He survived death under the rubble, should we let him die now because he lacks his medicine? 🥺
My entire family was injured, but my brother Samer is in the most critical condition.
I am not asking for much; this small donation is literally the "line between life and death" for Samer.
Please, be the voice he has lost... donate to save him, or share this post to reach those who can help. 🙏 GoFundMe
Vetted! #75 on @gazavetters , #171 on PaliLiberation
today my husband asked me, "toby rogers or me?" which is so funny so i had to remind him, “babe you ARE toby rogers." toby laughed but then he got blurry and the nurse walked in and forced me to take my pills
translation unavailable | neither of them speaks the other's language, but somehow they keep finding reasons to stay.
gojo satoru x reader . fluff . art credits to owner
The first thing she learned after arriving in Japan was that every language textbook she had ever studied had lied to her.
Not maliciously, of course. The books had tried their best. They had filled pages with polite conversations between imaginary students, carefully structured grammar exercises, and neat vocabulary lists accompanied by cheerful illustrations. They had taught her how to introduce herself, ask for directions, order food, and thank strangers for their help.
What they had failed to mention was that real people did not speak like textbook recordings.
Real people spoke fast.
Terrifyingly fast.
They swallowed syllables. They blended words together. They interrupted each other, changed topics halfway through sentences, and somehow expected everyone around them to keep up.
The result was that she spent most of her first few weeks in Tokyo feeling like she was constantly two steps behind every conversation.
Whenever someone spoke to her, she would recognize perhaps one word. Sometimes two if she was lucky. The rest became an incomprehensible blur of sounds that slipped through her fingers before she could catch them.
By the time she managed to process the beginning of a sentence, the speaker was already halfway through another one.
It was exhausting.
Humiliating.
And occasionally enough to make her want to bury her face in her hands.
Still, she was trying. She reminded herself of that every day. She had come all the way from France for this experience. She wasn't about to let a language barrier defeat her.
At least, that was what she told herself.
The second thing she learned was that somewhere in the middle of Tokyo existed a man who seemed completely immune to the concept of language barriers.
In fact, he appeared to find them entertaining.
She met him entirely by accident. At least, she assumed it had been an accident. Looking back later, she wasn't so sure. The afternoon had been cool and overcast, the kind of day where thick clouds covered the sky but never quite committed to raining.
She had been wandering near a train station, carrying a small tote bag over her shoulder and debating whether she wanted something warm to drink.
A vending machine stood near the sidewalk, bright and colorful against the dull gray surroundings. Under normal circumstances, choosing a drink would have taken less than a minute.
Unfortunately, she was not under normal circumstances.
She stood in front of the machine with increasing despair. Rows upon rows of colorful bottles stared back at her. Every label was covered in Japanese characters. Some bottles had pictures. Others did not. Some looked like tea. Others looked suspiciously like tea. Several looked identical. One might have been coffee. Another might have been soup.
At this point, she genuinely couldn't tell.
She squinted at a bottle.
Then another.
Then leaned slightly closer as though the labels might suddenly become readable through sheer determination.
Nothing happened.
With a sigh, she folded her arms and considered simply pressing a random button.
Maybe fate would decide her beverage for her.
It was while she was contemplating this highly questionable strategy that a voice suddenly spoke beside her. A rapid stream of Japanese washed over her before she even realized someone was standing there.
She startled so violently she nearly dropped her wallet. Her head snapped toward the source of the voice.
And immediately tilted upward.
Then upward again.
And somehow even higher.
The man standing beside her was absurdly tall. That was her first coherent thought. Her second was that his hair looked impossibly white. Like fresh snow under sunlight.
Dark sunglasses hid his eyes despite the cloudy weather, and there was something immediately strange about the easy confidence with which he occupied the space around him.
He stood as though the entire world belonged to him. As though he had never once doubted that people would pay attention when he spoke. And judging from the smile currently stretched across his face, he seemed completely unconcerned by the fact that she was staring at him in confusion.
He said something else. More Japanese. Just as fast. Just as incomprehensible.
She blinked.
Then blinked again.
Finally, she offered the only response she could.
"...Pardon?"
The man's smile widened. A spark of amusement flashed across his face. Then, to her complete bewilderment, he laughed. As though he had just discovered something unexpectedly entertaining.
She stared.
The man stared back.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then realization seemed to dawn on him.
A bright expression crossed his features. The kind people wore when they suddenly understood a situation. Unfortunately, whatever conclusion he had reached only appeared to amuse him more.
He said something else.
Still Japanese.
Still impossible to understand.
Still accompanied by that infuriatingly pleased smile.
She rubbed her forehead. "English?" she tried hopefully. Though her English wasn't great, but she couldn't expect him to speak in French.
Instantly, his expression brightened.
"Ah!"
Relief surged through her.
Finally.
Someone who spoke English.
Or at least understood it.
She could work with that.
The stranger pointed dramatically at himself.
"Gojo Satoru."
She blinked.
Then nodded.
Right.
Names.
That she could do.
"Y/N."
The smile he gave her in return was oddly triumphant. As though learning her name had somehow been a victory.
Then he pointed toward her.
"Kawaii."
Silence.
She stared.
Gojo stared back.
The silence stretched longer.
"...Oui?"
The reaction was immediate.
Gojo doubled over laughing. Actually doubled over. One hand pressed against his stomach while the other covered his mouth in a completely unsuccessful attempt to contain himself.
She remained frozen.
Her confusion only deepened. Had she answered incorrectly? Was there a question? Had she accidentally agreed to something? Was she being insulted? Complimented? Threatened? She had absolutely no idea.
And judging from the tears gathering at the corners of Gojo's eyes from laughing so hard, she suspected she wasn't going to get an explanation anytime soon.
Looking back later, she would realize that moment should have served as a warning. A very clear warning. Because somehow, against all logic and reason, that bizarre encounter was only the beginning.
---
Over the following weeks, Gojo seemed to appear everywhere. At cafés, bookstores, near train stations, outside bakeries. Once, somehow, at a flower market she had wandered into by complete accident.
By the sixth encounter, she was convinced he was following her.
When she attempted to communicate this suspicion through a combination of broken English and exaggerated gestures, Gojo listened attentively before placing a hand over his heart and saying something in Japanese while smiling at her.
She narrowed her eyes. "You are suspicious."
Gojo pointed at himself. Then at her. Then made a heart shape with his hands.
She blinked. "What?"
His grin widened.
"Oh no."
She pointed accusingly at him.
"You are definitely suspicious."
The only response she received was laughter. The worst part was that he never seemed discouraged by the language barrier. If anything, it encouraged him.
Every time they met, he would immediately begin talking to her. Not slowly. Not carefully. Not with simple words.
No.
Gojo spoke to her exactly as though she were fluent.
He would launch into entire stories while walking beside her, gesturing dramatically and occasionally looking offended by events she could not understand.
She would stare at him helplessly. Then answer in French. Neither of them understood a thing but neither of them stopped.
One afternoon, they ended up sharing a table at a small café. She had been trying to read a menu when Gojo suddenly leaned forward and said something.
His tone sounded suspiciously smooth. Very suspiciously smooth.
She narrowed her eyes. "What did you say?"
Gojo smiled innocently. Then repeated the sentence. It sounded exactly as incomprehensible as before. She sighed dramatically before pulling out her phone. Gojo immediately looked interested.
She opened a translation app and shoved it toward him.
His smile faltered.
Just slightly.
"Repeat it," she said.
Gojo stared at the screen.
Then at her.
Then back at the screen.
Slowly, a mischievous grin spread across his face. He leaned toward the phone. The app translated his words.
You have excellent taste in coffee.
She stared.
Then she stared harder.
Then she pointed at him. "No."
Gojo blinked. "No?"
"That is not what you said."
His grin widened.
She smacked his arm.
Gojo immediately dissolved into laughter.
"You absolutely said something else!"
His shoulders shook.
The translation app remained between them. After a moment, he leaned toward it again. This time the translated text appeared on the screen.
You are very beautiful when you are annoyed.
She froze.
Gojo looked entirely too pleased with himself.
She smacked him again.
His laughter echoed through the café.
After that, the translation app became dangerous. Whenever she pulled it out, Gojo treated it like a game. He would say something outrageous. She would demand a translation. He would deliberately translate something completely different.
Then she would catch him because his expression gave him away every single time.
One afternoon, while they were walking through a shopping district, he pointed toward a jewelry store window and said something. She immediately pulled out her phone.
Gojo sighed dramatically. The translated text appeared.
That necklace would look pretty on you.
She looked at him suspiciously. "That one was real, wasn't it?"
Gojo smiled.
The silence was answer enough.
For some reason, her face grew warm.
Another time, they sat beneath cherry trees while petals drifted lazily through the air around them. Gojo had somehow convinced a small child to give him a flower.
The child had run away immediately afterward. Gojo turned and tucked the flower behind her ear. The gesture was unexpectedly gentle.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then he said something softly. She immediately reached for her phone.
Gojo groaned. The translated text appeared.
Pretty.
She stared at the screen. Then at him. Then back at the screen. For once, he wasn't laughing. The warmth in her cheeks returned.
Gojo noticed instantly.
Of course he did.
His grin returned immediately.
Weeks passed like that.
Somehow, despite barely understanding each other, they grew closer. She learned that Gojo laughed with his entire body. She learned that he loved sweets. She learned that he became ridiculously pleased whenever she managed to understand even a single Japanese word.
Gojo learned that she always stopped to look at flowers. He learned that she absentmindedly hummed when she was happy. He learned that her eyes lit up whenever she talked about home, even if he couldn't understand a single sentence.
Neither of them knew exactly when these meetings became something they looked forward to. They simply did.
One evening, they met in a park just before sunset.
The sky glowed with shades of gold and pink. The pathways were bathed in warm light, and the air carried the gentle coolness of approaching night.
They sat together on a bench beneath a tree. For a while, they simply talked. Or at least, they attempted to.
She spoke in French.
Gojo spoke in Japanese.
Neither understood the other. Yet somehow the conversation flowed effortlessly. She found herself telling him about her childhood. About rainy afternoons spent reading by windows. About family dinners. About the little bakery near her apartment back home.
Gojo listened attentively. Then he responded with something in Japanese. His voice was warm. Comforting. She had no idea what he was saying.
Still, she smiled.
The sun slowly dipped lower. Golden light painted everything around them.
For once, Gojo seemed unusually quiet. She noticed him glancing at her several times.
Each time, he looked away when she caught him. It was strangely endearing. Eventually, he reached into his pocket.
She immediately laughed.
"Another lie?"
Gojo placed a hand over his heart as though wounded.
Then he pulled out his phone. The translation app.
She blinked.
That was new. He never pulled out a translation app, it was always her doing it. Gojo looked down at the screen for a moment. For the first time since she had met him, he seemed nervous. Actually nervous.
The realization startled her. He typed something. Deleted it. Typed again. Deleted it again.
She watched quietly.
Finally, he took a breath and handed her the phone. The translated text glowed softly against the screen.
I know almost nothing about your language.
You know almost nothing about mine.
But every time I see you, my day becomes better.
She felt her heart skip. Gojo was watching her carefully now. No teasing. No jokes. Just sincerity.
She looked back down.
Another line appeared.
I think I started looking for excuses to meet you a long time ago.
A laugh escaped her before she could stop it. "I knew it."
Gojo smiled sheepishly.
Then he typed one final sentence. This time, his fingers hesitated. When he handed the phone back, she felt her pulse quicken.
The screen read:
I like you very much.
Would you let me keep talking to you, even if neither of us understands anything?
For a moment, she simply stared. Then she laughed. Not because it was funny. Because it was so perfectly them. She took the phone from his hands and typed her response.
Gojo watched nervously. When she handed it back, he looked down.
The translated text read:
Only if you stop lying on the translation app.
Gojo groaned dramatically. She laughed. Then she quickly typed another sentence before she could lose her courage.
His eyes widened as he read it.
I like you too.
For perhaps the first time in his life, Gojo Satoru looked completely speechless. The sunset painted the world gold around them.
She smiled.
Then she leaned her head against his shoulder. A second later, she felt him smile too. Neither of them spoke.
There was no need.
After all, they had never been particularly good at understanding each other's words.
Somehow, that had never stopped them from understanding everything else.
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