is however a hopeful realist#‘despair accords with reality but i insist on hope’ and such#he KNOWS the universe is full of evil but#his hope never stops him from doing horrible things. like killing the clock faced people in anachrophobia#in de1 he is faced with his despair after the death of lucie in the face of ww1 and the daleks and the fake reality made to please him#and when he thought molly had died when she fell. he still had hope. he still climbed back up. but he was still ready to jump back down#with the risk of death#he was going to go to the end of the universe to look for hope. he hurt the tardis and himself for it.#thats all good. thats sexy. but why after all that is he so horribly an optimist#why does he believe that the eleven can change after he's been like that since his second incarnation. lumps of rock evolving into flowers#the only nice incarnation of his being the eight but he was like that since he was born and he was obviously struggling#why does he treat dickbag landlord from better watch out like he has any empathy in him before hes literally dragged to hell#anyway. bitchier eight and bitchier liv i think theyd be great together#actually. the amount of bitch liv is is great already
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rabiosass · 11 months
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if the writers want me to care about tb in s2 i think it would do them some good to give them some good flaws and complex relationships
if they delved into jace's problems then i might start paying more attention to him. Dude's clearly got some type of complex about being a bastard but they didn't do much with that. they'll have a lot more time to explore his anger and any resentment he might be feeling.
Don't even get me started on baela and rhaena. I really want to know rhaena's thoughts about being a dragonless targ teen and her feelings toward her dad. Does she feel incompetent? Is she upset that he ignored her when she was younger? Does he still ignore her??! Throw me a bone please.
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transvoxman · 2 years
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Ok actually I was wrong in the tags, laserblast was never outwardly a jerk in highschool, not for anything that could be traced back to him. He was Always nice, he was Always the bigger person, specifically just so that no one could ever say "he wouldn't make a good hero, he was mean to me once." Poor guy created his Whole Personality around having a career as the Most Successful Hero Ever, he never did a genuine/true-to-humself thing in his whole goddamn life until he started being Venomous.
#laserblast#okko thoughts#AND EVEN THEN! HE GOT SO CAUGHT UP IN BEING THE BEST AND MOST WELL-RENOUNED VILLAIN THAT HE PUT HIMSELF BACK IN A SIMILAR SITUATION AGAIN#he thought to himself 'if only i could leave POINT then i could be myself'#he thought 'wow i could finally stop having all this pressure to be perfect and to keep up a certain image 24/7 now thats the dream'#AND THEN HE WENT AND FOCUSED ON KEEPING UP A GOOD IMAGE ANYWAY TO THE POINT THAT HE WAS BORED WITH LIFE#you can take the perfectionist cares-what-others-think boy out of the hero spotlight but that mindset will still follow him where he goes#and this time he couldnt even blame his dad or POINT for molding his personality into a tiny box to fit a specific image#it mustve hurt to think about. god. 'i faked my death to escape this why am i putting MYSELF through it'#it took boxman crashing into his life to break him free from that cycle of perfectionism and appearances#dont get me wrong tho. he was way happier as venomous even when he was stuck caring so much about what other villains think#because he Relished doing villainous things. he Loved thinking about how horrified everyone who pressured him so much would be to see this#it felt so so freeing to do the exact opposite of literally everything he was raised to be#and of course. raising fink and spending time with her made him really happy too#fink obviously never made him feel the Crushing Pressures and Judgements of Society#she is one of the few people who ever took his mind off all of that instead of making him think about it all even more#who cares about society when you have a little menace to take care of! a menace who loves villainy purely for the fun of it!#idk i have so many thoughts about pv i want to study him like a bug#i wish i was up for drawing a bunch instead of just writing out my thoughts#but this takes so much less energy than making art or writing fics
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kingdomoftyto · 1 year
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WAIT, FRICK, I think I've got it
holy SHIT that's a well-played twist
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bazelgeuce · 6 months
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Is it just me or have boomer christians lost their minds
#bf came across like 15 videos all about how isreal going to war is the 'end of an age' 'armageddon is coming' blah blah blah#like.. no. i seriously doubt isreal was a country when christianity was founded. and a quick google search tells me its a NAME for a PERSON#antichrist this satan that mark of the beast this shut the fuck up yall sound delusional as hell#we actually watched 2 of the videos and both sounded fake as fake can get#one of them was an interview. idk who either of the men were nor do i care#the guy answering was saying stuff about the antichrist and the mark of the beast or whatever#and he mentioned that all those with the mark (who is literally everyone apparently???)#cannot 'buy or sell or participate in the economy' and that 'theyll starve to death'#like bro you have to be a whole new level of stupid to think that people won't resort to stealing food??? lol??#if THE WHOLE POINT of the mark is not going to heaven then what would prevent people from sinning?#also it didnt account for self sustaining people like 'people will starve' no they wont. people are resourceful and also compassionate#giving is not the same as taking NOR is it the same as selling. immediate loophole fuck you and your rules#idk fam it really makes them all sound fucked up#but whats bugging me is how bf noticed there's a huge uptick in christian faith in celebrities. i personally didnt notice tho#so like i can only think of dax (and even then i have to double check) and no one else so idk if that holds any water as a statement
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avelera · 2 months
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Thinking about Hob Gadling in 1589, or rather in the decades leading up to 1589 when we see him as Sir Robert Gadlen
Thinking about how he went north, twice, to come back as his own son, presumably to build the myth of the Gadlen family. Before that, as a soldier, a brigand, and a tradesman in printing, he probably didn't have enough money to need to "leave it" to a son, because he'd had no real assets. No houses, no businesses, nothing besides his weapons and armor, the proverbial clothes on his back, and what spoils of war could be carried with him.
But to make money you have to spend it, you have to have it, you have to invest it. 1389, the year of Hob gaining immortality, corresponds to the birth year of Cosimo de' Medici, the man who would establish the great banking dynasty of Florence, Italy. I note this because this transformation in Europe corresponds with Hob's progress through immortality and rather roughly corresponds to when, as I see it, he would have moved from an individual soldier of fortune to make his living to needing some sort of continuity of identity if he was going to move beyond that.
In this instance, pretending to be his own son (or relative) would be a necessity to inherit his own wealth so he could carry it forward for the next 10-30 years, before he'd have to reinvent himself again. The money to buy a knighthood would be the work of generations.
I'm thinking about Hob building himself up from being a printer's apprentice (because printing was so new a trade that it was probably one of the few where he could get in as a man perpetually in his 30s, most apprenticeships would require you to begin as a child) to gaining his knighthood. By his own admission of faking his death twice by 1589, he'd be Robert Gadlen the Third, possibly the Fourth (not that this was a naming convention back then for commoners, but more to illustrate where 1589 Hob stood in the line of his own fictional family inheritance).
The first half of the 1500s in England under Henry VIII still saw a predominance of nobility holding the lion's share of power, but it did see something of a shift where you had noteworthy men rise to great heights from common origin, like Thomas Wolsey and Thomas Cromwell (yes, I'm rewatching Wolf Hall, why do you ask?).
But now to the point that got me thinking about this: imagine Hob in the 1500s. At the beginning of the century he is the first of his name, building his fortune. Robert Gadlen, who made his money in the printing business then invested it, through a great stroke of luck in to the powers-that-would-be that century: the Tudor shipyards. Hob building himself from very nearly nothing, peasant stock, nothing more than a soldier and a brigand before that. It's still grubby to build oneself up from trade, better to have been born to wealth of course, this isn't American Yankeedom and we're before the Puritans, where showing one's hard work was a virtue rather than an ugly necessity of the common people. But Hob still did it, with his own hands.
Imagining Robert Gadlen II, and Robert Gadlen III, the "scion" of a family on the rise, sniffing around the edges of the Tudor court, eventually finding his way in, having enough gold to buy himself a knighthood.
Imagining Robert Gadlen, meeting one of those common men in the service of Henry VIII, noting with chagrin their own common birth, the sons of blacksmiths and butchers, unlike Sir Robert, whose father was a man of means who left a growing fortune to his son.
And I can't help but imagine Hob smiling, a little slyly because he did it, he slipped passed the censors, no one knows of the fact he was born to peasant stock almost 200 years ago, and no one ever will. As far as anyone knows, he was born wealthy, a gentleman in the rising social consciousness that all it takes to be a gentleman is to have the money to act as one.
But I can't help but wonder if that smile would be just a little uncomfortable, too. Because no one will ever know. No one will ever know that Sir Robert Gadlen didn't inherit his money, that he's not some child of nepotism and generational wealth who has never worked and never starved. He is the founder of his own family, he built it himself and with each generation that goes by he has to leave more and more of that story behind him. Except with Dream.
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seiwas · 8 months
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₊˚⊹。 tell me about love (show me how) | gojo satoru
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wc: 7.4k
summary: you teach gojo how to love. 
contains: f!reader in mind but no pronouns mentioned, descriptions of blood (typical jjk canon type stuff), shibuya onwards manga spoilers, implied minor character death, there are swears, suggestive bit at the end (but it’s funny!), lots of internal thoughts/dialogues, kind of canon divergent
a/n: relates to my short blurb, do you believe in love?, explores a lot on how i think gojo would be when it comes to love; ambiguous but linear timeline (jumps through scenes)
collection masterlist: conversations on love 01. do you believe in love? <- you are here -> 2.5. and my body keeps saying (it's yours)
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When Gojo has love for the taking, he makes no move to reach for it. 
It’s unusual for him to be so restrained, being born into greed and predetermined purpose—a one-man clan fated to hold power close to God. There exists a hunger within him, insatiable and stubborn, unstoppable until he gets what he wants. It’s all he’s ever known: to take and devour, simply because he can. 
Yet with this, he doesn’t. He can’t seem to. 
“I think I’ll always want to be with you, Satoru.” 
When you offer your heart to Gojo, he looks at you softly. 
You catch his eyes and see the sky, bright, with flecks of light floating on his irises like cotton clouds in its periphery. It’s different from the piercing blue you’re used to—a terrifying riptide that washes you away. 
It wasn’t intended as a confession, but Gojo always takes whatever you have to say. He commits it to memory each time; how could he not? Words that come from you flow so naturally, so earnestly that the air around you shifts all on its own.
His lips part slightly, red spatterings lining pink inner corners before they close again. He doesn’t say anything, but you know Gojo and the fingerprints of his soul—the way he bites his lips to withhold himself from speaking. 
It’s dangerous, he thinks, how you make wanting something so complicated seem so simple.
He takes a small breath, then you feel it, pressed against you—the faint signature of his cursed energy overlaying his entirety. It tickles your skin a little, the effects of it brushing. You don’t remember the last time he put it up around you.
A million things run through Gojo’s mind for every split second he breathes, but at this point in time, he counts a million and one—one thought that if he touches you by infinity instead of his hands, he can have this good thing for now, that this is the only way how. 
You’d think this a rejection, if any, but he doesn’t move away from you, and the blush blooming at the tips of his ears says more than he ever could. 
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The subtle intimacy you share with Gojo grows sporadically, from knuckles brushing to pinkies touching. He stands next to you more often, a few inches closer than he used to and sometimes, still, with an infinity connecting you.
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When you hold Gojo’s hand for the first time, he jolts very slightly, as if you’ve shocked him. He’s started to put his infinity down around you again, and you continue the limbo of whatever it is you both are—except this time, he’s made it clearer, just a little bit. 
During the last few leaves of fall, Gojo skips to an ice cream stand like a pre-schooler on early dismissal. You trail behind him slowly, shaking your head affectionately; he’s the only adult you know that still acts like he’s 5. 
“You’re like a horse.” you jest, stopping next to him in line.
“You’re a snail.” he huffs, side-eyeing you, like a child.
You gasp exaggeratingly, hitting his arm. He fake-winces, but that’s all it is; Gojo’s the strongest and you don’t know of any human touch that has managed to hurt him, except—
Yeah. Your eyes trail to the side of his neck, hidden in the shadows of his jawline; there’s really nothing, but sometimes you blink and see crimson, oozing, gushing, leaking—you shake away the thought.  
When he receives his ice cream cone stacked with vanilla-strawberry-vanilla and rainbow sprinkles on top, the smile on his face parallels the sun. He looks cozy, almost boyish, beaming against the autumn breeze blowing on his thick gray hoodie. 
You wonder if he feels just as warm.
(Maybe that’s why you do it, then).
Once Gojo turns to give you the cone, you reach for his other hand tentatively, shyly—your fingertips grazing his palm lightly. You want to give him an out if he can’t take this, but he doesn’t move. He twitches a little, as if he’s been caught off guard, but that’s it. 
His eyes widen briefly, just a bit, before turning into the same soft skies frequenting them lately. 
“Sorry, is this okay?” you whisper, peering up at him. 
He stares at you for a while, his hand in yours unmoving. You leave a sliver of space between your palms–your own version of his infinity–just in case. And he takes it all in: how tiny your hand is wrapped around his, how gently you speak—how warm he feels now amidst this autumn breeze. 
“The strawberry’s really good,” he finally replies, pressing the dessert closer to you, “try it.” 
You give him one last look before you indulge in his request. Gojo’s always been good at that: pushing and pulling—pushing you away with non-answers only to pull you back in with something else. 
But he doesn’t let go of your hand, so you keep yours there, palms nearly touching. (You make a point not to mention how the parts that do touch become clammy for the rest of the afternoon). 
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You start to think that your relationship with Gojo is going somewhere, then he disappears (‘gets sealed’ might be the more proper term). 
His absence is deafening. You’ve all lost so much, and it hurts, but you carry on knowing full well that this is what being a jujutsu sorcerer means. There aren’t many left to fight his fight, so you do what you can to. You stay with Shoko, mostly, if not going back and forth with Utahime. You can’t afford to be crying when the students, the kids—you can’t even bear to think about what they’re going through.
Nights are the hardest, when the world is quiet but your mind is loud, throwing far too many questions you can’t find the answers to.
What will Gojo come back to? Then the scarier thought: Will he even come back? 
You don’t want to doubt him, ever, but your mind continues to play back that day, like a final memory. The unintentional confession; his eyes like the sky. 
You don’t want it to be the last important thing you tell him. 
“I should start looking into retirement plans, like Nanamin.” you raise an eyebrow, questioning. Gojo’s never spoken this far into the future before, most especially his. 
“Work is shit now for you too?” you scoff, leaning back on the wooden ledge. 
Gojo rolls his eyes, skipping the coverage of his blindfold today. 
“Well, after I remove the old geezers and change everything, there won’t be much left to do.” 
You hum in response. He does make a point. 
“Also, Megumi won’t need me anymore,” he pouts, whining, “who else will want me around?” 
You try to hold back your laugh, wanting so badly to tell him that Megumi doesn’t even really like him around to begin with—but you figure breaking Gojo’s heart isn’t really something you want to do if you value your peace. 
“I don’t know,” you reply, shifting your weight, “I think I’ll always want to be with you, Satoru.” 
Even now, especially now. You wish you were with him, too. 
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The day you hear of Gojo’s potential return, you drop your breakfast outside the 7-Eleven near Jujutsu Tech. You’re supposed to meet up with Utahime for a weekly check-in but your feet take you to Shoko, and the footsteps in your heart have never echoed louder. 
This is the first good news in a while—especially after finding out about the state of Megumi and what happened to Tsumiki, your sweet girl Tsumiki. 
When Gojo comes back, it’s like he never left. He pops out of the box joking the same way, talking the same way. He proves himself to be the strongest all the same, and when he wins—there are scars, but he wins and that fact stays the same. 
So, when you reach for his hand now and he moves away, you’re stuck wondering what’s changed. 
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You let it stay that way for a while, your understanding extending to Gojo the way it always has—you don’t push, and he gives you what he can. It honestly isn’t all that bad, because at least he’s still talking to you like he used to. 
Jujutsu society is still shaken from its core. You and all who have survived bear the task of building everything from the ground up; it’s exhausting, especially since most of you are still mourning. 
Megumi’s been put in an induced coma; you understand why but it still tugs at your heart when Shoko tells you it might take a while. Everyone else has been assigned to sweep through the rest of Japan to ensure that any remaining curses are taken care of. 
You see Yuuji and Yuuta visit Megumi sometimes, along with Maki and Toge when they’re free. Gojo’s there pretty often too, using healing sessions with Shoko as an excuse to see the boy he’s practically raised at 17, with you. 
But while Gojo’s smiles to everyone else remain as charming as ever, you can always tell when they’re untrue. 
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“Are you okay?” 
You find Gojo a little after midnight on the rooftop of the faculty building. The city always looks pretty from up here—a sea of lights reflected up on the sky. It’s a running joke that rooftops are Gojo’s ‘thing’, but you know he really only comes to places like this to think. You wonder what’s on his mind now, coming here every single night since being unsealed. 
Despite how quiet you try to be, sneaking up on Gojo is almost impossible; he senses you before he hears you, sees the familiar traces of your cursed energy through his Six Eyes. 
“Can’t sleep thinking about me?” he teases, looking straight ahead.
The steps you take towards him are careful, afraid of running him off like you seem to be lately. You sit beside him, leaving a space larger than you usually do, then shrug, “These days, yeah.”
It’s times like this when Gojo forgets how honest you can be, how he takes your word for everything, completely. 
It’s threatening, he thinks, how you can say so much with so little. 
“Well, maybe I can suggest—” 
“Seriously, Satoru,” you grip the ledge tightly, knuckles turning white, “please.” 
You tend to let Gojo dodge your questions a lot of the time, his elusiveness a hallmark of who he is. So you never sound like you do now, serious, pleading. 
Gojo fiddles with his fingers, pondering. He hums lowly before speaking, “Does it matter?” 
It hurts you a little, how that’s even a question. He should know better than to ask that to you. 
“It matters to me, Satoru,” you sigh, “you know it does.”
You barely catch the way his brows furrow at your response, but there are creases on his blindfold that can’t be created by anything else. And Gojo knows—is so painfully aware of the way you care. 
Since coming back, he’s never felt like he’s fully returned. It’s an odd existence of in-between, like he breathes everything and nothing all at the same time. The emotions are even worse, overloading his senses with feelings he can never pinpoint. 
How does he tell you that he must be fucked in the head? That every second in his mind is another step closer to insanity? That he’s lost your tether on Satoru in pursuit of Gojo—of being a god? 
“I’ll tell you,” he starts, “but you have to look away.”
You’ve always treated Gojo tenderly, patiently, and he knows, without a doubt, that no matter what he says you will continue to do the same. But he can’t allow that, not anymore. Not after the way you looked at him that day.
“Okay,” you mutter, turning your head the other way. 
He breathes out and you can almost picture it: half-bitten lips and eyes like low tide. 
“I’m fine,” he says to the back of your head, “you have nothing to worry about.” 
A breeze picks up and brushes past your neck. It’s a lie. He knows it, knows you know it too, but—
it’s easier this way, he thinks, to give you answers when you’re not looking.
Gojo’s never found a weakness he can’t work around, but he might have just found one with you—in your eyes, that read through his every lie. If you turn around now, he’ll want to tell you everything.
“Satoru,” you whisper, letting his name fill the air. You get it—him, and even when you don’t, you try damn hard to because you refuse to let Gojo carry all of it on his own. 
There are crescent indents on your palm from squeezing your knuckles too hard. You think, is this how you form shallow cuts on your heart?
“It’s just me,” you continue, facing him when you say it. 
He takes you all in—your eyes that hold the city lights, your lips, the only vessel that handles his name so delicately. It’s that look on your face again and Gojo’s hit with an ache in his chest—the overwhelming truth that whatever it is, he feels the same. 
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There’s a secret Gojo keeps, one he’s certain he’ll never tell you: that when he looks at you upon his return and finds an emotion he refuses to name, he’s never felt so afraid.  
He takes in the shadows under your eyes and the sunkenness of your cheeks—the number of blinks it takes you to reign in tears on the brink of leaking. The way your voice shakes when you say his name.
Shoko tells him about it because she knows you never will—about how you’ve been running yourself dry, speeding through colonies to gather intel for any possible way to break the seal. She tells him about the sleepless nights, how she catches you standing outside his office at 3 a.m. before travelling to Utahime the next morning. 
And he cannot comprehend it at first, cannot understand how he’s caused you to crumble this way. 
If this is all because of him, how you’ve broken yourself all for his sake, he can’t allow it. To see you ruin yourself over him, over anyone ever—you deserve better.
So, when Gojo has love for the taking, he makes no move to reach for it; he cannot possibly take any more from you if this is what is left of you when he does. 
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“You’ve been avoiding me,” you catch him by the door of the conference room. 
Rebuilding an entire society requires work and apparently a lot of meetings. Gojo doesn’t usually go to most of them, leaving you and Utahime to carry the chunk of his attendance when he’s not there. In the rare times that he does show up, he makes it a point to be the last one in and the first one out. Utahime hates him for it but you don’t blame him—he isn’t exactly amicable with other figures of authority.
He pauses when he steps out of the door, hands in pockets as he turns to face you. 
You’re not mad or anything, just stating the fact. He’s always known you to speak this way. You lean against the wall next to you, keeping your arms crossed. More people continue to file out of the conference room, some eyeing the two of you curiously as they pass by.
Gojo glances at them, suddenly self-conscious as he clears his throat, “Right, I’ve been avoiding the paperwork you left in my office,” he emphasizes, practically announcing it to everyone in the vicinity, “let’s finish it now.” 
You don’t know whether it’s irritating that Gojo’s so terribly bad at acting, or comforting that he still can’t, for the life of him, successfully lie in front of you. 
He motions for you to follow him as he strolls down the hallway, but you intentionally lag a few steps behind, careful not to encroach on his space lest it make him avoid you any more than he already is.
Stepping into Gojo’s office after so long feels weird, like you belong here but only to a memory of it—as if closing the door behind you feels like activating a muscle you haven’t for a while. It’s been months after all. 
Your eyes skim over the entire room, zeroing in on the stacks of paper lined up on his desk; paperwork has always been Gojo’s least favorite part of the job, often leaving you to do them with him (or alone, when you’re feeling generous). Not much has changed in his space; the mini living area still exists to the left of the room, with little bits of you in its interiors—the pillows, the coffee table books. 
Gojo plops down on the sofa chair and props his feet up on the ottoman, giving four scrolls to his phone before pocketing it. He has the audacity to casually offer you the seat across from him, as if nothing’s wrong—as if he hasn’t been avoiding you for god’s sake. 
Ever since the rooftop, he’s canceled lunch with you six times for reasons that you’re now realizing are less likely to be true. He’s kept a distance of at least one person in between you at all times, and to this day, you still don’t understand why. 
You sigh, taking a seat and leaning back to cross your legs. 
“You’re so bad at acting.” you start.
Being with Gojo for so long, you’ve come to realize that there’s no point being angry with him when your heart can never take it. 
“I technically wasn’t lying.” he replies, sticking his index finger up. 
“Yeah, I can see that,” you snicker, nodding to his desk. 
It’s always like this with Gojo: he pulls you in and you follow. No matter the distance between you, when you sit down together like this, it still always flows so easily. The banter you’ve built together over a decade and more shines through no matter what state your relationship is in. 
Neither of you say anything until Gojo replaces his blindfold for his sunglasses, placing the piece of cloth on the coffee table. 
You break the silence. 
“Why have you been avoiding me?” you ask quietly. Gojo aches at that, how you still choose to regard him so kindly. 
Why has he been avoiding you? It’s a good question, completely valid with how he’s been treating you lately, but he could draw up every answer he has, all one million and one, and still not know what to say.
Gojo’s a pretty bad communicator; for how much he talks, he doesn’t really say much—and maybe that’s the root of all this. There are too many things he wants to say but can’t formulate in the right way. 
“If it’s something I did, can you at least let me know?” you continue. Gojo frowns, how can you be wronged yet still think of yourself as the one to blame? 
“Why do you do that?” he tuts, head tilting sideways as his hands dig deeper into his pockets. 
“Do what?” you furrow your brows, confused. 
“You didn’t do anything wrong, so don’t worry about it.” he says dismissively. 
You arch an eyebrow; he has it all mistaken. 
“Satoru, I’m not worried because I feel guilty,” you sit up, inching towards the edge of your seat, “I’m worried because you’re pushing me away.” your voice is level, but your pupils shake.
Something grips at his chest seeing you this way; together or apart, he seems to be the main contributor to your heartache. 
You wonder if confronting him like this is any good if he’s not going to say anything anyway. 
“If you want space, that’s okay, I get it, but,” you exhale, “at least just tell me why.” 
This entire time avoiding you, Gojo’s had you on his mind—the million and one. He’s come to terms with what he feels when you’re together, and how it amplifies when you’re not. 
It’s shitty of him to practically ghost you, not just in text but in real life too. But he’s thought about it logically, really, that removing himself from your life should be just like ripping off a bandaid—painful but quick. At least that way, you’d get over it fast. 
He’d been resigned to doing that and that was the plan—until now. 
All it takes is seeing that look in your eyes, and his resolve falls apart. 
“I can’t.” he speaks softly. 
What hurts the most is that beneath his sunglasses, his eyes still hold the sky. 
You think you want to cry. 
You take this as your answer and close your eyes, taking a deep breath before getting up to leave. If this is goodbye, you don’t want your last interaction to be an awkward memory of him watching you bawl in his office chair. 
You push yourself up with the armrest only to sit back down—because Gojo is right in front of you, blocking your way. His infinity is up but touching, a tingling sensation sweeping across your knees. 
“Wait,” he swallows, a franticness you’ve never seen before. His head stays down as he bites his lips, sunglasses hanging by his fingertips. You wonder what he wants to say, that even if it comes out messy, it’s okay. You want to tell him that it’s just you—that you’ll always want to hear it all anyway. 
What comes next is unlike any version of Satoru you have ever known—nervous and uncertain, almost like he’s afraid. He lowers himself, slowly coming down to his knees in front of you. A giant of a man so small in your presence. 
“I don’t know how.” he mutters, dropping his sunglasses to the floor. 
You blink once, twice, still surprised by what’s in front of you. Gojo has always towered above you, has always known how to do anything and everything so effortlessly without fail. 
Watching him now, with every inhale and exhale dragging in slow motion, you do your best not to startle him. 
“How to what?” you whisper, the moment so fragile. 
He looks up, eyes locking with yours. A reaction happens in that moment—the split second of all his thoughts collapsing into one. You see a clear sky, blue and bright as day, the Satoru he saves for you—while he sees you, with that look on your face, the one that he knows has always only meant love. 
The sincerity in your gaze overwhelms him—makes him look away before it becomes too much. Red blooms at the tips of his ears as he bites the inner corners of his lips, fingers grabbing at the fabric of his pants. You’re afraid he might run away again, but he doesn’t and stays right where you are. 
“You know…” he looks to the side, pouting, “whatever you do….”
“Like…?” you coax lightly, trying hard to hide the small smile forming on your lips. 
You wonder how many versions of Satoru you’ll meet in your lifetime, and if this one, shy and nervous, will be one you’ll fit into the crevices of your heart just like all the others. 
He grips his pants tighter, fabric bunching under his fingers, “When you hold my hand… those things. You get it.” 
And you do (get it), so you don’t push, taking whatever Gojo has to give you like you always have. 
The tension relieves from you slowly, comforted by the fact that at least he’s given you his reasons now (no matter how vague they still seem to be). That at least there are no non-answers this time. 
You tell yourself that it’s okay, that you’re content as long as Gojo’s in your life even without the possibility of becoming something more. 
“Ok—”
But there’s always one thing you forget about Gojo—
“So show me how.”
—in the moments you least expect it, he speaks the words that matter most. 
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You choose to show him slowly, gently, like the trickling introduction of water to a man who is first learning how to drink. 
In the first few weeks of you and Gojo readjusting to one another, he turns on his infinity again—but only when he gets close enough to touch you. Lunches together happen more often, dinners sometimes too. Then he puts his infinity down, indefinitely. 
For the most part, your relationship falls into the usual steps of your dynamic with Gojo; there’s no pressure for anything and he likes that, appreciates the time you’re giving him to learn things at his own pace. 
It grows organically that way: knuckles brushing as you both reach for the stapler, pinkies touching whenever you walk side-by-side during site visits—until you’re able to hold his hand fully again, leaving that little infinity between your palms for him to close (hopefully, one day). 
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The faculty room is cold, especially during winter. The heating system is never warm enough to keep your hands from shaking whenever you mix your morning coffee. 
“So loud so early,” Gojo saunters into the kitchen, hands in pockets as he approaches the pantry. 
You stop mixing, ceasing the clinking of the spoon against your mug. “How are you not freezing?” 
He shrugs, grabbing his box of (heavily sugared) cereal. “I guess I’m just hot.” he says, turning to wiggle his eyebrows.
You roll your eyes and set your coffee on the table, Gojo following with a bowl brimming with cereal and milk. 
Mornings usually consist of you and Gojo, with an occasional new hire who has an early class that day. Most of the time, it’s just you two though, with Shoko coming in much closer to lunch time already. 
“Want some?” he asks, holding out his spoon.
It’s routine—Gojo asks and you decline, choosing to save yourself from the cavities that he somehow manages to evade despite having a diet of 80% sugar. 
Today though, you’re feeling a little adventurous. 
You nod, opening your mouth. Gojo’s eyes widen, nearly dropping the spoon at your request. You see the flush of his cheeks and smile, corners of your mouth extending wider. The spoon is shoved to your mouth too quickly, almost like he’s embarrassed to feed you. 
“Too sweet,” you scrunch your face, swallowing down the copious amount of sugar you’ll feel for days. 
If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Gojo throughout this whole relationship trial period, he recovers from any state within a nanosecond. There’s no end to how shameless he can be. 
“Like me, right?” he winks.
“Sure,” you drawl sarcastically and Gojo smiles like it’s high praise. 
You sip your coffee slowly, revelling in the heat that flows down your throat.
“Can I have half of that?” you point to his bowl. Gojo looks at you, confused, but slides it over anyway.
What happens next is an abomination to Gojo’s eyes—pure absolute disgust: you pour half of his cereal into your coffee and mix, sipping and crunching on a few pieces every now and then. 
His face contorts into complete distaste, horror and revulsion in the way his mouth hangs open. 
“What are you doing? That’s gross!” he nearly yells, reaching over to bring your mug down. His hand covers yours for a moment, the contact still causing gallops in his heartbeat. 
You laugh, giggling as he processes what you’d wasted his cereal on. It honestly doesn’t taste that bad, you think. 
“You’re weird,” he says to you, the grin on his face uncontained. This morning, he feels fond, like the butterflies in his stomach are warm, tickling him from the inside. “Give me.” he motions to your mug. 
You hold it up for him to take a sip but he keeps his hand over yours when he tastes, sticking his tongue out once the bitterness of your coffee hits. You set the mug down, preparing to reach for your spoon, but he takes your hand in his, long fingers slotting right between yours, interlacing. 
Gojo doesn’t normally reach for your hand, much less interlace them together (a recent evolution to your hand-holding), but this feels nice, how your fingers fit right in the spaces of his. 
You turn to him, a shy smile on your face. The tips of his ears are blush red but he looks at you the same, “Your hands were cold,” he pouts, “is this– is this okay?” 
“Yeah, it’s warm. Thank you, Satoru.” you nod, beaming. And it’s not a competition but he hopes you see the light in his eyes, how it feels to be ignited within him only when he’s spending breakfasts like this with you. 
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Shoko asks what you are and you don’t know what to tell her other than you’re happy and it’s good. Gojo’s existence is loud and vibrant, easy to spot from miles away—but he cares for you discreetly, in the hand that gently rests on your lower back while crossing the street, and the seemingly unlimited supply of your favorite coffee when you have no recollection of restocking it ever. 
He gives you a new mug for Christmas, one with little cereals painted all over while you give him his own tube of hand cream that he claims always smells like you. 
During the faculty New Year celebration, you overhear one of the new hires make a move on Gojo. You aren’t bothered by it or anything, simply walking past to sip your sake by the couch. You can hear them talk a bit from the kitchen, but you try not to pry despite how curious you are about his response. 
Until—
“I’m taken,” you hear Gojo say bluntly. 
Everything rings in your ears after that. The countdown music is loud, but your heart beats louder; there are murmurs and footsteps around you, but only one man crouches down to check on you, glass of water in hand. 
You snap out of it and see blue, the sky—a familiar light; you don’t think you can control the smile on your face, the alcohol lowering your inhibitions to paint on something lovesick. 
And when he smiles back, pink lips stretching wide—oh your heart can’t take it. He places one hand on your knee, rubbing gently. You hear it faintly, how he asks if you’re okay, but all you can do is nod, words failing to express how you feel right now.  
The countdown starts. 3 — and you take his face in your hands, squishing his cheeks to an image of him on your phone from many, many years ago. 2 — you go closer and his eyes go wide, a mixture of panic and surprise, but soft at the same time. 1 — you lean in and his eyelids fall shut, his chest on rampage. Then it lands, there, on the tip of his nose: a delicate peck and the smell of sake mixed with mint (like the lip balm you always carry around in your pocket). 
When you pull away from him, you’re smiling the biggest he’s ever seen, and he can’t feel it from how numb his cheeks have become, but he’s doing the same. 
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That kiss to his nose serves as the catalyst to the months that follow: Gojo becomes more comfortable touching you now, and though he blushes every single time, there’s nothing to be ashamed of because you do too. Shoko can’t believe the slow burn this is taking you both, having watched this on the sides since you were both 22, but you think you like it—like the slow drizzle of honey on Gojo’s favorite breakfast waffles. 
“How is it?” you ask, watching as Gojo takes a big bite. 
“D Beft.” he replies, mouth full as he chews. You take the seat beside him and take a spoonful. 
“There’s a secret ingredient.” you say mischievously, wiggling your eyebrows. 
He swallows before he scoffs, “What?” cutting up another piece, “Love?” 
You’re surprised because he says it so casually, and Gojo’s never talked about love, has never even mentioned the word since this shift in your relationship. He realizes a beat late by the expression on your face and gets flustered, thinking immediately of ways to brush past it. 
You had meant to say that you used that infused sugar he buys whenever he goes to Kyoto, but… you suppose love works too. He should know by now, right? 
“If it is?” you whisper, pretending to stir your coffee. 
Gojo doesn’t know how to approach this, really, but he’s come too far to back out now. He clears his throat, mentally running through what he wants to say, then, “Good. ‘Cause that’s what I put in your coffee too.” 
You laugh and the tension dissipates; there are hearts in your eyes for how hard Gojo has tried after denying himself of this for so long. 
He stares at you—at the laugh lines by your eyes and the soft curves of your lips, the moment moving much too slow, stop motion in his mind. He’s drawn in until you’re all too close, a few centimeters from your noses touching. 
Your laughter dies and your cheeks feel like they’re on fire; he’s so close you think he might kiss you. The signs are there—his eyes scaling your face to focus on your lips, his tongue peeping ever so slightly to wet his lips. 
So you wait. 
But he doesn’t, because he moves away after wiping his thumb on the side of your mouth. Even though you know there was nothing there. 
Gojo continues to eat, blabbering about a site visit he’s assigned to next week, but you don’t miss the way his ears are fully red and how he’s biting his lips to death.
.
The tension this time is different; instead of a growing rift, you can’t seem to be close enough. Every time you part ways, he lets go of your hand more reluctantly—as if he wants to say more, do more, but stops himself while he still can. 
When he leaves for missions, you kiss his cheek, pull him in by the hand and linger there, shyly. He gets embarrassingly red but tries to cover it up by telling you not to miss him too much (even though you know you will, and he knows he’ll miss you more). 
Your near-kisses with Gojo happen more frequently, and it comes to a point where he even manages to land one on your forehead, while you fall asleep next to him on his office couch. 
It’s driving you crazy, this tension—the mixed signals of it all. You try to kiss him a few times on the lips, but he evades them each time. You’ve caught Gojo staring at your lips more times than you can count; if that isn’t a sign, you don’t know what is. 
Now that Gojo thinks about it, he’s come so far yet the prospect of kissing you properly still scares him. What if he fucks up? Doesn’t do it right? What if it’s not how he wants you to be kissed? 
There’s that secret Gojo will never tell you, of how seeing that look on you has never gotten him more afraid. And he’s worked through that now, but it’s evolved into something else: how Gojo is now afraid of love, more than anything else, not because of loss but because he might not know how. 
And kissing you, loving you this way—he’s never done it before, doesn’t know how to make you feel love without his lips shaking and heart palpitating; how to do it while letting you know he feels the same. 
.
It happens during an assignment out of town. Curses aren’t as bad as they used to be, but they’re still stronger than what any of the available sorcerers right now can handle. 
You don’t remember the last time you saw Gojo use his technique that way—almost forgotten how powerful and ruthless he can be. Every time since, holding your hand, keeping you close—he’s just been your Satoru. 
Your apartment for the weekend is a two-bedroom unit with one bathroom and a decently sized living area and kitchenette; Gojo always chooses the room in front of the bathroom because he tends to wake up in the middle of the night to pee (information you know from your many other assignments with him before). Still, going as what you are now—it feels different. 
There’s a charged air between you as you move around the unit; you make your nightly tea while Gojo looks through the groceries for some crackers. It’s peaceful and quiet—domestic almost, but there are goosebumps on your skin for reasons you can’t explain. Being around Gojo lately has felt that way.
He brushes past you to throw the finished packet of crackers and the feeling intensifies; it’s not awkward, just tense, like anticipation sitting deep in your bellies, waiting on each other to make the first move. 
He announces that he’ll use the bathroom first, if you don’t mind, and you motion for him to go ahead. Your mind is fuzzy and having Gojo around seems to only make it worse.
When you walk past the bathroom and straight to your room, you hear Gojo humming that soft pop tune from a popular girl group on the radio earlier. You giggle, thinking it’s sweet—how he sings obnoxiously around everyone else but is admittedly pretty good when it’s just him, alone. 
You still have the rest of the weekend in this area, having agreed to monitor the site and any nearby locations for other suspicious activity, but at least the worst of it is over (maybe just to you though; Gojo hates paperwork). 
The sound of running water stops and you hear the bathroom door swing open. You don’t see Gojo when you exit your room but he leaves the door open to release any remaining steam.
There’s a reason why people say showers are good for the mind. You’re happy for those who’ve found it, but that couldn’t be you, because the only thought plaguing your head right now is Gojo—and whether you should greet him goodnight, if you should kiss his cheek or hug him tight. The tension between you now is palpable, an electric current waiting to zap on both ends. 
Your mind is so out of it that you don't realize you’re missing your skincare bag until after you finish brushing your teeth and dressing for bed. You open the bathroom door with the sole intention of going back to your room to get it, but instead, you’re met with a wall of chest.
Gojo’s eyes are wide, bright blue with damp strands of white falling like curtains barely shielding the sky. He’s just as surprised as you are, toothbrush in his hand as you hold up the towel wrapped around your head. 
You’ve seen Gojo in his pajamas many times before—white long sleeves with gray cotton pants, but your eyes trail to his collarbones and the way the bathroom lights cast it under a soft glow. The redness on his cheeks, a visual manifestation of the heat on yours. 
Gojo can’t stop staring at your lips, at how soft they look—at how soft you look fresh out of the shower. The little baby hairs sticking out under your towel are cute, and he leans in without knowing—a pull he can’t seem to resist. For once in his life, Gojo’s mind is still. 
You try to meet him halfway, tiptoeing, but you’re a little out of your element; you don’t know where to put your hands and your heart’s about to explode out of your chest. When your noses touch, you can’t breathe, closing your eyes while you wait for it. 
But it doesn’t come. 
You feel Gojo’s breath stilling before speeding up into little exhales. Something is wrong. You open your eyes and find him staring back at you, a version of Gojo you haven’t seen in a while—that you rarely see ever, except that day during your confrontation in his office. 
Concern laces your features and you move back a little, hands coming up to caress his cheeks. His eyes still look frantic, but they focus on you when you cup his face so gently. 
“Satoru,” you whisper, voice grounding. His breaths slow down a little. 
You realize that it must be true then, what they say, that those who love to be feared, fear to be loved, because you’ve never seen anyone afraid of something so good as Gojo is of this. 
“Satoru,” you repeat, massaging his temples with your thumb, “we don’t have to if you don’t want to.” 
Gojo hates it, how you’ve always had to adjust for him. He hates that he can’t give you this one thing, hates that you’re still so patient, that he’s still so afraid. He swallows, closing his eyes tight before opening them again. 
“I want to,” he chokes out, “I just don’t know—”
You chuckle, without judgment, “I don’t either,” you lean forward, foreheads touching, “but do you want to try together?”
You learn that Gojo sees himself so differently from how you do—and maybe that’s everyone, but Gojo tends to say things while doing the other. He says he can’t bother with kids, but continues to take so many of them under his wing anyway; he calls your cereal concoction disgusting but tastes it regardless; and he says he can’t think about love, doesn’t know how, but proceeds to try so much harder, everyday. 
When you look at Gojo, you see a heart so big, so capable, that he can’t see it himself. 
You nudge his nose with yours and he breathes deeply, closing his eyes once again. If he doesn’t do this now, how much longer ‘till he does? 
Gojo hums before nodding his head slightly. His hands come up to cover yours, toothbrush wedged in the spaces between his fingers; they’re clammy, he’s sure, but he’s kept you waiting long enough. 
When you kiss Gojo for the first time, everything trembles—his pupils, his lips, the breath he takes. It’s all shaky and nervous, but your lips touch and all you know is that you like it there. He’s a little bit stiff but you don’t mind, pressing closer just for a little bit before pulling away. 
Gojo keeps your hands in place, half-lidded eyes staring at you lazily. His ears are fully red now but he’s giving you a look you’ve never seen before—like lightning crackling in the gaps between his eyelids. 
When you kiss Gojo for the first time, you don’t expect it to be by the bathroom door of a rented apartment, while away on a mission. You don’t expect it to be in your pajamas, towel wrapped around your hair as you’re getting ready for bed. You definitely don’t expect him to guide your hands down his neck while he places his on your lower back, squeezing lightly before pulling you in to kiss you again. 
This time, his lips move more pliantly, parting yours slightly; he tastes mint, mixed with the strawberry candy he had earlier and it’s nothing he could have ever imagined before, but is now everything he’s ever wanted. The push and pull between you is magnetic, soft lips and the intermingling of held breaths. All Gojo can think of now is to take, to devour—to keep you with him, like this, always. 
You wonder if Gojo is lying—that he’s never done this before, because you don’t think you can kiss anyone after this and not think of his lips on yours. 
By the time you part, the air is significantly warmer. Your fingers thread through the hair at the base of his neck and you smile, sighing. Gojo looks warm, with his swollen lips and flushed cheeks. 
“That…” you trail off, nudging his nose. 
Gojo looks at you fondly; to ever even think he could have this now, with you—he doesn’t believe in any higher being but you must be his prayer come true. 
“We can practice a bit more, I think.” he pulls you closer, hands gripping your hips. 
You feel it against you, something solid and firm against your stomach and your eyes go wide at the realization; Gojo does the same. 
“Satoru, you–” he moves back and freezes, untangling himself from you completely. There’s a faint outline on the crotch of his pants and your whole face goes red. 
“Let me use the bathroom real quick.” he panics, rushing past you and closing the bathroom door. 
You stand there stunned for a good minute before you shake out of it, laughing. Gojo yells about how you’re being so mean, making fun of him when he’s like this, but you aren’t—not really. 
It’s been a long time getting to this point with Gojo, but considering all things, you think, this might just be the beginning.
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thank you notes: i would also like to shoutout @stellamancer for leaving such lovely comments on dybil that it actually kinda pushed me to write this longer piece connected to it!!
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comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡
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