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#a softer kind of life
firstfullmoon · 9 months
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Megan Denton Ray, from “A Recovery Guide for Adult Children of Alcoholics”
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#cats#outing myself once again as someone whos not attune whatsoever to human culture but - in all honesty I do not know#what 'psspsspss' means despite loving cats my entire life hghj.. I've just seen people online describe that as how you call a cat#but I have never in my life witnessed someone call a cat by making that noise or made that noise myself. I can't even think of an example o#it so I genuinely don't even know what that's supposed to be but. Included because I've seen it so much it must be something to someone#even when I was a kid I pretty much always just meowed to cats and tried to sound exactly like them or whatever meow I associated with them#obviously not literally saying “ME OW” but doing an actual cat meow. often times a kind of 'prrrow' sort of noise where you trill your tong#ue then lead into a softer vocal tone .. maybe like 'mrrrrauh' or something? Or sometimes just a trilling chirp immitating the#cat's ''mrrrrp'' they do sometimes. I used to mimic small kittens to get the attention of cats#with their like very high pitches squeky whine with a little bit of air out the nostrils at the end to imitate the sound of them having#tiny lungs that don't hold much air so with a long loud 'mew' it's sometimes a little strained near the end#Though usually I just imitate the cat that I'm around at the time. Sometimes I have done kind of a combination kissy lip sort of noise#tongue clicking. almost like tapping on the back of your front teeth with your tongue and sucking in. almost makes kind of a squirrel noise#ANYWAY... curiouse....
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soulinkpoetry · 2 months
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It all starts with how I treat myself. Today I choose to be kind, forgiving, loving, a little softer, a little quieter.
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haunted-xander · 1 month
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Finally started ffxvi and I keep thinking of Clive as a big sad guard dog
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brittlebutch · 2 months
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Actually, it's interesting to think about the sheer amount of footage that Jay never shows us. I'm rewatching Season One again, and Entry #3 caught my eye because Jay says he cut together about 2.5 Minutes worth of clips that he pulled from around 12 different tapes.
Depending on what kind of tape Alex's camera used, a single tape could hold anywhere from 1 to like 5 hours worth of footage -- at Minimum Jay watched 12 hours worth of footage just to make that video where he showed us like 0.002% of it.
I wouldn't go so far as to suggest that Jay was deliberate about framing Alex in any particular light when he started the channel, but it is interesting to think about the footage he decided wasn't interesting or worth sharing, and what kind of story a different cut would have told
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beeapocalypse · 5 months
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oh my god
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oh my GOD ?
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AUGHHH
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reikunrei · 11 months
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trying to be normal and go about my day but my mind is plagued by creelarke thoughts
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opens-up-4-nobody · 1 year
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hi so so sorry if this sounds genuinely deranged but I need to know did you write a fanfiction in like 2014 that was set during ww2 where zoro from one piece was sent to a japanese internment camp and sanji went to conversion therapy I remembered it recently because it blew my mind at age 13 and I had to reread it + need a kind of where are they now with the author so if that's you 1) what's your stance on the fic today 2) how much of the research was done during writing and how much did you just know beforehand and used as inspo 3) did you have any ideas for where the other characters ended up because I did always wonder if like idk chopper overcame the trauma of being in the war and also just what usopp's situation would be in general what with the political climate. once again. if you didn't actually write this fic so sorry this must look like the ravings of a crazy person. godspeed
Hi. Uh, yeah I did write that fic. I would have been like only 17 at the time. I did do A LOT of research, like the fic was basically an excuse for me to research Japanese internment and WWII history in general bc I thought it was super fucked up. I was absolutely hyperfixated on the topic and my parents probably thought i was nuts for my ability to talk at length on this particular area of history. I just finished skim reading back through the fic and woof. What a bleak fucking story. I was very cruel to everyone. It's frustrating bc I think it's an interesting and compelling idea for a story. But to me it feels like: here is all the research I did and also characters talking in what feels like a too modern way. Plus, I was 17 and didnt understand people very well. I wish I had the energy and motivation to rewrite it. Although, I forgot I used to do song lyrics at the start of each chapter and the tonal dissonance of Owl City lyrics at the top of a chapter of harrowing events around the time of WWII is unfathomablly unhinged.
#as for where r they now? i forgot the last chapter was like fuck u nothing matters life goes on sanji probably died of lung cancer#like jesus dude calm down. i think now id give them a bit of a softer ending#like i mean sanji still prob dying of lung cancer but he lives a long life with zoro and thry make the most of the time they have together#and i mean when u see horrific things in war i imagine its something u never really get over but i think the crew members that became#soldiers go on to live fuffilling lives and usopp finds a stable and relatively well paying job. gets married and lives happily ever after#god. its so frustrating to me that ill probably never rewrite this. it could habe been so good#but i just dont have thst kind of energy. i do think abt this fic more than almost all my other tho#im glad u liked it anon. its a fucking unhinged fic just from the perspective of: rural ohio teen wants to research a fucked up aspect of#ww 2 history and decides to write a fucking fanfic abt it. like bro what why. but idk weird weird times#there could have been themes and exploration of trauma and adversity. complex relationships. but no u get cringe written by a child#and now at the age of nearly 26 i am old and tired. christ thst was almost 10 years ago. i was a whole different human#weird the fanfics that stick with u. i have many i think abt from hs. wonder where the authors r now...#unrelated#i also forgot that in the authors nots i was like: if u r a n4zi fucking kill yourself.#which i standby but i was not expecting to see thst in the notes of a one piece fic i wrote as a kid good god
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mothmanhugs · 8 months
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sollucets · 1 year
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between the two versions of my akkayan (the original / mostly scrapped / chopped-up one & my newer one) ive written like 6k words now and i still havent gotten to the original reason i wanted to do this gods give me patience
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deus-ex-mona · 1 year
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i thought of my family. i ✨shrivelled up inside✨
#incoherent ramblings that may or may not be oversharing af in the tags. you have been warned#the lyrics just… really hit home at some parts. infidelity ain’t cool man. :(#ughhhh i just. the song’s just…!!!!! aaaaaaaaaa#now i really wanna take a crack at tling it bc. the…. aaaaaaaa#i can’t really explain my feelings about this song? but i have lots of them#like it brought back memories of being there in the cigarette-scented living room of my old place as my apparent other parent called his gf#i’ll never forget how sickening the softer and sweeter(?) tone his voice took on as he talked to her. it was grossssss#like it was such a huge shift from how he was towards his biologically female family members (my mother and myself)#just how was he able to be so soft towards that lady while also slapping the living daylights out of us? >:( it isn’t fair!!!!#my brother was spared from getting hit though. and he was spared from being involved in their fights too. male privilege ig. it’s not fair!!#not that i’d want that asshat to be sweet to me in the first place. heck no.#there was this time he asked me what kind of music i listened to. i told him t-swift bc i didn’t want him near my fav song: caramelldansen#he looked up one of her songs on yt to seem relatable,i told him ‘i don’t listen to t-swift’,and he screamed at me :(((#and there was also that time i was screamed at for calling him a perv for pointing out mosquito bites on my inner thighs :(((#and yet… just *how* was this ugly ass loser able to get girlfriends as a married man??? he’s 155cm so he doesn’t even have the height factor#ughhhhhh cheaters always remind me of this clown. i hate him. i really do. i hate tons of things but he’s the thing i hate most in the world#i can’t get rid of that mf though >:( the cons and cons of being literally named after him bc he was disappointed that i was born a girl ig#well. this sure got off-topic… i probably need therapy lol#but therapy’s too expensive (and too complicated to get) so tag therapy it is!!!!#i’ll just vent my life’s worries in the tags here all while everyone else suffers with me >:)#but… kitto wakareru yo’s a beautiful song (musically speaking). chico’s voice and the instrumentals are so good and very emotional…#but the dude mentioned in the lyrics can go cocc himself ig. cheating is unforgivable!!!!!!!#it is suiyoubi my dudes#inedible blubbering
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sonego · 1 year
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i was tagged by @lewishamiltongender to post my current top 5 songs 💙 thank you rish!!
deep end - felix (stray kids)
low - sza
amandoti - cccp fedeli alla linea
a welcome rain - lee moon sae
creepin' - metro boomin, the weeknd, 21 savage
i tag @thiagoalcantaras @samlammers @gianniisantetokounmpo and @salahattricks if you haven't already and/or want to!
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It's a shit feeling when you realise that someone meant more to me then I meant to them but I guess that's how connections work in this generation. Oh well 💔
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they-call-me-hippie · 4 months
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Here's one easy trick to become a better conversationalist
Become more jaded
#I don't know what happened in the transition to November but after getting sick and then being tired from being sick#And then being even more tired from a conference#I feel like my words come out of my mouth with more ease than they ever have in my entire life#There's something of an unique experience to see human suffering in front of your eyes at such a large scale#Because you suddenly realize more than ever that what you say and what you do at work doesn't matter at a larger scale. It DOESN’T MATTER#How can I pretend our pretend problems carry any weight in the real world when we see a genocide unfold in front of our eyes#But deny to call it such#How am I supposed to keep my mouth shut and my sentences politically neutral with such injustice around the world#So what do I care about carefully weighing my words or being softer than I am or inadvertenty appearing more demure than I am#I just say exactly what comes to mind. I let the empty space around me become mine. I stop being worried about appearing 'opinionated'#My harshness and sarcasm and disapproval is the least that I deserve to express as a human being#But that doesn't mean I allow myself to become rude or disrespectful. I just allow myself to be who I am at a realer level#You turn that sharpness into productive energy. Ask more questions. Respond with more kindness. Give more money to those in need#Show vigour to those that deserve it#Reserve the ruthlessness to those that truly deserve it#—#My words get sharper and my mind gets more alert with every act of unfairness I'm forced to see in the world#I've come to realize I'm driven by anger. I don’t like that
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ragingbookdragon · 2 months
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It comes as somewhat a surprise when the others realize that something has obviously happened between their resident Lieutenant and Private, as she’s quick to fall silent whenever he appears, and even more so make herself scare when she can when he’s around. It’s only the third time that Soap sees it that he says something, because if he doesn’t no one else will, and where’s the fun in that?
He watches her duck her head and leave the break room, Gaz, Soap, Price, and Ghost sitting alone at the breakfast table conversing over soggy cereal and cooling tea; Soap pushes a piece of bacon on his plate and asks, “Trouble in paradise, Lt?” the corner of his mouth arches with a slight grin when he hears the warning grunt come from Ghost.
“No.”
“Seems like it,” he retorts, taking a sip of his coffee. “What’d ya do? Tell her ta fuck off?”
“Drop it, MacTavish,” Ghost warns darkly. “Nothing’s wrong.”
This time, Gaz jumps in. “C’mon, Lt., it’s obvious that something’s wrong. I mean, she won’t even look at you, let alone say anything unless you speak first.”
“An’ she’s callin’ ‘im ‘sir.’” Soap adds, pointing at him. “Christ, Lt., ya musta done a number on ‘er. Poor Puffin. So sweet and kind. Broke ‘er heart ya did.”
Price can tell that Ghost is close to snapping at the both of them but gets to it before he does. “Soap, Gaz, go catalogue our inventory for the mission next week.”
“Aw, but we already d—” Soap falls silent when Price shoots him a look and quietly grumbles to himself as he grabs his plate and cup, Gaz following in suit.
It’s only until the two soldiers are alone that Price asks, “What did happen, Simon?”
Ghost lets out a long sigh and rolls his head back, staring at the ceiling. “Pretty much told ‘er to fuck off.”
Price watches quietly as Ghost begins rattling to himself—he’s never really had to ask the man to explain himself. All he’s gotta do is prompt him to do so and Ghost does the rest.
“I just got mad. She’s always ‘round and practically up my arse, and I got caught up and instead of ‘andlin’ it properly, I shoved my fucking foot in my mouth and scalped her.” He rubs a hand over his face. “I meant to be gentler but once I started, I couldn’t stop. It just kept comin’ out. And now she fuckin’ hates me.”
He pulls his hand down and looks up at Price with a scowl—the man is smiling at him, but it’s that stupid smile that means more than Ghost wants to admit it does.
“Quit that.”
“You care about her,” Price murmurs, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, though his admonish is still harsh. “And instead of telling her how you felt like a grown adult, you took the ten-year-old way out and decided to be a cunt to her.”
“I didn’t mean to be such a cunt.”
“But the fact of the matter is that you did, and you’ve screwed up team fluidity and cohesion.” He looks at him. “You know a team divided—”
“Can’t stand,” Ghost finishes with an even worse scowl. “Yeah, yeah, I know.” He looks away. “I just don’t know how to even start tryin’ to fix it.”
“Well, apologizing might be a good start,” Price rumbles with a grin. “She’s a good kid, Simon. Her heart’s in the right place, even if it’s a bit much at times. Shows she cares. More than most do in our line of work. She’s a rare one.”
“I know,” he admits in a much, much softer tone. “I just don’t want her to lose that doin’ this.” His eyes meet Price’s, and they hold such a misery. “Look at us, Price,” he mutters, gesturing between them. “Middle age, unmarried, no kids, too fucked up for anything like that. She doesn’t…” he clenches his jaw. “She deserves a better path, a safer path, than this life. She deserves to go out and have a life where she comes home to a family.”
“That’s not your choice to make, son,” he replies gently, but there’s a firmness to it. “If this is what she wants to do, then she will. We can’t make her get out of service.”
Ghost growls low in his throat. “She has so much more potential than being cannon fodder. She could do somethin’ with her life. Somethin’ good. Somethin’ that won’t have her dying face down in the sand with a bullet wound in the back.”
Price simply watches him.
“But she’s so fuckin’ stupid. She wants to be here. She wants to spend whatever time she has dodgin’ bullets and wakin’ up every night in sweat ‘cause she can’t escape the dreams. No one wants to do this. We don’t want to do this. We do this because we have to. But her? She’s happy here.” He lowers his voice, it’s as if he’s in disbelief. “She’s happy here.” He looks at Price. “Why? Why is she so happy here?”
It's another long moment before Price speaks.
“You hear, son, but you don’t listen.” He moves the cup on the saucer. “She bounced around homes growing up, scraped by on the skin of her teeth. She has no one. But here, she has something. She has people who care for her, if nothing else, they won’t let her die alone.”
“Oh what? So, it’s found family bullshit?” Ghost spits. “If she dies, at least the team would mourn her?”
“Isn’t that what you’ve done too?” he replies, and Ghost falls silent. “People like Gaz, Soap, and myself are different than you and she are, Simon. We have homes. We’ve had families that have loved us, that do love us. But you two? Simon, you’ve made a home where you’ve had to. Made a family out of people you’ve bled for, would gladly bleed for. You’ve made something that’s yours. You made a family for yourself. And so did she. She’s made us her family. The one she never had the privilege to call her own.”
Price lets out a quiet hum, and pats his thighs, standing up and pushing his chair in.
“Think on what I’ve said, son. And if nothing else, apologize and leave it at that. Put the ball in her court and let her make the next move.”
As he walks off, he hears, “And if she doesn’t want it?”
He tosses a knowing look over his shoulder. “I’m sure she’ll take it.” His eyes twinkle as he adds, “Takes an awful strong woman to care about a man like you.”
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riaki · 4 months
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ur highschool bully gojo was chefs kiss 💋 what do u think about them going to the same college and taking the same classes?? and the reader sitting next/talking to some other guy and satoru gets jealous?? arwahhhshdhshshs so many possibilities, i hope u continue writing it!!
hi nonnie !! thank you so much :) this is ur official part 2 ! i was struggling to think up some possibilities but this helped a lot :oo | read part 1 here ! -> cw: swearing, jealousy, i let it get fic length oops
(former) highschoolbully!gojo on the brain again… like. when you end up seeing him again however many months later, and you can tell that he’s changed. it’s not like its immediately obvious to anyone who doesn’t really know him like you (used to); but he’s a little softer-spoken and his smiles seem nine times more genuine. it’s not a hundred percent; the kind that really lights up his face instead of just barely falling short of his stark blue eyes, but it's something.
of course, you have nothing to base it off of, because when you do inevitably see him again it's the very definition of meet ugly.
college is a new frontier, but its also a clean slate. its your first time going into something so new without your old bestfriend at your side, but some faint flickering thought reminds you that it might be better that way. but the universe is against you from the very first day, when youre gettin yourself some coffee from the same chain you did the morning of that fateful presentation so many moons ago. you're too busy thinking to yourself what kind of strange parting ritual it is to relive your trauma to notice the lanky, white-haired boy who hits his head on the chiming bell over the doorway. people are giggling around you n sighing dreamily but youre too deep in the music pumping through your headphones to notice and your eyes are glued to the class schedule on your phone, trying to ensure you dont get lost on the first day when—
you blink and your ass is flat on the dirty floor of the coffee shop, and the first thing you register is that your stomach is soaked and burning. you'd spilled your coffee. it takes you a moment to realize, but when you do you're pissed. so you quickly get to your feet, trying to reign in what little of your ego you have left to give the offender who bumped into you a piece of your mind as you look up, then..
how unlucky do you have to be?
just like that, satoru's slid himself back into your life, after ramming through its locked gates. you forget that he always forgets the point of keys, both when it comes to his apartment (which you still have the spare key of in case of emergencies), and the door to your heart. to rub salt in the wound, the only thing that's stained with your coffee order are his shoes, which look like they cost three weeks of your old job salary, but it's all over your shirt. of course it is. because why not? make it look like you tripped and fell into a patch of mud on your way to the lecture hall and tack on an unwelcome reunion with your ex-bestfriend.
to you, it's like the cloud of gloom from your highschool youth has resettled over your head like a swarm of gnats on a dreary, hot summer day. the stars always seem to skew and misalign themselves for you. but for satoru, the stars have handed him one of those huge swirly lollipops that you only ever see being paraded about by toddlers. he recovers almost instantly, trading the burn on his feet and the way it sours your expression like he's just squirted pure citric acid into your throat for a pleasant burn of his own on his cheeks. but it's whatever. girls seem to like it when he blushes, for some reason. he won't question it, if it works on the only one he cares about.
he holds his hand out, ready to help you out like the good samaritan he's become— and it's like a real burn to his heart this time when you ignore it and stand up on your own, refusing to look up and meet his pleading gaze. might as well have taken an iron stoker right out of the fire and jabbed him with it. but he's gojo satoru! he won't be defeated by this one mere, maybe very significant reunion. he's got stamina.
so he offers to buy you a new drink, feels his heart sink when you shake your head (can't even spare a little 'no' in his direction), and talks enough for the both of you when you leave the dingy little store make your way down to campus and the lecture building. you clearly don't want to see him, but he ignores that in exchange to notice the way you shiver every so often. the previously searing-hot coffee that stains your shirt turns cold fast, and moisture n wind don't mix well. he wishes he could offer you some of his own warm coffee, no doubt sickeningly sweet, but he has some sensitivity now, apparently. so, in a brash moment, he decides to take his blazer off and drape it over your shoulders instead.
when you cross the threshold between city and campus, you expect him to yank it off your back and be on his merry way. but he keeps walking next to you, so you walk a little faster, and you absolutely loathe the cheeky little grin that curves the corners of his lips up to show a glint of teeth when he effortlessly keeps up. you curse his long legs when you find yourself winded, but at least you can lose him when you get there.
or, that's what you think. once again, your constellations break themselves to rebuild anew for satoru. you're about to call him a stalker when he follows you all the way to your classroom with that smirk that's growing exponentially until— oh, no.
your phone that's been on the schedule up until now desperately scrolls to the roster— and there it is. he's in your class. needless to say, not another word goes between you as you stomp in and take a seat. luckily for you, you've already corresponded with your roommate's brother (who's annoyingly cute, satoru notices) and agreed to sit next to each other. satoru takes the seat right above you and never stops kicking his freakishly long legs against the wood the entire time.
so yeah, it's obvious he's not a saint; he still has that undoable ego and he's cocky as fuck (as you have the misfortune of finding out when he quickly bullies your professor), but there's a certain familiarity in that no matter how ugly it might appear to others. and if you asked (which he really, really hopes you will someday), he doesn't hang around douchebags who use kids' foreheads for ashtrays and treat girls like they're candy from a glittery pez dispenser. and at least he's switched harassment targets. even though he has an overwhelming sense of superiority over others and never has his lips together for more than five seconds, and even though he has this hellish habit of clicking his pen whenever he's not talking (or when someone else is), it seems like he's changed.
and over time, you gradually find yourself warming up to him. the spunkiness that used to get on your nerves ceaselessly becomes an object of endearment, and you don't really mind the way he never seems to stop moving anymore. it's a nice sort of distraction in the lifeless still of the lecture hall, albeit the pen clicking still drives you near insanity. you notice he always does it obnoxiously and quickly when you're talking to your roommate's brother, but you ignore it.
and for satoru? he hates that he can kinda sorta really tell that you're the only one who can read him like he's a damn book, cus you slowly start to soften up in the nostalgia of his presence like cold playdough between warm fingers that tell you he may have finally caught you again after letting you slip the first time. and he notices it. this time, he's determined not to let you be the one that got away again. but youre really giving him a shit time outta it with the way you constantly entertain the guy who always has his breath in your face.
yeah, he's got a cute face that's sunkissed by freckles. yeah, his hair looks like he models for shampoo companies. and fuck, he has a nice voice. but what of it? satoru's the one with the mesmerizing blue irises and the cloudy white hair your professor wishes he had instead of sad little wisps of old age. still, as chilly days turn into frigid weeks, he gets the perfect backseat angle of the growing relationship between the two of you. the boy's kinda dumb so you copy off of satoru’s work when you need to (he has to hide the 1-0 scoreboard between him and the guy on a sticky note from you when you take his notes), but said guy’s always buying you stuff and lending you erasers and laughing when you flick the shavings at the annoying girl who never stops whispering in the front of the room.
satoru tries to act unbothered, and he almost convinces everyone. including himself. but the angry, burning knot in his chest that's entirely different from coffee stains suggests something more. that should be him at your side. him, making balls of paper with rude scribbles and silly doodles to throw at the people he knows you don't like. him, surprising you with little gifts and the cheap trinkets he knows you adore so much instead of all the luxury things he could afford. there's no way this punk could possibly measure up to him, right? but at least you and satoru are well on your way to becoming friends again. not as close as you used to be, but it's something. substantial. and he's learned to be patient in the time you've been gone.
but he'd be lying through his teeth if he said he wasn't tired of it. he’s endlessly plagued with thoughts of increasing intensity— first, it starts out with just you. only you. the way he likes it. the way he likes your face, and your pretty eyes and your gorgeous lips and your soft hair and your figure and the complimenting clothes you wear. but it takes a turn; thoughts turn into dreams that turn into fantasies and he's lying when he says he doesn't enjoy them when he accidentally lets it slip during a group study session— and it’s all fine— but then, that guy appears. the brat who seems to sit a centimeter closer to you with each coming day. not only does he haunt satoru in real life, he’s tormenting his dreams, too. tainting the image of beautiful you.
needless to say, satoru starts to wake up with his hands gripping his damp pillow like he's choking it, acutely aware of the sweat sliding down his neck and over his chest as he stares up at the ceiling, listening to the dorm's air conditioner run and thinking of what it'd be like for dreams (the ones where he replaces the boy) to become reality.
it's a buildup. and soon, he reaches the apex; it's like a rollercoaster, that stomach-twisting moment when you reach the top of the rail that points to the steep descent downward. but this time, he hopes it's a thrill he gets instead of the usual falling fright; the one he got when he realized he’d slipped between your fingers in highschool.
and satoru finally comes to a grinding halt at the top of the ride one breezy fall day when he decides he wants you back in his life after you smile brightly at him and wave goodbye for the day. he’s tired of you having one foot in and one foot out of his heart; he wants, needs more. he always has, he realizes.
so he’s thinking about you and how to approach the feelings he’s realized during those long lectures, and one morning he comes up with some semblance of a plan when he’s high on the sugar from the fruit tea you bought him that morning. and he hopes that, by the end of it, he'll leave your apartment with your hand in his currently empty one, chilled with the remnants of cold condensation from the bottle.
soon enough, satoru finds himself extinguishing his nerves and raising a tense fist to knock on the door with nothing but the clothes on his back and a flimsy plan to ask you out on a midterm study sesh and maybe even a date, but he stops when he realizes it’s slightly ajar. a brief thought of what look might be on your face when he surprises you crosses his mind, so he lets himself in quietly, because he knows every single floorboard that creaks like the back of his palm from his childhood. he’s hit with a wave of warmth and an achingly familiar scent that twists at his heart, and your apartment is cozy and safe and it screams you and he thinks he catches sight of his jacket slung across the back of the couch in your living room, but he’s not sure so he takes a step forward and—
he’s greeted with the sight of that stupid guy with the nice hair and the freckles, and it makes his heart drop. but even worse, he’s kissing you and his arms are winding around your waist but you’re kissing him back with a slight hesitation that’s blinded to satoru by his shock and the fingers he thought would end up in his own tonight card through the boy’s hair and your lips glisten with the strawberry-kiwi flavored gloss he watched the boy give you a few days back and his world is turning red and he feels like his throat is constricting and he can’t breathe—
and he doesn’t even realize you’ve parted lips and you’re calling his name through the newfound tightness of his chest and the painful ringing in his ears thats even louder than any silence of a lecture hall, or the void that should’ve been filled with your voice during the time you were apart. but now satoru realizes he’d take that any fucking chance to have that again because it’s so much better than what he’s stuck with now. having you, but not really having you, because you’re there but you’re someone else’s and you’re not his and he isn’t yours. the best thing he could ever hope for was for you to own an article of his clothing and a piece of his shattered heart, broken into a million fragments. some cruel voice in his buzzing head reminds him to change the scoreboard to 0-100.
and he could buy you cheap hot coffee or earn your smiles from scrunched up paper balls or even hear your laugh with crude jokes, but there’s no point when he realizes he can’t buy you with caffeine or earn you with hitting the back of people’s heads with his bio notes or have you and your laugh all to himself anymore.
it’s almost pathetic, the way satoru’s voice cracks and changes. the look of unadulterated concern on the face of the boy who stole your lips just adds fuel to the fire.
“gojo? what are you doing here— hey, are you okay? you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
he noticed you’d stopped calling him satoru a few weeks back. he should’ve seen it coming.
“huh? oh, yeah. i’m good. i think you’re the one hallucinating.”
he’d never told a bigger lie in his life.
satoru had left after excusing himself for intruding. how very unlike him to be so polite, you think.
so in the end, he leaves your apartment with something in his hand, after all. but it's not your own— just his blazer that you’d given back to him before he stepped out the door, taunting him with the faint scent of coffee and lingering perfume. his hope was foolish, so it seems. it’s too bad, he thinks. if it were him, he would’ve sandwiched you against your counter while he kissed. but it wasn’t. apparently, it was your turn for your stars to align at the price of his.
and so, gojo satoru, the boy force-turned man with a chipped ego and a completely broken heart, loses you again.
bonus bonus.. part 2….
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