You, Who Are Trying To Woo My Wife And Take Over My Throne, Are Greasing The Bow To Warm And Ply It,

did u see them btw...

Imagine scarfing down chinese food like a rabid animal only for jeff bezos to come and sit next to you and insult your dead wife, so you go home and get a lobotomy about it

Hello again, I have something to say about the way you post Gojo and Geto's relationship. I hope im not bothering you, and I'll try not to repeat myself

I reread the scene where Gojo and Geto were dancing together (chap. 3) and I think you did a very good job expressing how, despite their closeness, they weren't able to truly reach their hearts (it's not possible due to their line of work)

I think you did it very creatively when you used mathematical metaphors

(you used other metaphors I just forgot to make a screenshot of them :'D)

I think it gives a really clear image of how, despite Gojo's efforts (or anyone's efforts really) he's not able to touch their heart, he only sees with his six eyes the "skin" (soul) but not the "blood"(heart).

Even when it comes to Geto, the one he considers and equal and deeply loves (whether it is romantically or platonically), he's not able to fully understand him, despite Geto displaying himself "naked" in front of Gojo. Despite them not having boundaries, there's a space between them no matter how much Geto tries to reach for Gojo's heart. Gojo will always be a step ahead from him, because he didn't allow himself to connect with anybody. (I think the way you worded it could mean that Gojo has his infinity on, which also represents that protective barrier he has put for himself to avoid anybody trying to reach his heart willingly or unwillingly).

ALSO, you portrayed very well the miscommunication in their relationship and how they never addressed their feelings for each other in this screenshot, with these particles that denote ambiguity:

it's never clear to us (well, it is, they love each other, we all know, but Gege's intention was it not to be clear for us) or for Gojo and Geto themselves. They don't talk about it. They can't. They can't allow themselves to be vulnerable and love each other. Not the strongest sorcerers. Not when love is a weakness. Yet... they still want to be close. They still fight to reach for one and others' heart, but Gojo does not allow Geto in. He can't do that, not to the one he loves.

It's like Gojo knows that Geto is not as emotionally detached as he is and doesn't want to destroy that, not Geto's biggest virtue.

(They were so doomed omg☠️)

Hello think you for sending more comments, I'll try my best to give you detailed author's notes since you put so much thought into your comments.

reread the scene where Gojo and Geto were dancing together (chap. 3) and I think you did a very good job expressing how, despite their closeness, they weren't able to truly reach their hearts (it's not possible due to their line of work)

One of the main themes I wanted to cover in this fic is Gojo and Geto's inability to understand one another despite the fact fact they are each other's one and only friend they can never be more because they don't understand each other. It's like, one theme I tried to get across in this fic is Gojo has a god complex, and he sees Geto as the same as him and he can't comprehend that Geto is only human and can have human flaws and do bad things like any other human. Because Gojo sees himself as fundamentally above others.

He also misunderstands why Geto makes him feel accepted. The real reason is that Geto sees Gojo as a person and accepts him for who he is, but Gojo believes it's because someone who is the strongest they are each other's one and only equal. Something he doesn't realize until the end of Jujutsu Kaisen because he tried to find understanding and satisfaction but he couldn't find it in Sukuna who was the only one as powerful as him and then he confesses to Geto in the afterlife that the only thing that would have satisfied him if Geto was still alive and said goodbye to him. And this is Geto in his monk robes who already fell and became a curse user Gojo would still accept all of him.

I think this quote beautifully sums up my attitude towards Gojo and Geto's relationship, about their fundamental ability to touch each other no matter how much they reach out.

Someone who doesn't want to be saved is like the setting sun sinking into the mountains. No matter how you hold out your hand, there's no way to reach them. There was no way to reach him. It doesn't matter how strong you are, so long as you are alone.

Which is why the fic is called Expoential Decay because as you observed an asymptote is a metaphor for the infinity that doesn't allow anyone to ever touch Gojo. Also since this a post Hidden Inventory fic, Gojo now has his infinity up all the time which makes him even more different from Geto. Whereas in the past he used to drop his infinity because he trusted Geto to protect him.

I also wanted to show neither of them are able to deal with their trauma or even be open and honest about it with each other, which causes Gojo to drift away from Geto and be blind to Geto's mental spiral and the first cracks in their friendship are showing now. Yet they both continue to look away because they're so desperate to hang on to each other they don't want to acknowledge there's a problem.

ven when it comes to Geto, the one he considers and equal and deeply loves (whether it is romantically or platonically), he's not able to fully understand him, despite Geto displaying himself "naked" in front of Gojo. Despite them not having boundaries, there's a space between them no matter how much Geto tries to reach for Gojo's heart. Gojo will always be a step ahead from him, because he didn't allow himself to connect with anybody. (I think the way you worded it could mean that Gojo has his infinity on, which also represents that protective barrier he has put for himself to avoid anybody trying to reach his heart willingly or unwillingly).

Geto wants to confide in Gojo and is probably more open to him than anyone else, but Gojo's inability to see himself as human and accept human weakness makes him fundamentally able to see that Geto is legitimately struggling. As I mentioned above Gojo was satisfied by Geto not because they were equal in strength but because Geto is the first person to ever treat him as well... a person. I think Geto wants to be seen as a person too, to be loved in spite of his flaws, to be able to show weakness in front of Gojo but Gojo is deliberately blind to that.

As I said that Gojo does accept Geto in the end but doesn't realize it until late in life, just as Geto thought their friendship was over after he defected but actually Gojo's feelings never changed in all that time. They both have a fundamental misunderstanding of one another, because they're both insecure about their relationship and don't want to talk. I think they're both afraid of being rejected by the other too, if Geto rejected Gojo there would be no one left to understand him and vice versa.

In some ways, Geto and Yuuta were the same. Geto was too sincere. To someone like him, the reality that the world of sorcerers presented to him was just too cruel.

'...that in a world like this, I couldn't be truly happy from the bottom of my heart.' To live for the purpose of being yourself. And for that goal, Geto could only continue to pursue his twisted dream, drowning himself in the curse that lies in the gap between ideal and reality. This was the final confession of a man who could only choose to warp himself, who had erased himself in pursuit of his goals. The only person who could bear such a curse was Gojo Satoru.

Another quote from the Jujutsu Kaisen light novel proving that in the end their insecurities that ruined their relationships were unfounded, Gojo accepted everything about Geto. But Geto couldn't see that until he was literally on his death bed.

It's never clear to us (well, it is, they love each other, we all know, but Gege's intention was it not to be clear for us) or for Gojo and Geto themselves. They don't talk about it. They can't. They can't allow themselves to be vulnerable and love each other. Not the strongest sorcerers. Not when love is a weakness. Yet... they still want to be close. They still fight to reach for one and others' heart, but Gojo does not allow Geto in. He can't do that, not to the one he loves.

I think that's what it ultimately comes down to, Gojo and Geto love each other but they can't show their weakness in front of the other. Geto hides his mental spiral from Gojo for a whole year, and Gojo can't see it because he thinks Geto's place is standing on top of other people with him. Gojo is unable to see his own humanity which makes him unable to see Geto's humanity also and his human weaknesses.

At the same time, I portray Geto as the most painfully human character in the story despite the inhuman acts of cruelty he's capable of committing. It's his inability to divorce himself from his own humanity and his inability to exist in a dehumanizing system that kills him eventually.

I also wanted to display Geto's deep ability to sympathize with others, which is why he notices Michi's distress and he's the only one to reach out to him whereas Gojo actively bullies Michi for his weakness and has like almost zero sympathy for him despite the fact they're family. At the same time, Michi tries really hard to see Gojo as a human being and understand him even though he has a difficult time.

Gojo just can't connect to others because he can't get over himself, that's the central theme of this fic lol.

Your work is amazing, I love the way you interpret Simon’s personality and speech patterns in the prosthetic arm Simon fic.❤️

hello, anon! thank you so much for the kind words. i just wanted to take this opportunity to post this deleted part of prosthetic arm simon.

sfw. angst (?). highschool dropout simon. shame.

the prosthetic is finished.

it fits like a second skin. moves smooth, seamless, with no lag between thought and motion. it’s perfect. better than anything he could’ve gotten himself. better than the overpriced models he looked at years ago, wondering if he could stomach the debt just to feel normal again.

and for a moment, as he flexes his fingers, as he watches the metal articulate like flesh, he feels… proud. proud of you, of your work, of the precision in every detail. he turns his hand over, watching the way the joints move, the faint hum of technology so advanced he still doesn’t fully understand it.

but then— the thought creeps in, unbidden, unwelcome.

his throat tightens.

does this mean he doesn’t have an excuse to see you anymore?

his fingers still, mid-motion.

the past few months have been good. better than he expected. seeing you, talking to you, getting to know you beyond the surface-level interactions he usually keeps with people.

but now?

now there’s no more check-ups. no more adjustments. no more need for him to stop by so you can make small tweaks, run diagnostics, ensure everything’s running smoothly.

simon swallows, something cold curling in his chest. he tells himself he’s being ridiculous. that if he really wanted to see you, he could just— just call, just text, just ask.

but that’s not how he works.

he’s spent so long just coasting with people. staying at arm’s length, keeping interactions simple, necessary, easy to walk away from.

“you did good,” he says, and he means it. he just hopes you can’t hear everything else under it.

you don’t seem to notice his unease, too excited as you bounce on your heels, practically beaming.

“oh- i have news!”

he blinks. tries to steady himself. “yeah?"

“my thesis got picked to be presented at congress!”

it takes him a second. longer than it should. he hears the words, knows what they mean, but they feel far away, like his mind is still caught in the spiral from before.

but then he sees the way you’re looking at him, the pure joy on your face, and something inside him lurches

“shit,” he breathes. “that’s- that’s incredible.”

and it is. you deserve this. you deserve more than this.

so he shows up to the congress.

he doesn’t tell you he’s coming. he doesn’t even decide until the last minute, standing in front of his closet, staring at the one half-decent button-up he owns.

but then he’s there, standing outside the venue, and he brings flowers.

he’s never done that before. never even bought flowers before, really. but he stands outside the venue, fingers tight around the cheap bouquet, feeling ridiculous and out of place.

he feels out of place.

too big, too rough, too obviously not part of the sleek, academic crowd milling around in suits and dresses. he tugs at his sleeves, shifting his weight, half-ready to just leave the flowers somewhere and go before—

then he sees you. scanning the crowd, eyes searching.

and when you spot him— you light up.

like he’s supposed to be here. like he’s not just some guy who stumbled in, unsure if he even belongs in moments like these.

you rush over, practically colliding into him, and he barely has time to react before you’re grabbing the flowers, pressing your face into them, laughing breathlessly.

“you came.”

his throat works. he clears it, rubbing the back of his neck.

“’course i did,” he mutters.

you smile.

…

he knew this was a bad idea.

he knew from the moment he walked into the restaurant, stiff in his chair, palm sweating against the napkin in his lap.

knew when you slid into the seat across from him, looking bright and effortless and so at ease, still glowing from your big presentation, still beaming about the congress.

knew when he looked down at the menu and realized he didn’t recognize half the words on it.

simon’s spent years in places like this— quiet, dimly lit, the air thick with the smell of good food and low conversation. but he’s always been alone. always sat in a corner with his back to the wall, a meal in front of him and no one expecting him to talk.

but now— now there’s you.

and you’re talking, telling him about the congress, about the people you met, the questions they asked. you sound so fucking excited, like the whole world is opening up in front of you, and simon—

simon just nods.

he doesn’t know what to say. doesn’t know how to keep up.

he’s never been smart like you. never been the type to sit in lecture halls, to write papers, to stand in front of a room full of academics and present something that matters.

he barely finished school. left home at sixteen, signed his life away at eighteen, spent more years holding a gun than a pen.

he doesn’t belong in places like this. doesn’t belong next to you. you who's all bright ideas and ambition, the kind of person who builds things, who makes the world better.

simon’s just good at breaking it.

he shifts in his seat, hyper-aware of how he looks— broad shoulders hunched awkwardly, big hands clumsy against the silverware, a goddamn mutt at a dinner table.

he wonders if you notice. if you see it. if you realize you could do better.

your food arrives. you thank the waiter, pick up your fork—

and before you can even take a bite, it slips out.

“i-”

you pause, fork halfway to your mouth.

simon grips his napkin under the table, flexes his fingers, heart thudding heavy in his ribs.

he shouldn’t ask. should just let this be a nice dinner, let you go home, let you move on.

but—

“would you…” he swallows, throat dry, stomach tight.

he shouldn’t ask.

“would you want to go on a date with me?”

the words hit the table like lead.

silence.

he doesn’t breathe. doesn’t move. because fuck, he actually said it.

and now there’s nothing but the space between you, the quiet hum of conversation, the faint clink of cutlery against plates—

and you. staring at him.

he braces for rejection. tells himself it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s—

“yeah,” you say, voice light with something he can’t name. “i would.”

his stomach drops.

relief. disbelief. something dangerously close to hope.

he exhales, tension bleeding from his shoulders. nods, just once, like he’s acknowledging an order. like his hands aren’t trembling under the table.

“okay,” he mutters.

then, quieter—

“good.”

do. do you ever think dabi misses his mom

For @creatingblackcharacters ’ Black History Month Challenge!

It is Wyll and Karlach having a drink at the reunion party, particularly when Wyll asks with awe if you can smell forest, after their long demon hunting spree in hell. Karlach is looking at Wyll wistfully twirling some blades of grass in her fingers.

This is dedicated to Black creators for making your art, despite the fandom racism stacked against you (not just this! In every one). Thank you for bringing pieces of your heart to this place, you deserve the carefree indulgence of fandoms, and they’re better for having you in it. <3

new years eve!!! wooo!!! go crazy go wild! 🥳🥳🥳

hyperfixation please stay with me long enough to complete the project. hyperfixation do not fade. hyperfixation finish what you started for the love of god