Kai!

಄ ⋆ BACKGROUND

to bring to light why i wrote this, while reading an otherwise enjoyable fanfiction, i encountered a line in which Heian-era sukuna was addressed by "ryomen" as though it were his given name, and this had been a repeated trend i've seen in Jujutsu Kaisen sukuna fanfiction. this tiny detail—which objectively should not have occupied my thoughts for as long as it did—sent me down an unfortunate rabbit hole regarding naming conventions in Japanese media, translation practices, and the tendency for English-speaking fandom to reconstruct unfamiliar linguistic systems into something more recognizable. names are rarely "just names," even within simplistic language systems. across different cultures, they carry distinct systems, conventions, and social functions that determine not only what a person is called, but why they are called that in the first place. English-speaking fan communities frequently interpret foreign naming systems through familiar Western frameworks.

಄ ⋆ SIGNIFICANCE

i believe it is well known that fanfiction often rewards emotional accuracy over linguistic accuracy (not saying disparagingly). however, repeated reinterpretations of foreign naming systems can gradually become accepted as "common knowledge" within fandom. examining why this occurs reveals less about individual writers and more about how language shapes the way audiences understand unfamiliar cultures. i believe it is also well known that fanfiction often rewards emotional accuracy over linguistic accuracy (not saying disparagingly). however, repeated reinterpretations of foreign naming systems can gradually become accepted as "common knowledge" within fandom. examining why this occurs reveals less about individual writers and more about how language shapes the way audiences understand unfamiliar cultures.

಄ ⋆ CHAPTER 1. WHAT DOES A NAME DO?

to start, i must quote unnecessarily, "i think therefore i am." this does not mean anything, i just really wanted to use it because it's funny. before discussing why fandom repeatedly misinterprets foreign names, we first have to answer a surprisingly difficult question. what exactly is a name? a name, linguistically, is a term used for identification by an external observer and it can identify a class, a category of things, a single thing (people, places, objects) either uniquely, or within a given context. the entity identified by a name is called its referent. a naming convention is a set of agreed, stipulated, or generally accepted standards, norms, social norms, or criteria for naming things. it is important to note that names have rules. at first glance, a name looks like a label. a chair is a "chair," a table is called a "table," it's a very simple concept. but people are not objects, human names do not just classify, they distinguish. when i say "dog," i've identified a category; when i say "hachiko," i've identified one specific individual. so therefore, names are referential rather than descriptive. their primary purpose is to let which person is being talked about, not what kind of person they are. that's why names can be completely arbitrary, because it's simply a pointer. names also don't just identify people. they also encode relationships, telling you by who calls you what something about your relationship hence, the difference of someone calling you Jonathan, John, Johnny, Dad, Mr. Sherlock, Big John. They are all referring to the same person but every choice communicates something different; familiarity, hierarchy, affection, respect, distance, and intimacy. and i'm sure a bunch of other things. English-speakers often unconsciously assume that [First Name, denoting who they are] [Middle Name, denoting a specifier] [Last Name, denoting from where they came] is the default and universal human format. it isn't obviously, different cultures answer completely different questions. some emphasize family, ancestry, then some emphasize birthplace or achievements. some religion, some ranks. that's why some cultures have patronymics, some don't have surnames, some have courtesy names, some names change throughout their life.

಄ ⋆ CHAPTER 2. NAMES HAVE JOBS, NOT ALL JOBS ARE NAMES

there are several different categories in which names fall in (sources i'm using are very broad, but i'll link them below), that are often unused, unheard, or underutilized in the English language. having established that names are social tools rather than arbitrary labels, we now encounter another problem: English frequently treats every identifier attached to a person as though it were simply "their name." linguistically, however, many of these identifiers perform entirely different functions. They may indicate family lineage, social status, profession, achievement, respect, or reputation rather than personal identity itself. the most important question isn't "what is this called?" when talking about names, but instead "what job is this word doing?" so consider the sentence, "Professor Smith spoke to John." both "Professor" and "John" identify the same individual in different contexts, but they do not perform the same linguistic function.one indicates institutional status, while the other functions as a personal identifier. so? words attached to people aren't interchangeable.

⋆ personal identifiers a given name is a name that identifies the individual within their family or community, it's typically a name assigned to an individual at birth or later in life. in English, this is often the first name. it primarily serves toto distinguish them from other members of the same family. examples are John, Satoru (悟), Yor, Leon. a family name (surname) is a name that identifies a person's family lineage and is shared among relatives. depending on the culture, it may appear before or after the given name (while stylistic choices are of course welcomed, standard practices adopt the original culture's naming order). examples are Gojo (五条), Smith, Liu (劉). a middle name is an additional personal name placed between the given and family name. its purpose varies widely between cultures and may commemorate relatives, saints, or simply provide another identifier. examples include John Fitzgerald Kennedy, Leon Scott Kennedy. a patronymic is a name derived from one's father (or sometimes a male ancestor). it indicates parentage rather than functioning as a hereditary surname. the female version, a matronymic, is derived from one's mother rather than father. it is less common globally but exists in several naming traditions. examples: Ivan Ivanonich ("son of Ivan"). a clan name identifies membership in a larger kinship group rather than an immediate family. multiple unrelated households may share the same clan. examples are Gojo (術師家) and the Uchiha (うちは一族).

⋆ social identifiers a title is a name that denotes rank, occupation, office, or status rather than identity. titles answer the question of "what are you?" rather than "who are you?" examples include: King, Doctor, Professor, Lord, Captain. an honorific is a word or title or grammatical form that conveys respect, familiarity, or social hierarchy between speakers. unlike titles, honorifics describe the relationship between people rather than the identity of the individual. examples include: in Japanese, -san (used to convey respect used between any age), -sama (used for individuals with a higher rank than oneself, -kun (used to refer to people of junior status or men in general), in English, Mr., Mrs., Sir, in Indonesian kak, mas, mbak. a house name denotes the membership in a noble or dynastic house. example: House Stark, House Windsor. a courtesy name is an additional name adopted upon reaching adulthood or entering society. It is often used by peers instead of the person's birth name. this is historically common in Chinese naming traditions. example is Confucius' (Kongzi) courtesy name Zhongni (仲尼). a temple name is a name bestowed after death upon monarchs in several East Asian traditions and is primarily used in historical or religious contexts. a posthumous name is a name granted after death and often reflects the person's achievements or character. unlike a birth name, it was never used by the individual during life. a regnal name is a name adopted when someone ascends to a throne or other high office. example: Pope Francis, Queen Elizabeth II. a religious name/dharma name is a name adopted upon entering a religious order or undergoing initiation. Ii often symbolizes spiritual rebirth or new identity.

⋆ descriptive identifiers an epithet is a descriptive word or phrase attached to a person's name that highlights a characteristic, reputation, or distinguishing feature. unlike a given name, an epithet describes rather than identifies. examples: Alexander the Great, Ivan the Terrible, Richard the Lionheart, Ryōmen ("two-faced") Sukuna. a sobriquet is an informal descriptive nickname earned through reputation, personality, or achievement. unlike a legal name, it develops through public use. a byname is an additional identifier attached to distinguish someone from others with the same personal name. it often describes appearance, occupation, birthplace, or family. many historical epithets function as bynames.

⋆ chosen identifiers a nickname is an informal alternative used by friends, family, or acquaintances. nicknames often shorten, modify, or replace a person's given name. examples: Jonathan → Jon, Katherine → Kate. meanwhile an alias is an assumed name used instead of one's legal identity, often for privacy, disguise, or professional reasons. an art name is a name adopted by artists, scholars, or writers as part of their creative identity. this is a also called a pseudonym or moniker. examples are Su Shi also known as Dongpo Jushi, Takashi Murakami, KAWS. a pen name (nom de plume) is a pseudonym adopted by an author for publication. a stage name is a professional identity used by performers instead of their legal name. a username identifies an individual within a digital environment. unlike legal names, usernames are chosen, platform-specific, and need not correspond to real-world identity.

notice that every category above identifies a person in some capacity, yet none performs exactly the same job. English often collapses these distinctions under the broad concept of a "name," whereas many other naming systems preserve functional differences between personal names, titles, honorifics, and descriptive epithets. while all of these may appear beside a person's identity, they are not interchangeable. some identify the individual, some identify their family, some describe their reputation, and others communicate social relationships. referring to all of them simply as "names" obscures the distinct roles they perform within their respective cultures. if these distinctions are so common across cultures, why do English-speaking readers so frequently flatten them into a single naming system?

಄ ⋆ CHAPTER 3. WHY ENGLISH SPEAKERS MISREAD FOREIGN NAMES

having established that names perform different social functions across cultures, we arrive at another question: if these distinctions exist, why are they so frequently overlooked in English-speaking fandom? the answer is surprisingly mundane. it is not usually a failure of research (though it's the second most common reason), nor a lack of intelligence. rather, it is a consequence of how humans process unfamiliar information. the first reason is that our brains simply do this because of pattern recognition or schema activation, something i spend much time on in thinking. we as humans are extraordinarily good at categorization. we don't read every unfamiliar thing from scratch—we compare it to something we already know. linguists call these mental shortcuts schemas but for this, i simply call it 'already knowing enough' (larping). when English speakers encounter "Ryomen Sukuna," our brains don't consciously ask what naming convention is being used. they see two capitalized words and immediately retrieve the closest familiar template. a lot of what contributes to the reason of why people mistake foreign names so badly, especially names with their own alphabet, and especially with vastly different scripts, is due to once transliterated into the Latin alphabet, these names become visually familiar to English-speaking audiences. they appear to follow the same structure as English names—two capitalized words separated by a space—despite often operating according to entirely different cultural conventions. this visual familiarity encourages readers to unconsciously apply English naming expectations where they may not belong. humans also do chunking. you don't read Tanjiro as T-a-n-j-i-r-o, but Tan-Ji-Ro. you don't read my username as kayuekou but it gets mentally segmented as kay-ue-kou. or if you come from a more East Asian linguistic background, ka-yue-kou. and this isn't ...nearly all your fault. after being immersed in English naming conventions, ie. Jane Doe, Peter Parker John B. Smith, our brains automatically shove Ryomen Sukuna, Kuroki Tomoko, Kamado Tanjiro into the same system. Ryomen Sukuna is chunked into Ryomen (first name) - Sukuna (last name).

಄ ⋆ CHAPTER 4. EVERYTHING GETS ENGLISH'D

so now, having established why English-speaking readers naturally reinterpret unfamiliar naming systems, it becomes apparent that this phenomenon extends far beyond Japanese media, my original grievance. whenever a naming system differs significantly from English conventions, readers often simplify, reorganize, or reinterpret it into something more immediately recognizable. in practice, what does this look like?

first, mistaking family names as first names because of the Eastern name order (family name first, given name second), obviously this is most commonly seen in East Asian names. my examples will primarily derive from Japanese, mostly due to its almost uniquely similar structure to English when transliterated. this is often seen in Japanese fan media, which i found most prominent in fanfiction made pre-2021, such as mistaking Gojo for Satoru's given name. specifically in Japanese, starting from the Meiji Restoration in 1868, the Western name order was primarily used among the Japanese nobility when identifying themselves to non-Asians with their romanized names. as a result, in popular Western publications, the order became increasingly used for Japanese names the following decades (Shinzo Abe, Osamu Dazai, Satoru Gojo). however! in 2020, the Government of Japan reverted the Westernized name order back to the Eastern name order in official documents, and has recommended that the same format be used amongst general Japanese public; they also requested Western publications to change this. this is a big reason why Japanese becomes quite confusing when you dip your foot in and understand what the Eastern naming order looks like, because sometimes you don't know if they're using the Western or Eastern order. unlike the Chinese and the Koreans who have never used Western name order (Chinese leader Xi Jinping not being referred to as Jinping Xi, Moon Jae-in is not Jae-in Moon).

second, names getting split strangely. i recently saw in a fanfiction (that i've put on hold simply because of this) that the author named the fanon interpretation of the Gojo twins as Sato and Toru. this is most likely because they assume those are natural halves of "Satoru." Except Japanese morphology doesn't work that way. likewise, my name has been mistakenly used quite a lot, my nickname from my moniker kayuekou sometimes become kay because "Kay" already exists in English. but this is especially frustrating once you understand that the kanji system, derived from hanzi, uses a logographical system. meaning, the Japanese writing for a name, almost always has a set meaning. "五条悟" or Gojo Satoru is split into "Gojo" or "五条" meaning 五 five, 条 an article or clauses, and 悟 meaningly enlightenment or to understand. the second you strip away Satoru and become Sato, that has become a completely. new name. in some dictionaries, maybe Sato as 悟 could happen, and i've checked myself on jisho that there is a given name called Sato with that exact kanji, but now it's a matter of logic and accuracy. Sato is almost alway used as a surname; Sato as 葛巻, Sato as 郡, Sato as 慧. there are rules to what a kanji can or cannot do in a name, but i will not deep dive into that in this essay.

third, in Russian, and a classic example, Ivan Ivanovich Petrov is often frequently read by English-speakers as Ivan, Middle name Ivanoich, Last name Petrov when the "middle name" is actually just telling you whose son he is. fourth, a fascinating one because it almost flips the problem, are Thai names. Thai people commonly have long legal names (due to surnames needing to be legally unique, therefore combining many words and subsequently creating incredibly long surnames) and short nicknames, sometimes ones that don't have any relation to their legal name. many foreigners sometimes assume the nickname isn't their "real" name, when culturally, it's often the primary everyday identifier.

although each example arises from a different language, the underlying mechanism remains remarkably consistent. readers encounter an unfamiliar naming system, identify superficial similarities to English, and unconsciously reorganize it according to English expectations. the details differ; the cognitive process does not. a worthwhile minor topic to touch is things that English speaking writers accidentally normalize. such as the tendency of first-name basis immediately, honorific inconsistencies, modern Western flirting in Eastern historical settings, school culture assumptions, legal names vs epithets. i would touch the topic but i'm no fiddler.

಄ ⋆ CHAPTER 5. NOT EVERYTHING IS A GIVEN (NAME)

by this point, we have established three things. firstly, names are not merely arbitrary labels, but social tools that identify individuals within a cultural system. secondly, not every identifier attached to a person performs the same function. lastly, English-speaking readers naturally interpret unfamiliar naming systems through frameworks they already recognize. we now arrive at one of the most common consequences of this process: assuming that every identifier attached to a person is a given name. not every word attached to a person is attempting to answer the same question. like we discussed in the previous chapters, a given name answers, "who are you?" a family name answers, "which family do you belong to?" a patronymic answers, "whose child are you?" a title answers, "what is your rank, occupation, or position?" an honorific answers, "how should I address you?" an epithet answers, "what are you known for?" these may all appear beside one another when referring to a single person, yet they are not interchangeable. they perform different linguistic and social functions despite identifying the same referent. epithets are probably the clearest example of this distinction. an epithet is not another personal name, but a descriptive identifier attached to an individual because of a notable characteristic, achievement, reputation, or physical trait. history is full of them. Alexander the Great, Richard the Lionheart, Ivan the Terrible, Erik the Red, and William the Conqueror are all remembered through epithets. English speakers immediately recognize that "the Great" is not Alexander's surname, nor is "Lionheart" Richard's given name. these descriptors tell us something about the individual rather than functioning as the individual's personal identity. the interesting part is that this intuition often disappears when the epithet originates from another language. once romanized into the Latin alphabet, foreign epithets lose many of the visual and cultural cues that distinguish them from ordinary names. rather than seeing a descriptive title, English-speaking readers often see another capitalized word occupying the same position as a conventional first name. without consciously realizing it, the epithet is reassigned a new job. it is no longer interpreted as a description, but as a personal identifier. this distinction matters because misunderstanding an identifier is not simply a matter of pronunciation or terminology. it changes the role that identifier plays within the naming system itself. an epithet interpreted as a given name no longer functions as a description; it becomes an identity. a title mistaken for a surname no longer indicates social position; it becomes ancestry. in other words, the word has not changed—but the job we assign to it has. so anyway. this brings us to another important question. if these distinctions are meaningful, why do official translations, subtitles, and fan translations so rarely communicate them? more importantly, are translators responsible for preserving these naming systems, or are readers simply encountering the unavoidable limitations of translation itself?

಄ ⋆ CHAPTER 6. TRANSLATION FUELS THESE MISTAKES

so now that we've established that identifiers perform different linguistic functions and that English-speaking readers naturally interpret unfamiliar naming systems through familiar frameworks, another question inevitably follows: if these distinctions are important, why do translations so rarely preserve them? the answer is not that translators are careless. rather, translation itself is an exercise in compromise. contrary to popular belief, translation is not simply the process of replacing one word with another. every translator must constantly decide what should be preserved. should priority be given to literal meaning, readability, cultural context, historical accuracy, emotional impact, or natural dialogue? more often than not, preserving one inevitably sacrifices another. names are particularly difficult because they rarely carry meaning in isolation. instead, they exist within larger cultural systems that are often invisible to those who already understand them. a Japanese reader generally does not require a footnote explaining the function of an honorific, the order of family and given names, or whether an identifier is an epithet rather than a personal name. these conventions are already understood. an English-speaking audience, however, approaches the same text without that shared cultural framework. romanization further complicates this process. when Japanese is written in its native scripts, it is immediately recognizable as a different writing system. readers instinctively understand that they are encountering another language. once those same names are transliterated into the Latin alphabet, however, they become visually familiar. two capitalized words separated by a space resemble countless English names, despite following entirely different cultural conventions. the alphabet remains familiar even when the language does not. this creates what i consider one of romanization's greatest paradoxes: it increases accessibility while simultaneously creating an illusion of familiarity. readers correctly recognize the letters, but unconsciously assume they also recognize the system behind them. translation, therefore, often preserves the words while inevitably losing parts of the framework that gives those words meaning. again, this is not unique to Japanese. consider honorifics such as -san, -kun, or -sama. many English translations omit them entirely because there is rarely a natural English equivalent that carries identical social nuance. likewise, patronymics in Russian are frequently interpreted as middle names, while Chinese family names are often mistaken for given names simply because the translated text cannot pause to explain an entirely different naming convention every time a character is introduced. doing so would be impractical. imagine a subtitle interrupting every conversation with a linguistic lecture explaining why a particular identifier is functioning as an epithet rather than a personal name. accurate? perhaps. readable? absolutely not. translation, after all, is intended to communicate a story—not to teach an entire course in comparative linguistics. this is where fandom enters the equation. readers naturally fill in the missing pieces using the only framework they possess: their own. one fanfiction assigns an English role to an unfamiliar identifier. another writer adopts the same convention. a hundred readers encounter it repeatedly. eventually, what began as an unconscious interpretation slowly transforms into accepted fanon. the reinterpretation is no longer questioned because, through repetition, it begins to feel canonical. translation does not create these misunderstandings on its own. it merely provides the conditions under which they become possible. the actual reinterpretation occurs in the minds of readers, where unfamiliar linguistic systems are quietly reorganized into something that feels comfortably familiar.

಄ ⋆ CHAPTER 7. CASE STUDY

which leads to a minor footnote, and the inciting example on why i made this post. one of my favorite little linguistic quirks in JJK is that "Ryomen Sukuna" isn't really a given name in the way a lot of English-speaking fans read it. the historical figure that inspired Jujutsu Kaisen's Sukuna is traditionally known as Ryōmen Sukuna. the term Ryōmen (両面) literally means "two-faced" or "two-sided," referring to the figure's unusual appearance. rather than functioning as an ordinary personal name, it is widely understood as a descriptive epithet attached to Sukuna. as discussed in chapter 2, epithets perform a fundamentally different function from given names. they describe rather than identify. however, once romanized into the Latin alphabet, "Ryōmen Sukuna" visually resembles a conventional English first name–surname pairing. the epithet is therefore reassigned a familiar role: first name. this interpretation is further reinforced through repetition. once a sufficient number of fanworks address Sukuna as "Ryomen," subsequent writers encounter the convention repeatedly and naturally assume it reflects canon. over time, the reinterpretation becomes self-perpetuating, not because readers consciously reject the original naming system, but because the English framework has already become normalized within the community. modern AUs present a somewhat different situation. since these settings intentionally remove characters from their historical and cultural contexts, writers are free to assign entirely new naming conventions if they wish. someone may choose to reinterpret "Ryomen" as a legal first name simply because it functions conveniently within the world of their story (but still, when you take into account kanji, and you should, it becomes messy). fanfiction is, after all, transformative by nature. admittedly, none of this prevents me from visibly twitching every time Heian-era Uraume solemnly addresses Sukuna as "Ryomen" with the energy of someone calling Alexander the Great "Great." that, however, is a personal problem rather than a linguistic one. not everyone is a nitpicker. ultimately, the question is not whether fanfiction is "allowed" to call Sukuna "Ryomen." fanfiction has never depended upon strict historical or linguistic accuracy. rather, this example demonstrates how easily unfamiliar naming systems become reorganized according to the expectations of another language. what appears to be a single naming choice is, in reality, the product of translation, cognition, and community convention acting together.

಄ ⋆ CHAPTER 8: WHAT CAN YOU DO?

if this essay has accomplished anything, i hope it has not convinced you that your fanfiction is "wrong." rather, i hope it has convinced you that naming conventions are often far more culturally complex than they first appear. the purpose of this essay has never been to argue that every writer should become a historian, a linguist, or a professional translator before opening Google Docs. fanfiction is transformative by design. writers are free to alter names, settings, relationships, and entire worlds if doing so serves the story they wish to tell. the distinction lies in intentionality. there is a meaningful difference between deliberately changing a naming convention because it better suits your story and unconsciously changing it because you assumed it worked like English. the former is a creative decision. the latter is simply a assumption. fortunately, assumptions are surprisingly easy to challenge. when writing characters from another culture—particularly historical settings—it is often worth asking a few simple questions before assigning an unfamiliar identifier a familiar role. is this actually the person's given name? could this instead be a title, epithet, clan name, patronymic, courtesy name, or honorific? am I following a convention because the source material suggests it, or because other fanfiction does? if i removed my English expectations, would i still interpret this name the same way? the answer, of course, may still be "I'm going to write it this way anyway." and that is perfectly acceptable. the goal is not perfect authenticity. absolute historical accuracy has never been the defining characteristic of fanfiction, nor should it be. creative writing thrives on reinterpretation. what matters is understanding what you are reinterpreting. once you recognize that names are cultural systems rather than isolated words, small details begin to reveal themselves everywhere. family names stop looking like first names. patronymics stop looking like middle names. epithets stop looking like legal names. romanized words stop feeling automatically familiar simply because they share the same alphabet. most importantly, you become aware of your own assumptions. language is remarkably good at making itself invisible. we rarely notice the frameworks through which we interpret the world until we encounter one that functions differently. by then, our brains have often already attempted to reorganize the unfamiliar into something comfortably recognizable. that tendency is not a personal failing. it is simply how humans make sense of the world. the challenge—and, perhaps, the fun—is learning to recognize when our own language is quietly filling in gaps that another culture never intended to leave. and if nothing else, perhaps the next time you encounter an unfamiliar name in a piece of media, you'll pause for just a moment before asking the question that inspired this entire essay: "is that actually their name... or have i simply given it an English job?" oh and start using dictionaries.

಄ ⋆ CONCLUSION / TL;DR

this essay began because one (1) line in one (1) fanfiction annoyed me far more than any reasonable person should probably admit. human beings are exceptionally good at recognizing patterns, therefore English speaking consumers and writers interprets foreign naming systems through a framework they're already familiar with. the result is not usually malice, laziness, or ignorance—it is simply the remarkably human tendency to organize unfamiliar things into familiar categories. this essay therefore is not an argument for linguistic perfection, nor is it a declaration that fanfiction must adhere to strict historical authenticity. rather, it is an invitation to become more conscious of the assumptions we bring into the media we consume and create. understanding that names have different jobs, that translation cannot preserve every cultural nuance, and that fandom often reinforces its own conventions allows us to appreciate foreign naming systems on their own terms. and if, after reading all of this, you still decide to call Heian-era Sukuna "Ryomen" anyway... well, i cannot stop you. i can, however, quietly sigh, open another tab, and begin drafting the sequel to this essay. this essay therefore is not an argument for linguistic perfection, nor is it a declaration that fanfiction must adhere to strict historical authenticity. rather, it is an invitation to become more conscious of the assumptions we bring into the media we consume and create. understanding that names have different jobs, that translation cannot preserve every cultural nuance, and that fandom often reinforces its own conventions allows us to appreciate foreign naming systems on their own terms. and if, after reading all of this, you still decide to call Heian-era Sukuna "Ryomen" anyway... well, i cannot stop you. i can, however, quietly sigh, open another tab, and begin drafting the sequel to this essay.

◟ ㅤ© kayuekou, 2026 𖥻 do not copy, reconstruct, or upload on other platforms nor feed my works into generative AI.

note ꩜ hi edit. it’s 1am i forgot to link my sources. i’ll add it to the bibliography in like a couple hours after i sleep. sorry everyone

You had never really believed in it either. You had your own Jinki, an old lighter on a chain. Small, worn, with dark scratches across its casing. You handled it perfectly well as it was. You didn’t need to believe in legends to set trash beasts on fire, clear paths, and pull your people out of trouble.

Although lately, the word “your people” had started to feel especially heavy. Because for an entire month now, Enjin hadn’t been taking part in missions. His injury had turned out nastier than he tried to make it seem. Of course, he smiled, brushed it off, said everything was under control, and irritatingly calmly assured everyone that he would be back soon. But “soon” stretched into days. Then into weeks. And somehow, the responsibility had fallen onto you. No one had come up to you and said, “Now you’re responsible for Riyo, Zanka, Follo, or Rudo.” But that was exactly how it turned out.

Enjin had once gathered them around himself: those stubborn, noisy, painfully different teenagers. In his own way, he had tamed them. Gotten them used to his pace, to his habit of appearing right on time and saying something stupid exactly when everyone was getting scared.

And now he wasn’t there. And you missed him terribly. So badly that it made you angry. It made you angry when, yet again, you caught yourself waiting for the familiar snap of an opening umbrella. It made you angry when one of the others turned at some noise, and for a split second you thought, “Him?” It made you angry when you had to stay calm, because if you fell apart, the others would definitely start panicking.

And now, you were cornered.

Trash beasts surrounded you from every side. There were too many of them. They crawled out of alleyways, climbed over warped walls, scraped their claws against rusted metal. The air trembled with their growling, smelling of dust, burning, and something rotten.

You stood in front, shielding Riyo, Follo, and Rudo with your own body.

“Seriously, you’re protecting us again?!” Rudo snapped in irritation. “I can handle myself, you know!”

“You can,” you said without turning around. “That’s why, right now, you’re going to stand there and not get in the way!”

“Are you kidding me?!”

“Not now, Rudo,” Riyo said quietly.

Follo swallowed.

“There are too many of them…”

You tightened your grip on the chain around your wrist. Yes, there really were too many. And today, as if out of spite, you were in no condition for heroics at all: your head was pounding, and your shoulders ached from the last fight. There was so much exhaustion building inside you that instead of attacking heroically, you just wanted to sit down right there on the ground and tell all those beasts, “Wait five minutes. I can’t do this anymore.”

But you couldn’t. Because they were behind you. And Enjin wasn’t here. So someone had to be brave. Someone had to hold on.

The chain jingled as you tore the lighter from it and opened your palm. The small Jinki settled into your fingers with a familiar weight. You flicked the lid open, feeling heat rise inside you.

Not only from its power. From everything that had been building up for almost a month.

“Fine,” you breathed out. “Come on, then.”

One of the beasts lunged. You had already raised the lighter. And in that same instant, above your head, there came a sharp, familiar snap. A shadow fell over you. An open umbrella stopped the first strike, taking the beast’s claws with such calmness that it might as well have been shielding you from sudden rain rather than an attack.

You froze. Because you would recognize that umbrella among thousands. You would recognize that lazy voice, which sounded beside you so calm and certain, as if he had simply gone out for a stroll.

“Miss me?”

Enjin stood slightly ahead of you, umbrella open, his shoulder still bandaged. He didn’t look quite as energetic as he was trying to pretend. But he was smiling anyway: smug, warm, and impossibly alive.

Something inside you snapped. And then immediately fell back into place. You exhaled so sharply it was as if you hadn’t been breathing for the entire fight.

Joy struck your head first. So strong it almost hurt for a second. Relief followed. And then anger came too, because he had shown up exactly like this, just as he almost always did. At the very last second, as if nothing had happened, as if you hadn’t been losing your mind for an entire month, as if you hadn’t thought about him every single day.

You looked at him from under your brows.

“I hate you.”

Enjin’s smile widened.

“I love you too.”

Behind you, Riyo inhaled sharply. Follo, it seemed, had completely forgotten that there were still trash beasts around you.

Rudo let out something incoherent.

“What…?”

And you simply snapped.

You stepped toward Enjin, grabbed him by the collar, and kissed him.

It was stupid. Absolutely the wrong time.

Around you, beasts were growling, the ground was trembling beneath your feet, and someone behind you choked on an indignant shout, but you didn’t care. Because Enjin froze for one brief moment, and then he kissed you back.

Because he had been waiting for this moment for far too long too.

“Ew!” Rudo shouted. “Disgusting!”

Enjin didn’t pull away. His fingers only tightened around the handle of his umbrella. You felt his Jinki activate. The air around you changed, becoming denser, like the moment before a storm. And without really understanding why, you covered his hand with your own. You pressed your lighter against the umbrella’s handle. Metal touched metal. Click. And flame ignited. At first, it was small, burning on the wick of your lighter.

Then, suddenly, it surged upward, spreading in thin fiery veins along the umbrella’s handle, over the spokes, across the canopy. Enjin’s power met yours, didn’t push it away, but accepted it.

And for one impossible moment, two Jinki truly became one. The umbrella opened wider. Fire burst from its edges in a smooth, shining ring.

Heat washed over you, but it didn’t burn. On the contrary, the power passed through you so naturally, as if it had always known the way. As if your lighter and his umbrella had long been waiting for the moment to finally tell everyone around: “Yes. Like this.”

The flame struck in every direction. The trash beasts didn’t even have time to roar.

A wave of fire swept through the street, erasing everything that moved, scraped, growled, and reached for you with claws. The flash was brief, blinding, almost white. And when it faded, all that remained of the entire horde was black ash slowly settling onto the ground.

Silence fell. You were still standing far too close to Enjin. Your palm was still resting over his hand. The lighter was still touching the handle of his umbrella.

Enjin was the first to look at you. There was such a smug spark dancing in his eyes that you immediately wanted to headbutt him.

“Don’t even try,” you warned.

“I haven’t said anything yet.”

“Then keep it that way.”

“It’s just clear now that in order to combine our Jinki, we need to...”

“Enjin.”

“I’m quiet.”

Rudo groaned and grabbed his head.

“We almost died!”

“At least it was effective,” Riyo remarked calmly.

Follo, still staring at the ash around them, slowly turned to her.

“I thought it was only a legend.”

Riyo paused, then looked at you, at Enjin, and at the still suspiciously close distance between you.

“Apparently, the legend simply failed to mention that activation requires a fit of idiotic romance.”

You quickly pulled your hand away and turned aside.

“It was a feint.”

“With tongue?!” Rudo protested.

“Rudo,” you said very quietly.

Enjin folded his umbrella and, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, leaned slightly closer to you.

“So...Did you miss me?”

You wanted to answer sharply. Truly, you did. Something like, “Why would I?” or “Dream on.” But after a month of exhaustion, worry, and anger, you simply didn’t have the strength for another defensive jab.

So you only breathed out.

“Very much.”

It’s relatively faded from age. But the lines are wonky, which is very evident compared to the straight, rigid, lines of the rings tattooed on his other fingers. It’s almost like a child did it.

Yet, despite the imperfections, he loved it.

“Staring is quite rude you know,” Enjin says, exhaling a puff of smoke from his cigarette. Beside him, Rudo stiffens up, looking away guiltily at being caught. Despite the energetic commotion of their fellow Cleaners drinking and socializing merrily, the silent tension between the two of them is loud. Taking another drag of the cigarette, Enjin sighs, “whatcha thinking about now? This party’s supposed to be for welcoming you, and you’ve been hiding out back here despite being the guest of honor.”

“I—uh…” Rudo trailed off, but Enjin could easily follow the direction of his gaze to the shitty tattoo on his finger.

“It’s my first ever tattoo,” the blond explains. He holds his hand out for Rudo to better see. A smile settles on his face. “Got it when I was about 18. Whatcha think?”

“I think it looks busted,” replies the white haired boy bluntly.

Surprisingly, Enjin cackles in laughter. He turns his hand, looking at the umbrella tattoo with fondness. “It does, doesn’t it? Definitely not the best quality, but you make those kind of impulsive decisions when you’re young only to regret them later down the line.”

Rudo frowned, only growing more confused. Not only he didn’t see the appeal in such an ugly looking tattoo, the man even agreed that it was terribly done. Wouldn’t one typically be upset about getting a bad tattoo? Not that Rudo knew much about tattoos himself, but he knew he wouldn’t want that permanently on his body.

“Can’t you get it removed or cover it up with something else?” Rudo questioned.

“Yeah, but despite its terrible quality, this tattoo is my favorite,” Enjin says. “After all, my lovely wife did it for me in the early stages of our relationship.”

You both were around 18 at the time.

The relationship was still rather new, but Enjin already knew within the first few months of being together, you were the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. What was there not to love about you? You were smart, witty, and gorgeous inside and out. You always put him in his place when necessary and had no problem vocalizing your opinions.

Most importantly, you were hyper independent. You held your own against trash beasts and cleaned up a fair share of Enjin’s messes. Spoiling you was never easy simply because you often refused to let him. But with time, Enjin would break down the walls you built as you did his.

“Enjin look what I found!” You enter your shared apartment, eagerly carrying something in your hand. Enjin lazily looked up from his spot on the couch, perplexed by your sudden excitement. You nearly trip over your feet to shove a box into your boyfriend’s hands.

“What is this?” Enjin curiously opened the rectangular box at your insistence. Inside was an array of items. Five slender needle-like objects. A tube of black liquid. A couple pairs of gloves along with a few other smaller items. “Is this tattoo ink?” The male questions, reading the label on the bottle.

“It’s a stick and poke kit!” You say enthusiastically. “I found it on my way to Canvas Town. You should totally let me try it out on you!”

Immediately, Enjin’s face sours at the thought. “I don’t know babe…we don’t know what dumpster this was in—“

“Then we’ll clean and sanitize the equipment before using it. And there’s gloves in here. Pleaseee Enjin?”

Unfortunately, his inability to say no to you was Enjin’s greatest weakness and he relented. After cleaning the supplies to the best of your ability, you pulled on a pair of the gloves and filled the silicone caps with the ink. You originally wanted to ink your name or initials on him, but Enjin called it tacky. So, you settled on doing an umbrella, because it reminded you of his umbreaker.

“Do you have to do it on my hand?” Enjin asks, slightly amused by the intense look of concentration on your face.

“Shush, you’re distracting me,” you snap. Your hand is unsteady as you poke the curve of the umbrella’s handle before slowly making your way up the rest of the design. After a few minutes you were done. “There! Finished!” You look pleased with your work. “What do you think?”

Enjin looked at his pinky. A janky tattoo stares back at him. He then snorted in laughter. “Babe, I love you, but you’re no artist.” You hit him with the nearby pillow, making him laugh harder. Before you could slap him again, he grabbed your wrist to halt your attack and caught you off guard with a kiss. “Thank you. I love it because you did it.”

After ten years, the stick and poke tattoo has since begun to fade. You’ve jokingly asked him if he’d get it touched up by a professional, but Enjin always said that he would only do so if you did it, refusing to let anyone mess up the precious art you put on his body.

Rudo sat in stunned silence, still reeling from learning that Enjin of all people has a wife. “Wait—you’re married?!”

Enjin scowled, hitting the kid on the back of the head. “Oi, what’s with that insinuating tone of yours? My wife and I’ve been happily married for almost seven years now.”

“You don’t wear a wedding ring!”

“Cause I got it tattooed instead!”

“Then introduce me to her!”

“I can’t cause she’s gone!”

Rudo paused, a feeling of guilt settling in his stomach as his face drops. “Enjin—I—“

All of a sudden, someone slaps the back of Enjin’s head hard with a notebook. “Enjin you asshole! Don’t talk as if I’m dead!” You snap. “You’re scaring the poor newbie.”

Enjin rubs the back of his head, grumbling under his breath. “Dammit, babe I think I have a knot on my head now.”

“Oh please, your skull is too thick for any real damage to be done,” you scoff. Turning your attention to Rudo, you offer a kind smile, him blinking slowly as he takes in your appearance and Cleaner’s uniform. “I hope my idiotic husband hasn’t been causing you too much trouble. I’m Y/n. You must be the sphereite everyone’s been talking about.”

“Uh…yeah…” Rudo trails. “I thought…Enjin just said you were…”

“On assignment?” You say, head tilting in confusion. You give your husband the side-eye, which he merely responds with that goofy grin you love so much (even when you’re trying to be mad at him). “Enjin, what did you tell him?” You ask in an accusatory tone.

“Nothing!” Enjin puts his hands up innocently. “I just said you were gone. And you were. But now you’re back.” He then looks at his pinky and smiles. “Oh, and about the shitty tattoo you gave me.”

You roll your eyes, but he could tell you were embarrassed based on your bashful demeanor. Heat creeps up your neck and ears. “Geez, if you hate it so much, then get it covered up—“

Enjin pulls you into his lap by your arm, cutting you off with a kiss. The kiss deepened as he cups your cheek, one of his hands tracing down your hip. He’s gentle yet passionate, built up from the sense of longing he felt while missing you. You’re breathless when he does pull away, lips swollen, now even more flustered by the audience you two have attracted.

“E-enjin…”

He loves the sound of your accent and will completely butcher Spanish words on purpose just to see you roll your eyes and correct him.

Johnny is usually the quietest, his soft slow Kentucky drawl cutting through Gyro’s noise. He has that classic, mumbled Southern way of speaking where words just bleed into each other Jeet yet?" instead of "Did you eat yet?"

He finds comfort in how rhythmic your Spanish English is, often just leaning his head against your shoulder and listening to you vent.

The real fun begins when the tension spikes whether it's a heated argument about who ate the last of the rations or a session created purely to tease one another

When Johnny gets genuinely angry or deeply embarrassed, his southern drawl turns into pure gibberish.

The vowels stretch out, the consonants completely vanish, and he starts using hyper-specific Southern slang. He'll get red in the face and definitely start pointing fingers

You immediately default to Spanish when you're startled or annoyed. The moment Johnny starts slurring his words in a rage, you drop the English entirely with a fast pace, dropping your 's' sounds, and gesturing just as wildly as Gyro.

Gyro sits in the middle, looking back and forth between a bright red, incomprehensible cowboy and a fiercely gesturing hispanic, and just starts shouting in aggressive Italian because he feels left out. "Johnny, speak like a person! And you... cara, parsing your words, please!”

Despite the loud arguments, the blend of your backgrounds creates the warmest, most unique comfort.

Gyro calls you “splendore” or “amore,” his voice dropping into that smooth, rolling Italian tone that melts you.

Johnny when he's sleepy and his accent is at its softest, calls you “darlin’” or “sweetheart,” the words sounding like warm honey. You balance them out with “mi amor” or “papi” which absolutely sends Johnny into a blushing, stuttering spiral where his accent breaks entirely.

you and logan had been married for 7 months now. you could hardly believe that the logan who had crashed into you his first day at the mansion without so much of an apology was now massaging your feet in his lap as you went through the basics of the upcoming spiritual month. truth be told, he already knew most of what you were explaining. he just liked listening to you, the way your hands moved animatedly, the softness in your eyes as you spoke about islam and it’s practices. it was clear you loved and appreciated your religion.

alright, he’ll admit he was a little nervous. in about half an hour, he’d have to go to the mosque to read his first taraweeh prayer and while he’s familiar with the five daily prayers now, he’s never read the prayer specific to this month. you had explained that it was just like the other ones but only longer. men actually had it easier since all they had to do was listen to the imam’s recitation and follow his lead. he chuckled when you made that quip. you were beyond excited to share this blessed month with him and you wanted it to go as smoothly as possible for him. any enquiries he had, you were there to answer and guide him. some of which he already knew the answers to. unbeknownst to you, way before the both of you got married, he had done his own research on islam, curious about your faith after getting to know you. he wasn’t a religious man by any sorts but there was something about the firmness in your beliefs that made him want to look into it. he never expected to find peace and serenity in a religion he knew very little about.

logan had changed into something more appropriate for the mosque. he emerged from your shared room wearing an ankle-length black thobe. he looked a little uncertain yet you grin, unable to keep your excitement off your face, your heart swelling with warmth at seeing him in traditional clothing. it wasn’t even the first time seeing him in it yet you reacted just the same “you look very handsome.” the corner of logan’s lip curves into a smirk at your compliment, his cheeks flushing a light pink. his phone pings with a text alert from your brother saying that he and your father were outside. you had asked them to take logan with them just so he wasn’t navigating the prayer alone. logan replies to the message with a thumbs up before clearing his throat and looking at you. “i’ll see you soon.” you press a kiss to his cheek before he leaves.

around an hour and a half later the front door opens, signalling logan’s return. you were in bed, sat upright against the headboard. you had finished your own prayers some time earlier and were now scrolling on your phone. logan enters the room, a small smile gracing his lips upon seeing you despite his exhaustion. you look up, a grin on your face.

“so how was it?” he starts unbuttoning his thobe, “long.” he huffs out a small laugh, “but also… nice. felt grounding.”

‘‘aww, i’m glad.’’ you say softly, reaching for his hand and lacing your fingers together. his face softens almost imperceptibly and he squeezes your hand before pulling back to remove his thobe. he hangs it up carefully, ready for tomorrow’s taraweeh, leaving him in his white undershirt and sweats. he climbs onto the bed and snuggles up beside you, planting a kiss to the top of your head before resting his own against your shoulder.

“how was your prayer?” he asks.

“good, i finished about an hour before you came.”

“hmm.”

logan shifts a little, further settling in next to you. he looks at your phone screen, seeing the game you were playing with mild interest before taking it out of your hand and setting it on the bedside table. he nuzzles in your neck, inhaling your scent as you mock gasp.

“rude. i wasn’t done with that.”

he chuckles against your neck, his beard tickling your skin.

‘’you’ve been on it enough.”

you huff playfully but don’t say anything else.

“time to sleep now.”

“hang on,” you reach over to grab your phone again, “need to set the alarm.” logan’s hand remains on your hip as you find the clock app on your home screen. “the fast is closing at 5:30 today, so is 4:45 good?” logan thinks for a moment before answering. “maybe a little earlier. 4:30?”

you glance at him, “that’s a whole hour.”

“you take forever to get up.”

your mouth drops in mock outrage, “i do not!”

he chuckles and presses a kiss against your temple, “just wanna make sure we have enough time, baby.”

you roll your eyes but relent with a small, playful scoff, setting the alarm for 4:30 to wake up for sehri.

you turn to put your phone down again before twisting your body back to face logan. his arm tightens around your waist as you habitually play with his dog tags, your fingers tracing over the coolness of the metal as the tag sits in your palm.

“you nervous?” you ask, the playfulness in your voice dropping to a soft whisper.

his eyes shift from your hand to you.

“about fasting?”

you nod, your eyes holding his gaze. he’s quiet for a second, his brow furrowed in that signature look of his.

“no.” his voice is firm, steady in his response. it takes you by surprise a little. a good surprise though. if he was so sure with himself then you didn’t want to create any doubts by bringing up his regeneration or his metabolism or the long day he had ahead at the lumberyard. you were concerned that it might be too much for him- the fasting, the labour, the way his body burned through energy like a furnace. but seeing him so certain and hearing the conviction in his voice eases the knot in your chest, his strength slowly seeping into you. you smile and gently tug on his tags, your chin angling to press a kiss against his forehead. logan’s eyes close as your lips mark his skin, a seal he’d never tire of. you pull back enough just to look at him, the tenderness in your eyes mirroring his own.

“get some sleep.” he murmurs.

you nod, moving that little bit closer to him. his chest had become your pillow over these past few months, solid yet soft just like the rest of him. your eyes fall shut, the warmth of his embrace easing you into sleep.

five hours later, your alarm goes off. logan stirs immediately behind you, your positions having shifted throughout the night. you groan, blindly reaching for your phone to turn it off. once you do, your body remains unmoved for a good couple minutes, earning an amused chuckle from logan. he kisses the back of your neck, “baby.” your response is another tired grumble. “c’mon, sleepy.” you eventually drag yourself out of bed, logan trailing behind you to the kitchen.

“you sit.”

“it’s okay, i want a desi omelette.”

“i can make it.”

you raise an eyebrow at him.

“what? i’ve seen you make it enough times. how hard can it be?”

you reluctantly sit down at the kitchen island, your eyes following logan’s movements as he pulls out a red onion, a bell pepper, a tomato, green chillies and the spices he remembers you using- turmeric, red chilli flakes, cumin and coriander.

you can hardly fight back a smile as you watch logan chop the vegetables with the seriousness of a man handling a life-or-death situation. his brows are drawn together, the look of pure concentration etched on his face. it warms your heart that even with something as simple as making you breakfast, he didn’t take lightly.

soon the kitchen fills with the aroma of onions and spices, the sizzle of the pan breaking the early morning silence. logan moves with quiet focus, following the process from memory. you notice him stubbornly refusing to look at you for confirmation as if accepting help would somehow count as cheating. he plates your omelette with two pieces of warm, toasted bread before setting it down in front of you, as well as a glass of water. you look up at him with a gentle smile, seeing him patiently awaiting your verdict. a chuckle leaves your lips as you break off a piece of your toast and use it to scoop up some of the omelette. it’s less spicier than you’re used to but still flavourful in all the right ways. logan watches you chew, his eyes shifting from the plate to you.

“well?” he asks after a second.

you hum thoughtfully, pretending to consider it longer than necessary. logan’s eyes narrow causing a laugh to escape from you.

“it’s good.” you nod reassuringly.

the relief on logan’s face is subtle but unmistakable. he soon joins you at the island with his own plate of scrambled eggs.