The reason why the R+L=J reveal needs to be timed with the events surrounding Jon’s resurrection and subsequent dehumanization is that while struggling with losing his identity, purpose, and humanity, Jon finds out that his mother died wishing he could live. She never abandoned him, and it’s not that she didn’t want him. When everything else was dead (his father, his siblings, his father’s dynasty, thousands more), he just had to live against all odds. And won’t that be the same in Winds and Dream? He’s no longer Ned’s son, he’s no longer a brother of the Night’s Watch, and he’s not even human anymore. He’s broken and bruised and homeless. But one upon a time, his mother wished life on him. And that’s gotta count for something, right? So what other choice does he have but to LIVE?
Little Chuuya trying baked fish for the first time with the Sheep and suddenly crying for reasons he doesn't know because he doesn't remember it was his favorite meal his mama used to make
⚔︎ using gojos insta dms as a grocery list - 10:23 am
it’s that time of the month. the time where you’re scouting the isles of your local grocery store where the deli man shamelessly shoots you winks when you’re looking his way. even flaunting how much meat he’s got packed.. weirdo
you rise up from the crumb-filled sheets, cringing as you felt a quest chip scrape against your calf. you get your phone out & go straight to the rainbow framed icon & the familiar dm of a well known sorcerer that’s pinned to the top. the dms are filled with countless of bulleted lists consisting of grocery that would make anyone think you had the cooking ideas of a grandma.
like seriously..
Last Thursday 11:57 am
• mini russet potatoes
• broccoli
• lean ground beef
• green onions
• tomato sauce
okay so those were what I got last time. let’s try switching it up, maybe get a few sweet treats too!
you browsed through the blue messages & put together a mix of what you usually bought, this week we’ll do pesto pasta and chicken.
Today 10:26 am
• pesto sauce
• whole wheat rigatoni pasta
• basil
• alfredo
• kikufuku
& sent.
you knew he was never going to see it, i mean he’s a busy sorcerer whose dms are definitely full of women.
you shut your phone off & hopped in the shower that was always left smelling like sweet coconut mixed with vanilla perfume.
unbeknownst to you by the blaring of your hair dryer, your phone lit up & displayed a rainbow-framed message.
Today 10:31 am
“No green onions today?”
you shut your dryer off & headed out on a little 5 minute commute to the bustling streets of your local grocery.
the deli man shoots you a wink. ugh..
but you try to act like you don’t see him & click on your phone to go through the list again. but the top pin is bolded with a message that doesn’t seem all too real.
now you’ve actually forgotten about that flirty deli man.
he responded?! oh my gosh this is so embarrassing.
Today 10:37 am
“i thought you wouldn’t respond..”
typing…
“You’ve been blowing up my phone, baby. How can I not?”
baby!?
you look around with a palm over your mouth to cover any squeals threatening to grace the isles.
“Wanna eat the kikufuku together? It’s my fav lol.”
by now there’s practically steam coming from your ears, the gojo satoru wants to eat sweets with you!
“um sure!”
“xxx, xx. Meet up there? After your grocery shopping of course.”
looks like i’ll have to splurge on kikufuku tonight.. sigh.
My woke take, as someone who has worked in both a public library and a school library, is that we desperately need both more books that are at a higher reading level but a less mature subject matter, and more books that are at a lower reading level but a more mature subject matter, because 8 year olds who are advanced readers are still 8 year olds and don't want to read about graphic violence and torture, and teens and adults who have learning difficulties or who are just later readers for whatever reason are still teens and adults and don't want to read about Billy the Bunny going to school or whatever the hell.
♡.. you want more than your mentor's approval. you want his mouth, his tongue, his hands claiming you as his. so what if 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀'𝐒 twice your age?
𝓒w. f. reader ⋮ assassin au ⋮ age gap { 40s/20s } ⋮ angst ⋮ fantasised sex ⋮ loss of innocence ⋮ first kiss ⋮ toxic relationship ⋮ violence { he is reader's trainer, he is physical with her } ⋮ power imbalance ⋮ guys my age mlist ⋮
𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐀𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐈𝐄 trying to make him proud, so be it.
"You're better off dead at this rate. Six feet under will save me the fuckin' bother of looking at you."
Sukuna's boot slammed behind your head, crushing you face first into the floor.
Metal on your tongue and flames in your eyes. The training room floors taste of failure and broken bones. Tiles instead of wood— fear of the bruising fall encouraged assassins to stay on their feet.
The large space echoed hours of your training. Day-in and day-out. Trying to garner anything other than that scornful, scarlet stare.
Sukuna towered your heaped mess on the floor. Hulking arms folded over his chest. Long since had you stopped believing in the concept of heaven.
But hell? It reigned in his glare.
"To think," his boot squashed, shoving the ground further down your throat. "Once, I saw potential in you. What a fucking joke, huh? The weak will always stay weak."
"I'm not—" you coughed, lungs burning as you tried to push yourself. Keep your head up, always, as he had taught you.
"I'm not weak. Don't fucking call me that."
His head crooked. "Or what? You'll do something about it? Shut me up?"
The weight of him overpowered your aching body, forcing your forehead to the floor. Your shoulders gave out. Muscles limped. Grinding the familiar taste of his disappointment between your molars.
This was nothing new.
All your life, you had only wanted one thing: to make him proud.
These four walls soaked in your blood, sweat and tears. They watched you grow, watched you harden, watched you train until your bones became rubber and you vomited cries.
All for the approval and intention of one man.
Your mentor, your handler, the object of your every twisted desire. Many times had you imagined his hands, always rough with you— between your thighs, training you how to take him. Fantasised about those glaring eyes as he split you open, took your first before some target on a seduction mission would. Desired that degrading voice on your ear, reminding you that you were worthless, but you were his, as he fucked you into these same damned floors.
Broken little things like you loved sharp rocks to cut their hands on and call their own.
At last, his foot let up. You waited a breath, attentive to his every move. He was in front of you now, his glare pierced through the back of your skull.
"Get up."
You obeyed. As you had been trained. Rising to your feet and raising your head, even if the floor would have been more merciful than his eyes.
Sukuna snatched your face. Callouses etched into your cheeks as he stumbled you forward in a yank. "Do you enjoy pissing me off?"
"No."
"No, what?"
His hand clamped.
"No. Sir."
Your words squished from his grip. Still, you narrowed your brows. The glare you learnt from him, as you spat every syllable.
He rattled your head, hard. Sneering as his face shot closer. "Don't give me that attitude you fucking brat."
This was the part where you backed down. Apologised. Bowed your head and promised to be better. You didn't.
Maybe it was the exhaustion, the ache in your bones, or the closeness of his face. Right there, a hair's breath. So close, so far.
So yours.
You kissed him.
Hard, and bitter, and blood on your mouth— you kissed him. With the clumsy charm of a virgin trained into a seductress. Shoving your broken body into him and stealing the air from his lungs.
For the first time in your life, you finally caught Sukuna off guard.
He stumbled, lost his balance and headed straight for the floor with a muffled grunt. The only time you ever took him to the ground— and it was from a kiss.
You collapsed into his hard body, parting for a breath, only to crash back into him. Your elbows dug into the floor beside his head. Fingers delved into his hair. You kissed him like it was a mission. A death wish.
Inexperienced in every right, but you didn't care. Not when his lips tasted like smoke and dreams, nightmares.
His hands snapped to your hips and your tummy fluttered. Air knocked from your lungs at the idea that maybe— maybe. Your fantasy would come true.
Strength came easy to him. In seconds your back hit the floor and he was on top of you. Burning into the kiss, harder, deeper. Kissing you with a crushing, dominating weight.
Until he finally shoved off.
A large hand clamped over your mouth and slammed your head back into the floor when you tried to chase after him.
Never had you seen Sukuna so… dishevelled.
Breath heavy, eyes hazed. His jaw so tight you were sure it might snapped. He stare asked questions he didn't want the answers to.
"Broken little girls really have no control, do they?"
Your heart sunk, but you did not regret it. Even when his glare returned and he pushed himself to his feet. Putting a distance between you that ached deep in your bones.
The fantasy shattered right before your very eyes. Shards across the floor. Melting into the failure with a new vice: disappointment.
Sukuna was across the room in seconds. Composed, cold. Not sparing you even a glance. Your kiss still fresh on his now scowling lips.
"Disgusting."
Before you could react, he was halfway out the door. Dragging your fractured pride with him.
