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KIM DOKJA BOYFRIEND TEXTS AND TWEETS
kim dokja x gender neutral reader
established relationship, canon compliant, beginningish of manwha, in a world where you guys have access to twitter. you both know you’re in a novel.
this is for a very niche audience aka me and @ihearttori
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GET KOSA TRENDING.
STOP SCROLLING NOW!
AS OF FEBRUARY 21ST, 2024, WE GOT FIVE DAYS UNTIL THE DAY OF DECISION OF THE KOSA BILL, WHICH WILL CAUSE MASS CENSORSHIP ROUND THE INTERNET IF PASSED. WE NEED EVERYONE TO KNOW ABOUT THIS AND CONTRIBUTE. I'M NOT GIVING UP ON YOU ALL.
(IMPORTANT UPDATE: Kosa will not necessarily pass on the 26th. It only has the support to pass in Senate, and we STILL HAVE TIME. That being said, time is of the essence.)
WE'RE DOWN TO THE WIRE BUT WE CAN'T GIVE UP YET. IF WE GIVE UP, EVERYTHING IS OVER. IF WE DON'T, AT LEAST WE HAVE A CHANCE.
I'M THE ONE WHO SOUNDED THE ALARM, AND I'M NOT GOING TO CURL UP AND DIE YET.
Reblog this post in every LEGAL way you can under the Tumblr guidelines with the appropriate tags. TELL AND TAG EVERYONE YOU KNOW, then add the tags to see below... and more if you can think of any complying.
Visit badinternetbills.com if you want to find a way to defeat KOSA. It WILL NOT take much of your time. Reblog with any other information or sources, too-- but make sure to reblog if you can.
Reblog if you support lgbtq+ content.
Reblog if you support questioning queer youth and/or abused youth getting the information they need.
Reblog if you support Ao3 and/or other sites that wholeheartedly preserve talentedly made media.
Reblog if you're going to repost this on other sites than Tumblr and spread the word across Twitter, Tik Tok, Pinterest, or elsewhere, alongside the link to badinternetbills.com.
Reblog if you think KOSA is unfair and shouldn't be anyone's problem -- including the adults ALL OVER THE DAMN EARTH forced to face the mass censorship it causes because "think of the American Children!".
Reblog if you support internet activism and Palestine.
Reblog if you hate fascism or censorship, and don't want actually serious and helpful conversations censored on the internet.
Reblog if you value the internet in any way at all whatsoever.
CHECK THIS PETITION, TOO! https://www.change.org/p/stop-the-kosa?recruiter=1331807538&utm_source=share_petition&utm_medium=sms&utm_campaign=psf_combo_share_initial&utm_term=psf&recruited_by_id=57368c40-d0fd-11ee-98f7-2175430f819f&share_bandit_exp=initial-36809664-en-US
(Also, please reblog with at least "stop kosa" as a tag and not "kosa". I made the mistake of not adding just "kosa" as a tag...)
We won't let this stand any longer. Let's start a riot and get this trending.
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been having writers block for the past few days
( 〃．．)
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wanderer can fly; you cannot. he makes it his problem.
“What? Giving up already?”
“Shut—” heaving, you barely have the energy to flip him off, “shut the fuck up. Fuck off.”
Wanderer chuckles, all low and mean, as if his entire purpose in life is to ridicule you. He continues ascending overhead, moving and looking like an angel, but the words that come out of his mouth are far from angelic. “Careful, now. I know you overestimate yourself, but I won’t save you if you continue to scale a mountain with one hand.”
“Stop agitating me on purpose then!” You nearly slip from the intensity of your yell, but thankfully, it isn’t your time yet.
“How can I? You’re cute when you’re mad.”
Grumbling, you focus back on the mountain. Cute when mad. He must think he’s goddamn adorable, then.
You’re starting to lose sight of dents or protruding surfaces to get a hold of, and the mountain is getting steeper. You curse under your breath. If only you had Geo or Dendro—that’d help a lot much more. Maybe even Anemo, but that would be admitting defeat to the man who’s currently watching you intently.
Wanderer scoffs when your breath hitches, the surface you’re holding onto crumbling. He descends until you’re eye level. “Idiot, I told you that it’d be safer if we didn’t climb this all the way.”
“I know my limit.” Maybe. You may or may not have gotten a little over-competitive and jumped a few times, but that shouldn’t be a problem.
“Not more than I do,” he says.
“Don’t say it like that, weirdo.” You appraise the mountain overhead and, with a sunken stomach, realize that he’s right. There’s still a long way to go, and it’s a long fall back.
“Damn,” you say. You turn to Wanderer and blink up at him with wide eyes, hoping he would take the hint without having to say it outright.
Wanderer sighs, holding out his arms. “Jump.”
“Are you serious?”
“I won’t let you fall—of course I’m fucking serious.”
You grit your teeth, wondering if it’s easier to humiliate yourself and jump into his arms or to let gravity do its work.
“Hey,” Wanderer says, gliding closer and hovering an arm behind your waist. “No stupid ideas. Just jump and hold onto me.”
It’s always unsettling when Wanderer is not acting all bratty, like you’re not quite sure if you should goad him back to being mean or watch him bristle when you point it out. It’s been happening too often recently. That must be saying something about him if his soft moments are scarier than his jabs.
Wordlessly, you reach out for his shoulder with one hand and hold back a yelp when the lack of balance causes you to slip. You hold on tight around his neck, eyes wide and heart jittery. Wanderer secures his arms, moving in one swift motion. Before you even know it, he has one arm on your back and the other under your knees.
“How convenient it must be to have a ride as your companion,” Wanderer mutters in amusement at your relieved face.
“Yeah. That’s why I keep you around,” you say as he glides upward, barely straining from your weight. He looks as unaffected as ever.
He looks as infuriatingly and devastatingly beautiful as ever.
“Ha,” his smile is all sharp, “and not because you have a little crush on me?”
“You follow me around because you do. Don’t get it twisted.”
He snorts, tipping on something a little more genuine. You wisely decide to stop ogling at his face and enjoy the view of the sky instead. The blue of his clothes and the shade of his eyes are much prettier, but you’d rather lose that than start squirming in his arms. Not when he’s carrying you bridal style and all.
Finally, he descends, hardly disturbing the grass with his grace. He sets you down, arms crossed, as you pat yourself off from dirt and stuff.
“Well?”
You eye him warily. “What do you want?”
“Some semblance of manners will do,” he says, then leans close as if he’s baring his face for you. He’s been less and less subtle recently, too.
Nonetheless, you find yourself smiling. The things he’d do just to get a kiss—it nearly makes you laugh out loud. But then he’d start getting all irritated like a cat, and you much prefer when he’s sweet like this. Sweet in his very Wanderer way, you mean.
You kiss him on the cheek. He puffs up like some proud peacock. He calls you adorable all the time, but he’s the one who’s acting like this. It’s no wonder you keep him around.
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cw: arranged marriage, fluff, neglect at the beginning, ratio falling hard, pining, ratio being jealous of aventurine, unedited bc i wrote this with my heart not my brain
my brain has been thinking about an arranged marriage fic with dr. ratio...
he isn't kind to you at first, less than happy to share a life with a mere acquaintance. he's heard about you before in passing, noting your achievements with a grain of salt because nothing about you particularly mattered to him, irrelevant against the mass of scrolls and books he needs to read.
you don't really disturb his normal routine too much. you move in to his estate with a fair share of your belongings, but none of them crowd his house too much. you have your own room, pristine guest room unearthed by your artistic touch.
aside from dinners, you don't get to see each other too much. he starts his mornings early, getting up at the crack of dawn to exercise and start his day with a hearty meal. you wake up later, partaking in a slow morning, and if you glanced out the window, you might be able to see your husband running laps around the expanse of his gardens.
you admire his dedication and routine, it's fascinating to live beside a genius. everyday, the chest table that sits in the living room changes, the black and white pieces never remaining where you last recalled. the size of his blackboard is impressive, and yet too small to fit all of the formulas his brain remembers, hands effortlessly dancing along the surface to scratch number after number.
a frequent order of his estate is chalk. a new pile is delivered every three days, and he goes through them without fail every time.
during dinner, he tries to spare some conversation with you. you don't tell him too much about your day, not wanting to bore him with your menial chores. he's only half-listening either way, so you'll feign understanding about his work when he explains what he's up to.
ratio is not an attentive husband, but he doesn't mistreat you, either. he allows you to spend his assets without too much care, doesn't police your everyday tasks, and also doesn't bat an eye at other men or women. his pursuit of intelligence is important, and your wellbeing would not come in between that.
your monotonous, distant routine changes one autumn dusk. you're perched in the front yard with an easel set up before you, the sky in front of you now a blend of pink-purple hues. he returns home earlier than you expected, carriage stopping at the front of his estate, and he witnesses you in your tranquil state.
the paint strokes on the canvas before you are skilled, and show years of dedication to the craft. you're so invested in the piece before you, that you don't even hear him approaching until he calls your name.
"the night turns colder with each minute. shouldn't you come inside before you fall ill?" the scholar greets, and you're snapped out of your creative reverie, looking over at him.
"oh, i had not realised. let me clean up here, first." you take your canvas off the easel, but to your surprise, your spouse kneels down to organise your oil paints back into their box.
"make haste, then," he urges.
during dinner, he can't help but be curious over your hobby, the stubborn splotches of paint clinging to your hands visible to him. that night, you engage in uninterrupted conversation, and discover that he's an artist himself- a sculptor. it calms him, and all the statues reside in a removed room, adjacent to his study.
despite your years of matrimony, you had never once dared enter his study, but the design is so fittingly him. it is organised (well, as organised a genius can be), with shelves and shelves filled with books, discarded scrolls lay around the room, but even then, his taste for greco-roman aesthetics are seen. roman dorics act like stands for little plants, and his many certificates are displayed, along with other achievements.
(his study is overwhelmingly filled with them. though you knew of the merit of the man you were arranged to be married to, you had never known just how expansive the list is. perhaps, that only made him more intimidating to you, standing beside a genius does not feel so light to say anymore.)
he shows you his sculptures, and though many of them are... self portraits... the likeness is disgustingly accurate. it was as if he had casted himself in plaster and displayed it proudly. you wonder how long he must have stared in the mirror to perfect their appearance.
but, there are also various other formidable statues. some of people you recognise. you compliment his skill and don't get to see the blush that spreads along his cheeks.
it seems that you've chipped a way into his heart, because between brushstrokes and chiselled marble, he falls in love with you.
ratio knows he didn't start off being the best husband, but he tries to now, and begins by being present. asks you to dine together where possible, listens when you're talking about your day, and the two of you can be seen venturing downtown together; an unbelievable sight for those who believed that ratio was romantically inept.
perhaps, an even more unbelievable sight, was the soft smile on his face that glanced at you very adoringly, and how you remained unaware of his affections.
and, maybe a jealous veritas ratio is just as unbelievable.
he is practically glaring daggers at the side of a certain blond's head. ratio has never been fond of the scheming businessman, aventurine, and is even less so of the fact that you seem so close to him, more than you are with your own husband. you're speaking with him like how one would with old friends, a peaceful visit to the markets turned sour by his presence.
when you finally, finally, finally, bid farewell to aventurine, who gave ratio a look that signified he was up to no good, your husband held your hand in his gloved one with an unforgiving grip. his mood is dampened for the remainder of the day, and is only made better when you enquire about his sudden glumness, visiting his office to see if he was alright.
you leave him with a kiss on the crown of his head, and a whisper of 'goodnight', before retreating to your chambers, and the only thought that circulates in his head for the rest of the night is you, and how he's going to sweep you off your feet.
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a one shot coming up soon (≧▽≦)
#a lil snippet#was supposed to be a valentine post but i couldn't finish it in time😭#⌕ ❜catch up w me❛ ꒱
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a/n: i just had to bring back coworker!akaashi for this.
“Since when did management give flowers to their employees on Valentine’s Day?”
Akaashi glances up from his notes, gaze flicking between the elegant vase of flowers in your hands before lingering on your face, as if trying to read your expression (you hate when he looks at you like that, like you’re the most interesting person in the room. It never fails to make your thoughts scatter). “You think they’re from management?”
“Well, who else would they be from?” You ask, and Akaashi leans back in his chair, lips pursed and brows slightly furrowed as you realize something else. “Wait– is this because I’m single? Is this a pity gift?!”
“They can’t be a pity gift,” he offers quickly, gesturing to his flower-less desk. “Because I’m also single, and I didn’t get any. They must be from somebody else, someone like–”
“Like one of my clients,” you gasp, gripping the vase a little tighter as you look down at the pretty bouquet of pink peonies and white anemones, cushioned by a smattering of delicate sprigs of greenery. “That makes sense, actually. They send me things all the time.”
Akaashi almost looks offended by this revelation. “They do?”
“Yeah,” you nod, already filing through potential gifters. It had to be someone you’d been working with for a while. Someone who knows that you think red roses are cliche and that you prefer the look of ceramic vases to glass ones. “Do you not get gifts from yours?”
“I do, but that’s not–”
“Hey, you got here before me today,” you recall, tapping your fingers against the vase. “Did you get a glimpse of whoever dropped by?”
Your coworker’s expression sours as if he’s swallowed a lemon. “I didn’t, sorry.”
You breathe a sigh, leaning against his door frame. “Well, custom bouquets like this aren’t cheap. I need to figure it out soon so I can send them a thank you card.”
Akaashi simply hums, still watching you closely. “Is it really so far-fetched to believe that someone in the office may have gifted them to you?”
You hadn’t even entertained the idea of one of your coworkers giving you valentine. At least not one like this. You’d been on the receiving end of leftover chocolates from a box set and the sweet card from your assistant, but never something so…extravagant.
Flowers were intimate. Flowers were what couples bought each other to say, “hey, I’m thinking of you.”
Who in this office was thinking of you on a day like today? A day meant for love and romance and passion?
The sound of Akaashi clearing his throat draws your attention back to him, watching as he sits up, wringing his hands on the surface of his desk. Then, softly stating without meeting your gaze, “You’ve more admirers than you think.”
This idea is foreign to you. Stuff like that only happens in sappy romance flicks. “Like who? Rei from marketing?”
“Rei from marketing couldn’t tell you the difference between an anemone and a peony if it hit him in the head,” he scoffs, and for a moment the both of you are silent, even Akaashi seeming shocked by his brash tone.
“Then…who could?”
“I don’t know.”
But in the two years you’d been working here, you know him. It’s very rare that you’ll hear Akaashi Keiji - who is organized, concise, and a bit of a perfectionist - utter the words, ‘i don’t know.’
Because Akasshi Keiji doesn’t involve himself in matters that he doesn’t know the full circumstances of. He doesn’t give answers that are only half-researched or pass on statements that are unconfirmed.
And he’s still not looking at you, instead idly tapping his pen against his desk.
(Akaashi Keiji is also a very bad liar.)
“You know something!” You exclaim, and the steady bloom of heat on his cheeks only further proving your point. “Keiji, you need to tell me!”
His gaze finally meets yours at the use of his name, but just as he opens his mouth–
–his phone rings.
So it’s with a pout of your lips and a playful wave of his hand that you step back out of his office, mouthing, ‘we’ll talk about this later.’
When you close the door behind you, Akaashi breathes a little sigh of relief. He carefully moves his hands from his desk to not wrinkle the note he’d been working on.
(The one with your name on it.)
–
Akaashi had spent the entire day dodging you, clearly intent on keeping the identity of your so-called admirer a secret. You’re not entirely sure who he holds so much loyalty toward, if not you. He was your friend here first, after all.
It’s when you’re trudging out of your office to speak to your supervisor before finishing up for the day that you realize you’d been asking the wrong person.
Because your boss’ assistant brightens a little when she sees you, asking,
“Did you like the flowers that Akaashi-san gave you?”
Akaashi.
Akaashi gave you the flowers?
Akaashi was thinking of you today, on Valentine’s Day? A day meant for love and romance and passion?
You’ve more admirers than you think.
You’d never thought that would include your coworker Akaashi, who always remembers your coffee order. Who knows that you prefer .5mm to .7mm pens. Who always lets you step on and off the elevator first, and always drops whatever he’s doing to indulge in your nonsense.
(Akaashi, who you’ve probably had a crush on since the day you’d started your internship together, if you were being honest with yourself.)
When you rush back to your office, there’s a neatly penned note on your desk, right next to the bouquet. This time you’re not confused, unable to stop the warmth rushing to your face and the smile on your lips because this time, you know who it’s from.
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If u think none saw that, you are wrong 🫢 I totally saw it hehe
WHAT EJSISKJE?@?@ HOW😭😭 keep it quiet 🙏🏻🙏🏻
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thinking about arguing with husband!gojo. it’s funny because he’s the strongest sorcerer alive with several other, more wicked enemies harboring one sided hate for him, yet he’s anxiously glancing at you every now and then as you hiss at him. you’re the only one who can make him doubt his strength.
he usually finds you cute when you’re mad, but right now he doesn’t really appreciate the way your face is scrunched up and how you’re yelling at him.
it’s not his fault. he thinks you’re being so dramatic.
“you’re laughing at me,” you deadpan. “why do you never take things i say seriously?”
“because i honestly don’t think it’s that serious,” he fires back, and your eyes narrow. oh, fuck.
arguing with your husband is never fun. it’s probably because the both of you are stubborn; you’re stubborn because you’re simply right all the time, and satoru’s stubborn because if you’re not right, then he is.
you pause for just a second, but it’s enough to sprout a moment of extreme tension between you and your husband.
“right,” you scoff after you inhale sharply. “you just don’t care, do you?”
“don’t fucking say that,” satoru snaps. “i do care. that’s why i’m here.”
it takes everything in you to not shoot him another death glare. “so i should be thankful for the bare minimum?”
satoru blinks. he would’ve flinched, but he refuses to let you have that sort of power over him. “i’m not giving the bare minimum.”
“yes you are,” you argue back, voice straining as you swallow a lump of anger down the back of your throat.
the both of you are still. it feels like an eternity passes before the anger in you wanes. you’re exhausted and this fight with satoru is surely going to make the both of you upset enough to not talk for the rest of the night.
“i’m sorry that i’m not good enough,” satoru says, breaking the silence. you’ve never heard his voice so small, so pathetic—he’s never, ever shown you this side of him, and you’re starting to feel that dreading pit of guilt tug at your gut.
“that’s not what i meant,” you force yourself to say, sighing.
“but that’s what you’re thinking,” satoru mumbles. he avoids looking at your face.
“no it’s not,” you deny. “it’s never been about that.”
satoru gives you a wary look. “then what is it about? because i’ve done everything i can.”
“everything? really?” you sneer. “do you even love me anymore?”
silence. satoru swears he can hear your heart break.
“baby, don’t say that,” he groans, “c’mon, we were ten points away from three stars. that’s a single plate—one you didn’t turn in because you somehow forgot how to dash!”
you whip around to glower at satoru, your face twisting into an offended expression. “you set the kitchen on fire! how could i do something like serving a dish if the kitchen is on fire?!”
“baby, it’s the same button that it always has been this entire game!” he whines. “and you set the kitchen on fire! you keep forgetting to take the rice off the stove!”
you sigh exasperatedly, crossing your arms to act like some sort of shield between you and satoru’s (truthful) words.
“but you don’t chop up your stupid fish!” you protest. “so i end up doing five things at once!”
satoru opens his mouth to speak, but he knows you’re in the right. he opts to click his tongue instead.
“and every time i asked for help,” you add, frowning, “you just kept bringing out more of the dumbass cucumbers! we don’t have counter space for that!!!”
“that’s for prep to maximize our sushi making! throw it on the floor!”
“are you kidding me? that’s so unsanitary!”
“it’s a game!”
you’re both panting by the end of the fight. you’re biting down on your inner cheek and satoru is scratching the nape of his neck awkwardly.
“… sorry,” he mumbles. “i won’t bring out cucumbers anymore. and i’m also sorry for being mean about you not knowing how to dash.”
“good,” you huff. “‘cause i was seriously not gonna play anymore.”
“and…?” he prods, nudging you in your ribs. you can tell what he wants just by the sound of his voice.
“and i’m sorry for getting mad at you even though you’re doing you’re best at carrying me in this game…” you murmur, rolling your eyes.
satoru’s face brightens and he places a wet kiss on your cheek. “you’re forgiven.”
“love you, dummy.”
“love you too, baby.”
“no more cucumbers unless the ticket calls for them,” you remind him pointedly.
“yes, chef!”
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in which: al haitham gives you something on his birthday.
fluff, gn!reader, quick drabble for this special scholar's birthday ^-^
“As much as I appreciate these… heavy, complicated-sounding books, it’s your birthday, Al Haitham, I’m supposed to be giving you a gift.” You explain as you move all three books under one arm. Did he expect you to finish all of these any time soon?
Sure you enjoyed reading, but you’re not sure you can classify yourself in the same category as your bookworm-boyfriend who burrows himself in words whenever he can, hence, the intimidation you felt when he placed all of these in your arms.
“Just because you’re ‘supposed’ to give me a gift doesn’t mean I cannot gift one in return.” He counters, rationally and level-headed as ever. “Besides, you accepting these makes me satisfied with myself, and wouldn’t you say that emotional compensation is a gift in of itself?”
“There is no winning against you.”
He looks content with himself, crossing his annoyingly muscular arms over his chest with a slight smirk. “Looks like I can say ‘no’ to you.”
You roll your eyes at his comment. “Whatever. By the time I’m through with these, my arms will start looking like yours with the weight of these beasts for books.”
Wordlessly, he takes the pile from you, holding them comfortably with both hands and relieving the strain on you. “Shall I put these down somewhere for you?”
“Just on the coffee table will do.”
Your eyes linger a little longer on the way his muscles contract as he walks around your living room, and it’s as if he can feel your stare when he shouts at you from over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready to go to Lambad’s Tavern? Everyone else may be at Avidya Forest, but at this rate, we’ll be the last ones.”
“I hear you, I hear you,” you murmur, retreating to your bedroom.
***
A week and a half later, you find yourself relaxing with Al Haitham in the comfort of your living room again, your legs on his lap whilst his arms cage you there, a book in his hands. The cover, however, is awfully familiar, and you realise it’s one of the books he gifted you on his birthday that you were at most seven chapters through. Why was he reading it?
“I left my bookmark in there, did you take it out?” You ask, sitting up.
The ashen-haired raises a brow at you. “This is my copy.”
“What? Didn’t you get me that on your birthday?”
“I did. I got us both a copy, of the same edition.”
“Why?”
“Remember when you suggested that we should find more hobbies to share? This should be one of them.”
Blinking at him once, twice, three times, you burst out into a fit of giggles, enamoured by the antics of your deceivingly stoic boyfriend. Throwing your arms around his neck, the (smaller) book in your hands hits his shoulder, and you grin up at him. “You can be so silly, Al Haitham.”
Though the hobbies you had in mind looked something more like new activities neither of you had tried before, you're flattered that he wants to include you in something that he loves to indulge himself in.
“Silly? I thought this was a rather reasonable solution.”
He lets you squish his cheeks with one hand, eyes never straying from the contents of his page. You thank your lucky stars that you’re the one who gets to hold him like this, and that you’re the one he wants to read together with- in the most practical manner. “It can be both- it is both.”
“Are you enjoying it?”
“I am, but maybe you should slow down. You’re already half way through when I’m not even one-eighth of the way.”
“I’ll wait. We can talk about it when you’re done.”
“Is this new ‘hobby’ a satisfactory gift, Haitham?”
A small smile pulls at the corner of his lips. “Most certainly.”
© EARTHTOOZ 2024, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.
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may i please be in your genshin taglist ? 💗💗
ofcc !!! (⁀ᗢ⁀)
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