Tragic - Blog Posts
,♧︎︎︎
Ever find yourself waiting for the signal & meeting someone after dark & happening upon a majestic coven in the woods? Me neither but do you want your 🎶 to make you FEEL like that? Then the “willow moonlit witch version” is for you.
,✈︎ 𝔂𝓤𝓹*
Witches be like “Sometimes I just want to listen to music while pining away/sulking/staring out a window.” It’s me. I’m witches. Never fear, the “willow lonely witch remix” is here. 🔮
,シ︎ ««💔
THE 63RD GRAMMY AWARDS: Nominations
Thorn to my rose
Pic via pinterest
In a room full of strangers, our eyes met in secrecy.
With that striking smile of yours, you simply just ended me.
Gently whispered words killed me more than any poison could.
Loved you way too fondly than any lover ever should.
In frightened voice and shaky hands, I was scared to lose you.
In granted lives and afterlife, I was never meant to have you.
What is life anymore, if not just the absence of you?
Had to watch you bleed to death, what is even left to lose?
Once again in life I am terrified to let you close.
You were my known ruin. A lethal thorn, my gentle rose.
"You look at him and see the stars and he looks at you and sees the sun and then you both think the other is looking at the ground."
Babe, there's something tragic about you, something so magic about you...
The sea roars loud and rocks the boat / A vicious fight to stay afloat
Lightning strikes, the ocean churns / Just as quickly, the wind must turn
Black waves calm, unfurl the sails / The shocking peace at last unveils
A horrible truth I dare not speak; / An ungrateful sailor hopes for a leak.
kiki has died of hypothermia
Everyone loves a good tragedy.
The broken pieces scattered in an abyss
The quiet pleading in the rain
The silent aftermath when all is
said
gone
dead.
Everyone loves a good tragedy,
but I suppose the tragedy is us, isn’t it?
Too young to give up
Too old to make up dreams
that fly us from reality on golden wings
— until the tragedy is them (y.c.)
thsi so tragic 😢😢
can a tumblr girl really love a reddit guy
He Never Thought He’d Live Long Anyway :
Geto Suguru never really planned for the future. Not in the way normal people did.
He wasn’t careless, not exactly—just realistic. Sorcerers didn’t get old. They didn’t settle down, didn’t retire, didn’t fade into something softer. They burned out or got snuffed out, whichever came first. It was the nature of things.
You used to think he was being dramatic when he said things like that.
“You sound like an old man,” you’d tease, lying next to him on the temple floor, staring at the ceiling beams above. The incense was still burning, curling in soft wisps of white. “You’re eighteen, Suguru.”
“Exactly,” he’d reply, tipping his head to look at you, something almost fond in his gaze. “Ancient.”
And maybe, back then, it was a joke. A stupid one. But even then, there was something in his voice, something that made you uneasy.
Like he was saying it not because he wanted to, but because he already knew.
Because he had already done the math.
-----
He never talked about the future the way other people did.
Gojo made plans—half-baked, ridiculous ones, but plans nonetheless. Even Shoko, for all her cynicism, would talk about things like next year and someday. But Geto Suguru?
When he spoke about the future, it was always vague. Uncertain. Like he was already counting himself out of it.
Not in a self-destructive way. Not in a woe is me kind of way. Just in the quiet, inevitable way that someone acknowledges gravity.
He never said, *When I’m old.*
He never said, *Someday, when I retire.*
He only ever said, *If I make it that far.*
And it wasn’t until later that you realized—he didn’t think he would.
-----
The first time you knew, really knew, you were seventeen.
The mission had been hell. You’d come back exhausted, blood-soaked, drained to the marrow. Your hands were still shaking from the aftermath when you found him sitting outside, barefoot in the grass, staring up at the sky like he was trying to find something there.
You sat next to him, close enough to feel the warmth of him, but not touching. Neither of you spoke for a long time. The cicadas screamed in the distance, the only sound in the stillness. Then, finally—
“I don’t think I’ll live long,” he said. Just like that. Flat. Matter-of-fact. Like he was telling you the weather.
You turned your head sharply. “Don’t say shit like that.”
“It’s true.” He didn’t even look at you, just kept staring at the stars. “It’s fine, though.”
“It’s not fine,” you snapped, the exhaustion making you sharp. “You talk like it’s already decided.”
He let out a quiet laugh. “Maybe it is.”
You wanted to be angry. Wanted to tell him he was being ridiculous, that he was stronger than this, that he wasn’t allowed to talk about his own life like it was already over.
But when you looked at him—really looked at him—you saw it.
He wasn’t afraid.
That was what scared you most.
-----
Years later, you thought back to that night.
When he left. When you realized you wouldn’t be able to follow. When you realized—maybe he was right. Maybe he wasn’t meant to live long. Maybe he had known, even then.
You wanted to believe it was a choice. That he had decided not to live, that he had chosen a path that would lead him to an early end. But deep down, you knew—
This world was never going to let him grow old.
It was never going to let him be anything but a tragedy waiting to happen.
And the worst part?
(He had made peace with that long before you ever did. )
---
The last time you saw him, it was raining.
He stood there, the same as always, looking at you like he was waiting for something. You could have said anything. You could have begged him to stay, or cursed him, or broken down right there in the street.
But all you said was—
“Did you ever really want to live, Suguru?”
He blinked, slow, like the question surprised him. Then, after a moment, he gave you a small, tired smile.
“I wanted to,” he said, quiet.
“For a little while.”
And then he walked away.
-----
Greetings, Dreamers and Readers ✨🌸
You know what gets me? The irony of it all. Geto probably knew—deep down, in that quiet, resigned way of his—that he was never going to live long. And Gojo? Well, he’s Gojo Satoru. The strongest. The untouchable. The one who’ll probably live to a hundred just because no one’s capable of killing him.
And what really messes with me is that they both made peace with it.
Geto never planned for a future because he didn’t think he’d have one. And Gojo—he made peace with having one. With outliving everything and everyone. With the idea that nothing in this world is permanent, that everything is just an illustration on water, fading the moment you reach for it. It’s almost in a way it’s kind of like the Buddhist idea of impermanence—the acceptance that nothing lasts, so you might as well let go before it gets taken from you.
But the difference is, Geto let go by leaving. And Gojo lets go by staying.
Which is insane, when you think about it. Gojo, who loves so much and so loudly, is the one who’s already accepted loss as a fundamental fact of life. While Geto, who acted like he could leave things behind, was never truly able to.
--
I don’t know. It’s tragic in a way that feels too real. But what do you think? Do you read them differently? Because I’d love to hear your take on this.
✨ Bye and take care, Hope you all have a good day ✨
Geto Suguru acts all cool, but if a cat rubs against his leg, he’s done for.
Geto Suguru carries himself with a kind of effortless grace, the kind that makes people watch him when he walks into a room. He is refined, deliberate—every movement measured, every word placed with precision.
Even next to Gojo’s blinding presence, Suguru stands out.
He is composed. Poised. Untouchable.
At least, that’s what he wants people to believe.
-----
You find out the truth by accident.
It is late, and the two of you are walking back from a mission, your uniforms still stained with dirt and exhaustion. Tokyo hums around you—neon signs flickering, traffic rolling past in waves of sound.
And then, out of the shadows, a cat appears.
Small. Scrappy. Orange
It rubs against Suguru’s leg with the kind of shameless affection only a cat can muster.
And he—he, the ever-composed, the ever-serene—freezes.
For a second, just a fraction of one, you see his carefully constructed persona crack.
His eyes widen. His breath catches.
And then, in the softest voice you have ever heard from him, he says:
“Oh no.”
-----
You do not expect what happens next.
You expect him to shake it off, to maintain his image of effortless control.
But instead—
Instead, he crouches down, tentative, as if in a trance. The cat, delighted by its new victim, purrs loudly and presses itself against his hand.
Suguru, the second-in-command of the strongest duo of Jujutsu sorcerers, lets out a breath like he’s been punched.
You stare.
“Are you—”
He looks up at you, eyes wide, as if you’ve caught him in something scandalous.
“Shut up.”
You don’t.
Because Suguru Geto, the epitome of cool, is now fully on the ground, scratching behind a stray cat’s ears like it’s the most important mission he’s ever been given.
-----
“You like cats.”
“I tolerate them.”
“You literally melted back there.”
Suguru exhales, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s not—” He pauses, searching for a way to maintain his dignity. Fails. “They’re just… very soft.”
You watch him, amusement curling at the edges of your mouth.
“Soft?”
He looks away. “Yeah.”
You tilt your head, studying him. The way his hands, so often used for violence, had moved so gently through the cat’s fur. The way his entire body had relaxed in a way it rarely did.
And suddenly, you realize—
It’s not just about the cat.
It’s about what the cat represents.
Something small. Something vulnerable. Something that asks for nothing except warmth.
Suguru has spent his life being strong. Being in control. Being the protector.
But here, in this tiny moment, with a stray cat rubbing against his legs—
Here, he lets himself be soft.
-----
You expect him to forget about the cat.
He doesn’t.
The next time you pass that alley, he slows his steps, scanning the shadows. When the cat appears again, he sighs—long-suffering, dramatic, resigned.
“Guess I should feed it,” he mutters.
You smirk. “Tolerate them, huh?”
He ignores you, already kneeling, already reaching into his bag for the remains of his lunch. The cat, as if sensing his weakness, immediately begins twining around his arms.
You watch as he lets it. As his fingers curl absently into its fur, as his expression softens into something unbearably gentle.
You watch and wonder—
How many times has he wanted to be taken care of like this?
How many times has he wanted to be something small and loved?
-----
It doesn’t last.
Nothing ever does.
One night, weeks later, you find him standing in the alley alone, his hands empty. His shoulders are set in that careful way that means he is holding something back.
“The cat’s gone,” he says, and his voice is neutral. Too neutral.
You don’t know what happened. You don’t ask.
But the way his fingers twitch at his sides—the way he stares at the empty ground where something small and warm used to be tells you enough.
For the first time in a long time, you see something raw flicker through him.
A reminder that Suguru Geto does not get to keep soft things.
Not in this world.
-----
He never mentions the cat again.
But sometimes, when you pass pet stores, you catch his eyes drifting. Sometimes, when you sit together in silence, his fingers will tap idly against his knee—like he is remembering the feeling of fur beneath them.
And one night, long after everything has shattered, when you see him again across enemy lines, you wonder—
Does he still stop for stray cats?
Or did he learn, in the end, that love is never enough to keep something safe?
You do not ask.
And he does not say.
But when he walks away, his hands curl—just for a second—as if holding something that is no longer there.
-----
Greetings, Dreamers and Readers ✨🌸
So, fun fact (not so fun actually)—
this fic was actually inspired by a stray cat I used to see near my coaching center. it wasn’t mine or anything, but it was just… there.
A little Orange-Brown thing that had somehow become part of my daily routine. I had even mentally named it Kaju (because obviously, I was never going to not name a cat I saw every day lol).
Sometimes, if I had extra money, I’d buy a packet of biscuits (ParleG) and toss a few her way. Other times, I’d just look at it like we had an understanding. It was easy, unspoken. Just a thing that existed.
And then, one day, she wasn’t there.
At first, I figured she’d just wandered off somewhere, maybe found a new spot, doing something a cat would. But a few days later, I found out she’d been hit by a car. By mistake, of course. Just one of those things that happen.
And look—I wasn’t devastated. It’s not like I’d expected her to stay forever. But still… it sucked. The street felt different after that, like some tiny piece of it had been removed without warning. It’s funny how you don’t realize you’ve grown fond of something until it’s just gone.
Maybe that’s why I wrote this. My boi Suguru feels like the kind of person who lets himself care, even when he knows better. Even when he knows things don’t last.
---
Anyway, what about you guys? Ever had something like that happen? A small, unspoken attachment that disappeared before you even realized how much you liked it? Feel free to share—I’d love to hear if we’ve got some common circumstances. 🎀
✨ Bye and take care, hopefully you all have a good day ✨
—The Weight of Protection—
Love is a tricky thing.
It’s supposed to be soft, gentle. It’s supposed to be the warmth of a hand on your cheek, the quiet assurance that someone is watching over you. But sometimes, love is a cage. Sometimes, it is hands gripping too tightly, pulling you back from the ledge before you’ve even had a chance to decide if you want to jump.
Suguru Geto loves like that. Like a force of nature. Like inevitability.
He has always been protective—of Satoru, of his classmates, of you. Maybe too much. Maybe in ways that feel suffocating, but never quite enough to make you pull away. Because how could you? How could you resent someone who looks at you like you are the last pure thing in a world that is constantly trying to ruin itself?
He doesn’t just want to keep you safe. He wants to keep you untouched.
And that is where things begin to crack.
-----
“You don’t need to come,” you tell him once, tugging at the sleeve of his uniform as he moves toward the door.
Suguru doesn’t stop. He doesn’t even hesitate. “I’m coming.”
You sigh, because of course he is.
The mission isn’t even that dangerous—just a low-grade curse outside of town, something you could handle on your own. But Suguru doesn’t care about classifications. Doesn’t care that you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself.
He has already made his decision.
So you walk together, side by side, his presence a quiet thing that presses against your ribs, a reminder that he is always watching. Always keeping you within arm’s reach.
And you wonder if he even notices. If he even realizes how often he places himself between you and the world, how often he moves first, reacts first, takes the blow before you even realize there’s danger.
It is not nQ&Aormal, this level of devotion. It is not sustainable.
But he does it anyway.
And you let him.
-----
The first time you argue about it, it’s not even about you. It’s about Satoru. About their shared burden, about the weight of being strong in a world that expects them to bear the impossible.
“You can’t save everyone,” you tell him.
Suguru’s expression is unreadable. He is good at that—keeping his emotions folded neatly inside himself, like pressed sheets that will only unravel when no one is looking.
“You say that like I don’t already know.”
“Do you?” You step closer, searching his face. “Because it doesn’t seem like it. It seems like you’re still trying to hold everything together by yourself."
He looks at you then, really looks at you.
“You don’t understand,” he says quietly. “I have to.”
And you realize, with a sudden, awful clarity, that this is not just about protecting you.
That this is not just about keeping you safe.
This is about him. About the guilt curdling inside his chest, the way he still hears the voices of the people he couldn’t save.
He is trying to make up for something.
And you don’t know if he ever will.
-----
Suguru doesn’t sleep much.
You notice it in the way he carries himself, in the way his hands shake when he thinks no one is looking. He still smiles, still jokes, still acts like the same boy you’ve always known. But something is different.
Something is breaking.
“I can take care of myself,” you tell him one night, voice barely above a whisper.
He is sitting on the edge of the bed, hands folded between his knees, eyes trained on the floor.
“I know.”
“Then why—”
“Because I need to.”
It is not an answer. Not really. But it is all he gives you.
And you think: This is not protection. This is fear disguised as love.
You don’t know how to fix it.
So you let him stay.
-----
It happens gradually, then all at once.
The world tilts, the ground shifts, and Suguru is no longer the boy who laughed with you under the stars, who stole bites of your food when you weren’t looking, who stood too close but never close enough.
He is something else now.
Something colder.
You see it in his eyes, in the way his fingers tighten around the edge of his sleeve, in the way he looks at the world as if it has already disappointed him.
“You’re scaring me,” you whisper one day, after everything. After Riko, after the silence, after the distance that has grown between you like a chasm too wide to cross.
Suguru exhales slowly, tilts his head, considers you. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”
“Then stop giving me a reason to be.”
And for the first time, he hesitates. Just for a second. Just long enough for you to wonder if there is still a part of him left that wants to stay.
But then he says, “I can’t.”
And that is the end of it.
-----
There is a version of this story where Suguru does not leave. Where he stays, where he listens, where he does not let the weight of the world crush him beyond recognition.
But that is not this version.
This version ends with his back turned, with your fingers curling into your palms as you watch him walk away,
with the realization that no matter how much he loved you, no matter how fiercely he tried to keep you safe—
Some things cannot be saved.
Not even by him.
Not even by love.
And the cruelest part?
You understand.
You understand why.
And it doesn’t make it hurt any less.
-----
i hope u guys know that even tho I never posted anything abt the franchise, the Sonic brainrot got me in a chokehold for a LONG WHILE!! Fortunately, I am taking a temporary break from that blue rat (affectionate) to brainrot over a TV show.
Unfortunately, said TV show is a dead kids show that's been cancelled since 2016 and if I tell you guys what it is you'll all MAKE FUN OF ME!!!!!!!!