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faeriekit · 9 months

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I feel like you’ll appreciate this flavor of feral brain rot as a true delicacy.

Ghostly Courting 101

1.) When you have someone you like, you politely sneak into their haunt and leave a gift that hints at your identity. If they’re interested, they’ll start hunting for you. If not, it’ll be removed without the other party feeling any societal pressure.

2.) For ghosts who died a violent or wrongful death, one of the most meaningful things you can do is avenge them. Attack their murderer, haunt their negligent doctor, etc. It’s not guaranteed to win their affection, but it’s a hell of a display.

Now, per the laws of unintended consequences, Danny finds Red Hood rearranging his freezer.

It’s 3:00 AM. He just wanted some water. Why is Gotham’s favorite son trying to leave him a fuck off huge casserole?

“Are you trying to propose or something?” Danny asks the liminal.

“Maybe???”

“Ghost weird or fruitloop weird?” Danny snatches his boo-berry ice cream and starts digging for a spoon.

Red Hood takes off his helmet to make sure Danny can see the Eyebrow of Judgment.

“Fruitloop then,” he says between bites. “We haven’t even sparred, and I sure as shit didn’t avenge you or anything.”

Oh. Oh no.

“Hood, why are you blushing?”

He couldn’t make out much from the outraged sputtering, but Danny nearly shat his fucking core out when it clicked.

“Is this about Joker???”

Danny was gonna take the stuttering as a yes.

Cool, cool, cool. He was calm. He was so fucking normal, it was fine, it was fine, it was—

Ancients take him, Danny beat the shit out of this guy’s murderer or something. He basically did a fucking flash mob proposal!

“Why the fuck am I even here?!” Red Hood screamed.

And the other guy’s fucking clueless!

I see, I see.

1: Which casserole. This is important. What casserole could the hindbrain of Jason Peter Todd's ghost instincts think is marriage material?? Is this like a comfort food can-of-cream-of-mushroom based casserole dish or like one of those newfangled sushi bake type things?? What did Jason whip out to prove he's marriage material??

2: What does JASON think is going on?? Did he hunt Danny down?? Did he just wake up in a stranger's apartment with a casserole in his hand?? Did he go to the grocery store with a list in mind or did he get home and realize he (for some reason) had every ingredient to make tuna casserole??

3: Wait. So does this mean that Jason thinks that casseroles are a good enough hint at his identity??? Does some part of Jason think that his most essential and core part of his identity is his tendency towards caretaking?? YO—

4: It's in a vintage pyrex. Look me in the eyes. This is not just Pyrex it's gotta be the old style pyrex that doesn't shatter in the oven without a pan underneath it. I am a connoisseur of white people culture and this is deeply important to me. It could even be one of the patterned ones. This is part of the gesture.

5: Danny is emotionally moved and it sucks considering that this was a complete accident

6: Jason is emotionally moved and has no idea what the fuck is going on. He wakes up at his safehouse one morning with bridal magazines in his hands which he apparently bought himself?? He's going insane. Is he cursed?? Did that twink who kicked the Joker's ass curse him??????? Curse him into...matrimony???????????????????

#dp x dc #death something. what's their ship name.#double death(tm)#dpxdc #dcu crossover #faer winds #the white people culture is intricate i just know it 😭#dcxdp #dead on main

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slexenskee · 2 months

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Only Shooting Stars (Break The Mold)

The AU where Gojo is actually All Might's California kid that literally no one asked for, including me 🤦‍♀️

Satoru’s best friend just told him she hates him. Actually, she told him she wanted to go hiking, which is basically the same thing.

There is emphatically nothing he’d like less than being dragged through the parched, dry hills around the Dish on an otherwise perfectly normal Saturday morning free of classes, but Makoto is only in town for two days and he promised her he’d do whatever she liked barring arson and/or more tequila shots.

“Can’t you just get Captain Underpants to go with you?” He throws out as a token protest, staggering into her rental jeep with the darkest shades he owns tossed over his eyes in a desperate attempt to keep his hangover at bay.

He squints at her as she settles in the driver’s seat of her rented death contraption. And why isn’t she hungover, anyway? She had even more to drink than him last night.

“You know his hero name is Captain Celebrity, and please don’t say that where anyone can hear you.” She rolls her eyes as she starts the car. “Until I get a more famous client he’s still my cash cow, and I’d really rather not get fired right now.”

“You couldn’t have picked a worse one.” Satoru snorts, flopping into the passenger seat. “Isn’t he still cheating on the daughter with the stepmom or something?”

“Alleged,” Makoto hisses. “Allegedly cheating. And no, obviously. I wouldn’t still be his publicist if he was that much of an idiot.”

She tries to back out of her spot and almost immediately slides several inches down the heart-palpitation-inducing San Francisco incline he’d parked her on last night. She gives him a look of pure, sheer terror over her steering wheel.

Satoru quickly undoes his seatbelt. “Yeah, okay. Put the parking brake on and switch with me— I’ll drive.”

He has them up and off the worst of Hyde St.’s incline with the undisturbed impassivity of a kid who’s spent his entire driving career wedging himself into tenuous and visibly improbable parking spots all across the bay area. Makoto gives a sigh of relief once they clear the worst of the soaring hills, and actually doesn’t bring up the topic he knows she’s itching to broach until he’s pulling onto the 101.

“You know, I wouldn’t have to bother with Captain Celebrity if someone would just finally agree to be a hero.” Makoto needles him, for the umpteenth time.

He rolls his eyes behind his glasses. “Not happening.” He shoots her down flat.

“You can’t stay in college forever!” She protests.

“What do you mean, forever?” He protests back, offended. “I’m not even twenty-two yet!”

And she makes it sound like he’s wasting his life away going to college or something! As if getting into Stanford isn’t the most snobbish badge of supremacy you can wave around in this damn state!

This is what he gets for saving her all those years ago, he laments. A best friend who nags him over all his life choices. He should have let her just fall from that damned New York skyscraper. Or more realistically, just waited it out and let an actual hero swoop in and save her. It’s not as if there hadn’t been plenty around at the time.

She’d been a twenty-one year-old intern at a prestigious marketing agency caught at the wrong end of a villain takeover, and as far as his mother was concerned he’d been a seventeen year-old ostensibly touring the city for colleges, but in reality had been touring music dive bars more than campuses. They’d immediately bonded over the fact he’d saved her life, but also the indie band shirt he’d been wearing as he’d done it.

Growing up in LA, his only two real options were surfing or surf rock, and he’d chosen to spend more time on the route that wouldn’t lead him to immediate skin cancer. His mom had eventually moved them to San Francisco, but he’d never quite grown out of his SoCal roots. He’d loved music in his last life, and in this life, he’d decided to chill the fuck out and ignore society and all it’s problems, and music seemed as good a way as any to do it. And he was pretty damn good at it, if he did say so himself. His expansive catalog of songs from his last life and eidetic memory made most people call him a genius, even if he rejected the label. So he was a passable— if not prodigal— guitarist, and Makoto had just learned to play the bass herself, so it was really no surprise they’d not only immediately bonded, but immediately decided to make a band together.

Makoto jumping ship and splitting her time between the US and Japan had thrown a bit of a wrench in their rockstar dreams, but they were making it work somehow. And considering he can teleport around the world at will, it’s really not that much of a hindrance.

That does beg the question though, of why Makoto would rather him be a hero than a musician. But he imagines he actually already knows the answer to that.

“How about you stop cleaning up after stupid celebrities, and become a celebrity yourself.” He argues, with a raised brow.

Makoto scoffs. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to break into the music industry?”

With the confidence of several dozen platinum hits spanning several dozen genres sitting pretty in his head, Satoru retorts; “I don’t think that will be a problem for us.”

She laughs him off at first, but then seems to give it genuine thought. “I guess you are pretty enough to have lead singer appeal,” she concedes, uncharitably. “But we haven’t even released an album yet; you have no idea how well it will be received on the charts. Playing little dive bar shows isn’t going to get us anywhere.”

Satoru just shrugs. “Then what’s stopping us? Let’s record an album.”

Makoto just rolls her eyes. “Yeah, sure. Come pop by Japan next weekend, and let’s do it.”

“Sure.” He agrees immediately, making her do a double take. He grins winsomely at her. “What? I’m free next weekend. Why not?”

She just shakes her head in wonder. “Even seeing it multiple times, sometimes I really do still forget you can just… teleport across the world. And stop bullets with your eyeballs.”

“It’s telekinesis,” he corrects, but at this point it’s just rote.

“No, I specifically remember you trying to explain it had something to do with your eyeballs, don’t try to change it up now.” Makoto pokes him in the shoulder— or tries to, but is stopped with his barrier. “And how the hell that’s supposed to even make sense, I have no idea. But you definitely said it.”

Yeah, he probably deserves that for trying to explain his cursed techniques while he’d been several mystery drinks deep at a college frat party. Makoto probably still hasn't forgiven him for dragging her to that madhouse, but in his defense, she’d all but begged him to take her to an American college party in the first place.

“It’s… complicated.” He hedges off. “My eyes just help me understand how to use my powers; they’re not actually what creates my barrier.”

Makoto squints at him suspiciously. “... What’s your mom’s quirk again?”

He chuckles awkwardly. “Oh, she can convert energy from the sun. Mine’s a mutation, obviously.”

“Could just be a strange combination.” Makoto muses. “What did you say your dad’s quirk was?”

“I, uh, have no idea.” Satoru coughs, keeping his eyes on the road in a vaguely panicked manner.

“Shit, that’s right, I’m sorry.” Makoto jolts in her seat, apologetic. “You still haven’t heard anything? I thought your mom said… I mean, they’re not on bad terms, right?”

Frankly, Satoru almost wishes she would continue pestering him about becoming a hero over this particular topic.

“They’re not on bad terms, no.” He hedges off, shifting in his seat. Why couldn’t his best friend have a normal quirk, like fire breathing or water bending? Or anything besides being a human lie detector when he has so much he needs to lie about? “But they don’t talk much. I’m not sure she even knows what his quirk is herself.”

“Well, I guess it doesn’t really matter anyway, your quirk is what it is.” Mercifully, Makoto lets the subject drop. “Even if it makes no damn sense.”

Satoru laughs that off. “Does any quirk ever really make sense, though?”

Makoto just clicks her tongue, then launches into a spirited rant on the laws of quirk science. Satoru breathes a quiet sigh of relief as the conversation devolves into a nonsensical argument on what would be the most useless quirk in history.

One of these days he’s going to have to cave and tell Makoto the truth, but he’d really rather not do it when he’s hungover and facing the prospect of a miserable hike for the next few hours.

And to be fair, nothing he said to Makoto was a lie.

His parents aren’t on bad terms. Or rather, they’re not on any terms at all, as he doesn’t think they’ve even spoken once in the twenty-two years he’s been alive in this world. But according to his mom, they hadn’t parted on bad terms. They’d been college sweethearts, and his father had always been honest about his intentions to return to Japan. His mother had been adamant about staying in America and pursuing her own career. They’d split up for practicalities sake, unaware he was already on the way, and his mom looks back on that time of her life fondly.

His mom would go on to have him several months after his father had left the country, and raise him as a single-mother as she built a life for them. His father would go on to be the world’s strongest hero.

His mother had only ever known Yagi Toshinori as All Might, unbeatable and unbreakable, with a quirk so strong it would have him going down in history as one of the strongest heroes of all time. As far as she— and the rest of the world knew— he had some kind of strengthening quirk.

But Satoru had seen him before, on one of his trips back to Japan. It had been from a distance, as he’d taken down a villain to the delight of the cheering crowds around him, but it had been enough for Satoru’s Six Eyes to see his quirk wasn’t quite as straightforward as the strengthening ability listed on his hero profile. All Might’s core— where most humans had a swirling mass of plus alpha energy— was as empty as Satoru’s. Satoru was quirkless because his father, All Might, had been born quirkless. The quirk All Might had now must have been given to him when he was older, growing around that empty space and spreading through his body almost like a parasite. Or a curse. Satoru honestly couldn’t tell.

Satoru honestly didn’t care.

He has no opinion on All Might, or what choices he may or may not have made to wield the power he has.

When he was much younger, and saw how much his mother struggled to raise him on her own without help, he would resent him a bit for leaving her on her own like this. But his adult mind could understand the logic in both his parents’ motivations. They both made their own choices, and did what they thought was right with only care and consideration for each other.

And it’s not as if Satoru’s childhood was lacking in any capacity.

Actually, his childhood was awesome.

To be entirely honest, he doubts he would have wanted All Might around even if that was possible. He can’t imagine a better way to grow up than the way he did, rocking out in the garage with his mom on the weekends, surfing in the mornings (with adequate sunscreen), skating from school to the skatepark in the afternoons, and having the complete and utter autonomy only a latchkey kid could have. His mom did what she could to make sure he grew up comfortably and well-cared for, and that included putting in long hours at work that had him on his own for most of the week. It was the best. There were no rules against using quirks in America— someone finally got their act together on personal bodily autonomy and all that— so he’d use his ‘quirk’ to teleport himself all across the world in his spare time. As long as he was back by dinner time, his mom didn’t need to know if he decided to spend the afternoon wandering the streets of Seoul in search of the best hotteok.

He tried to keep his excursions on the down low, and keep his grades up and his nose out of trouble. While he adored his freedom, he never wanted to worry his mom. She was honestly too good for this world— and for him too, if he was being honest. The least he could do is be as good of a son as possible.

Well, he can try to be as good of a son as possible. As it stands, the majority of his chaotic existence usually gets in the way of that.

“Oh, Sacchan, you’re home already?” His mother peers out of her office, thick, horn-rimmed glasses making her purple eyes look comically large on her face as she pokes her head over the wall. “Where’s Makoto-chan?”

“Probably on the plane already, unless it got delayed.” He tosses his keys into the basket by the front door, toeing off his shoes.

She frowns at him. “You drove her to SFO, right? Don’t tell me you let her go by herself!”

He rolls his eyes. “She had a rental car to drop off, ya know. But yeah, I drove her from the rental place to her terminal.”

Not that she deserved the consideration, after dragging him on a hike of all damn things yesterday. They’d just stayed out the whole night drinking beforehand, what madwoman does that?

She gets up out of her chair, stretching her arms over her head as her hapless bun spills silver-white hair over her shoulders. “She’s such a nice girl,” his mother enthuses, as she cracks her neck. “I wish you’d bring more of your friends around, Sacchan. Your poor mother worries.”

“I’m in college now, mom.” He rolls his eyes. “We don’t really bring our friends around to meet our parents.”

More to the point, he wouldn’t want to anyway. College boys are emphatically the worst, and his mom is a very pretty woman. That’s just asking for trouble. And beyond that, he doesn’t have anyone at school he’d feel close enough to introduce her to anyway. He has plenty of people in his orbit to pair up with in labs, hang around the quad with while he’s killing time between classes, or drag to various house parties, but those are superficial bonds at best.

He’s a young, handsome boy who surfs and skateboards and is good at all sports and plays rock music and still ranks at the top of his class; suffice it to say, he’s never wanted for friends or popularity. But he’s also a full grown man living through a second life; he has very little in common with the people in his age group. It’s gotten better now that he’s a full-fledged adult again, but he still tends to find the petty struggles of his fellow undergrads to be a bit pedantic.

“You never brought any around in highschool either.” His mother laments. “Sacchan, you’re not embarrassed over your mother, are you?”

“Not at all.” He protests, then adds, because he doesn’t want to worry her, “I just don’t want people knowing exactly where I live. They seem nice enough, but you never really know with people these days.”

He says it to assure her that he’s a perfectly well-adjusted and well-liked kid who has plenty of deep and genuine friendships (entirely untrue) but only serves to worry her even more.

She frowns at him, eyes downcast. “Oh, Satoru,” she says, in a sad tone that automatically has him lurching forward to comfort her. “I know things with your father are… complicated, but I never wanted to make you feel like you had to hide yourself from the world. I want to keep you safe, but I want you to have fun too, you know?”

“Yes, I know.” He rushes to reassure her. “And I do have fun— you know I do! You came to my show just last week!”

His mother gives him a watery smile. “Yes, and your bandmate Kenji nearly started a bar fight, and the crowds got so unruly that the fire department got called in.”

“That guy deserved to be slapped around a bit.” He returns, unapologetic. “And the fire department was just there to make sure we stayed under capacity— we weren’t causing any trouble!”

“No trouble, he says, when the cops were still called by the end of the night.” She teases him.

He rolls his eyes. He can’t control whether or not two drunks decide to get in a brawl over baby mama drama outside the venue, that was totally not his fault. And also probably not the best show to take his mom to, but it was one of the few local performances they’ve ever done, and she was always making noises about finally seeing his band play in person. Unsurprisingly having two bandmates that live across the ocean and one that hops between two countries means they rarely play shows on this side of the Pacific, and he still hasn’t found a way to admit to her that his teleportation radius is a lot larger than he’d originally told her as a five year-old manifesting his ‘quirk’.

“Cops or not, it was still a good time.” He grins, adamantly.

“It was indeed a good time.” She nods, grinning back. She leans up to pat his cheek. “You looked like you were really enjoying yourself up there, Satoru. I always knew you’d be a star.”

“It was a weekday performance at a local bar, I would hardly call myself a star.” He protests, helplessly.

Her eyes twinkle behind her glasses. “Maybe not yet.”

Yes the title is from All Star by Smashmouth 😂 this fic has the most millennial playlist I've ever made

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#fic may death never stop you #mdnsy oneshots

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ventismacchiato · 1 year

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24 behind the lens — how to get akumatized 101 !

scaramouche x g!n reader

notes; translations for the french will be at the bottom of this chapter!

That morning felt surreal. Almost like you were walking through a hazed dream. You awoke to the feeling of calloused hands on your skin, your shirt scrunched up and Kuni’s head tucked in the space between your neck and shoulder. He looked peaceful when he was asleep. The crease above his eyebrows was relaxed and his lips were parted open every so slightly. He looked so inviting.

You awkwardly scooted yourself out of his grasp and got yourself ready while he was asleep. By the time you were done, his head was still under the pillow. You took a quick photo before gently shaking him awake. He grumbled before sitting upwards, his hair sticking up every way as he carded his hand through it.

It was a little too domestic for a pair of people who weren’t even dating yet.

He patted your waist on his way to the bathroom, his hand pinching the skin underneath the hem of your shirt.

It all felt a little too good to be true.

_________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐

“Why did we have to walk here?” you question, your legs sore as you and Kuni make your way toward the Eiffel Tower.

“Want me to carry your lazy ass?” Kuni asks, earnestly, as you both finally arrive. There’s quite a crowd for it being so early in the evening, causing Kuni to pull up his mask as he grabs ahold of your back to direct you towards the elevator. You let him guide you as he kept you close to him.

He’d told you to dress nicely for lunch, which was why you were now blessed with a view of Kuni clad in a dress shirt as he stared out the lift.

It was all a little too much for you two to not even be official.

You squirm around in your seat, not used to getting spoiled quite like this. It’s true, being a popular streamer made you rather comfortable with money, but you never went out of your way to treat yourself quite like this. You never really had to when Xiao insisted on paying for everything when your group went out.

“Is this too much?” Kuni asks, sliding over a glass of water towards you.

“No, I’m just not used to it,” you answer, taking the glass from him. Even the dishes were fancy.

“You should start getting used to it then,” Kuni calmly says as you almost choke on your water.

A waiter decides to appear right then, sending you a worried look as you waved him off to assure him you weren't dying.

“Bonjour, qu’est ce que vous désiréz commander?” the waiter asked, his accent causing you to only understand the first half of his sentence. You really should’ve paid more attention to your French lessons.

Kuni pulls his mask down, eyeing the menu for a quick minute. You couldn’t help but notice the hue or pink dusting across the waiter’s face as he saw Kuni’s face. Your stomach felt a little sick at the sight

“Bonjour, on prendra le plat du jour,” Kuni answers, his usual voice tilted with a slight accent.

The waiter notes it down and turns away to walk off before looking back.

“Désolé, est-ce que je peux avoir ton numéro de téléphone?” He questions, his ears a bright red.

Kuni gestures at you in response, “Désolé, j'ai déjà quelqu'un.”

The waiter quickly nods and scurries off. You feel a bit proud of that, whatever it was.

“Hope you don’t mind I ordered for you, you mentioned you liked this dish before,” Kuni says, pointing to the menu.

“It’s cool,” you answer, “I didn’t know you knew French.”

“My mom forced me to learn,” Kuni hums.

“That means you can seduce in French, right?” you joke.

“I suppose I can if you’re into it,” Kuni easily says, “Weird ass.”

“Say something sexy to me then,” you propose, leaning forward.

Kuni’s pale cheeks flush underneath your gaze, but he still abides by your request. He reaches across the table to grab ahold of your hand, caressing your knuckles with his thumb.

“Tu es magnifique sous le ciel étoilé,” he muses.

“What’s that mean? It sounded hot.”

“J'aimerais être assez courageux pour pouvoir t'embrasser,” he says instead, a smirk tilting up on his lips.

“You’re so mean,” you huff, ignoring how his hands felt on yours.

He kept it there until your guys’ meal arrived, only letting go when you both had to eat.

behind the lens !

masterlist — prev | next

jungkook as scara

i forgot to give childe’s comments likes mb

translations:

(1) paris est magnifique quand je suis avec toi = paris is beautiful when I'm with you

(2) bonjour, qu’est ce que vous désiréz commander? = hi, what would you like to order?

(3) bonjour, on prendra le plat du jour = hello, we will take the dish of the day

(4) désolé, est-ce que je peux avoir ton numéro de téléphone? = sorry, can i have your phone number?

(5) désolé, j'ai déjà quelqu'un = sorry, i’m taken

(6) tu es magnifique sous le ciel étoilé = you look beautiful under the starry sky

(7) j'aimerais être assez courageux pour pouvoir t'embrasser = i wish i had the bravery to kiss you

author’s notes — thank you to ori and xiydia for helping me translate the french!! mwah mwah merci 💋

synopsis — you, better known as STARDUST, and BALLADEER have always been in competition for the top streamer spot on twitch, which is especially impressive since the two of you have never shown your faces. you’ve never been on good terms, constantly one-upping each other in matches and getting into petty arguments on twitter, causing your fans to also dislike each other. that’s until BALLADEER does a face reveal that breaks the internet with his good looks…which makes you realize it’s the same guy you went on a date with last night. the type of date that made you crave to see him again. the only problem was he didn’t know you were STARDUST and he was way different behind the lens than he portrayed himself online to you. should you keep your identity a secret to salvage the relationship or just let him go?

taglist is closed — @captainzep @elysiumarchieve @plinkuro @sakkakuu-squared @eliqusgenma @vuvulia @kunikuzushiit @heehooyeslol @stxrgxzxr @lilneps @uma-umie @goubaia @mitsukifilms @caesars-bubbles @wheneverthesunrise @its-like-twilight @kazuhalvrr @erosdevil @thenightsflower @p1utto @noodleshark420 @lxry-chxn @orbitscara @court-jester-stuff @lauragalliart @veyu002 @kaeyas-eyepatch-69 @leathernourishingshoepolish @satowaluverr @lexlapis @drunkwithfever @exhaustedcommunist @vincanzu @ainlaw @ovaliz @kitsuvil @whatamidoing89 @celestair @kunihaver @kazioli @xiaosoneandonly @cridtiins @cherrybeomgyu @asukahiriko @moon-320 @orionicchaos [1/3]

#genshin fics #genshin x reader #scaramouche x gender neutral reader #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x y/n #genshin x you #genshin x y/n #genshin scaramouche #behind the lens smau

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femsolid · 11 months

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About the media in which male always get to talk more, can you give the source of that, especially when talking about books? I've been looking for this for my final school paper but couldn't even find something about the bechdel test used for literature.

Disney films may focus on female characters, but when it comes down to statistics, these women barely speak. Thats’s right, there are some Disney films with as much as 2% female dialogue.

Media also distinguish between males and females in a more subtle way: importance. ‘Children scanning the list of titles of what have been designated as the very best children’s books are bound to receive the impression that girls are not very important because no one has bothered to write books about them. The content of the books rarely dispels this impression’, remarked Lenore Weitzman and colleagues in their classic review of Caldecott winners, nearly a third of which had no female characters at all. And of course there are characters, and then there are main characters. The Dr. Seuss books are rightly classics, adored by children and a joy of rediscovery for parents. Yet as Lamb and Brown observe, in all the forty-two books he wrote, not one has a female lead in its central story. The power of the media to dish up a stripped-down, concentrated version of cultural values enables it to represent the higher status of males in this uncomfortably blunt fashion. Even in contemporary picture books, researchers find that this is a habit that dies hard, with writers and illustrators still less inclined to feature female characters. For example, the most recent analysis of the Caldecott winners and runners-up, together with 155 best-selling children’s books around the same time, found that males, overall, were featured nearly twice as often as females in title roles, and they appeared in about 50 percent more pictures. Nor does the use of gender-ambiguous animals or characters in books help to increase female numbers. This is because mothers almost always label gender-neutral characters in picture books as male. If it doesn’t look like a female, it’s male. I’ve tried labelling neutral animals and characters as female when reading to my children – it feels extremely unnatural, as you will discover if you try for yourself. (The reason is probably that we have a tendency to think of people or creatures as male unless otherwise indicated. In other words, as has been long observed, men are people, but women are women.) As within the pages of books, females tend to be underrepresented on TV and computer screens, and to miss out on central roles in advertisements and even cereal boxes. A recent survey of 19,664 children’s programmes in twenty-four countries found that only 32 percent of main characters are female. (This drops to an even more dismal 13 percent when it comes to nonhuman creatures like animals, monsters and robots.) And, a survey of the 101 top-grossing Grated movies from 1990 to 2005 found that less than a third of the speaking roles go to females, with no signs of improvement over time. As the Web site of the Geena Davis Institute, which sponsored the research, asks, ‘What message does this send to young children?’

- Delusions of Gender by Cordelia Fine

#ask #media

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jadeysjasmine · 2 months

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Ghost Of You - Alexia Putellas x Reader

A/N: This is a repost. 666 words.

Tags: Angst

Summary: Based on ghost of you by 5 seconds of summer

Here I am waking up, Still can't sleep on your side..

It had been three weeks since the worst day of your life, three weeks since alexia ditched you at the alter.

You had woken up exhausted with a pounding headache from crying yourself to sleep, it has almost became a routine.

Sleeping on the left side of the bed, your side, not daring to touch the other side, her side, hoping that this was some sick joke and you wake up wrapped in the arms of the love of your life but of course, you wake up alone.

Her side still smelled like her, like home.

There's your coffee cup, The lipstick stain fades with time..

When you drag yourself out of bed and into the kitchen, there's a mountain of dishes that you have no intention of doing, most of them you don't care about but there's one dish that you haven't even touched.

It was a coffee cup, alexia's cup, you remember it very well, she was due to go dress shopping with her mother and sister but before that she wanted to have breakfast with you.

She had previously gotten ready so her lipstick was smushed on the rim of the cup as you two were chatting away, totally losing track of time alexia was running late so with a kiss, she sat the cup beside the sink, vowing to clean it later.

If I can dream long enough, You'd tell me I'd be just fine..

You found yourself laying awake at night, unable to sleep. All you could do was think about alexia, wondering what when wrong? why did she leave you? was there someone else?

You felt 101 different emotions, ranging from anger to hurt to sadness, your emotions were all over the place.

When you finally got to sleep, she was there in your dreams again but before she could tell you it was all ok, that you two were ok, you woke up and into a reality without her.

So I drown it out like I always do, Dancing through our house with the ghost of you..

To try counter the thoughts you always had background noise, whether that be music or a show.

One thing you and alexia used to do was play your playlist through the speaker and dance with each other in the kitchen.

Sometimes you would put this playlist on, close your eyes and dance like you used to do with her.

This brought you peace and you swore you could even feel her lingering touches.

Cleaning up today, Found that old Zeppelin shirt..

You decided to try get your life in order and that started by cleaning you neglected apartments

When cleaning you noticed, right in the back of the closet an old band tee, you smiled at the memory.

You and alexia had only been dating a few months when she stayed over for the first time, the sleepover was spontaneous so she had no clothes and you had to let her borrow some of yours, you had given her shorts and the tshirt, she took them but questioned the band, your confirmed that you and your dad loved the band and it was something that bonded you growing up so you both spent the night listening to their music.

So I drown it out like I always do, Dancing through our house with the ghost of you.

You found yourself yet again swaying in your kitchen, imagining dancing to this song with ale, her front against your back, her arms around you, lips on your neck and her scent invading your senses.

And I chase it down , With a shot of truth, That my feet don't dance like they did with you..

It was no use though, you still felt cold, still felt empty and you couldn't do this alone but you needed to face reality.

You needed her and she wasn't here.

#woso #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas #Spotify

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gojos-thot-patrol · 10 months

Note

please can i get headcanons for gojo,geto and nanamis love languages please! thank youuuu

But of course you can Anon!! I read this request and instantly got ideas, so thank you for the ask <3 without further ado,

Now Presenting...

Starring: Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Kento Nanami, and a bonus Ryomen Sukuna ;)

The Touch Starved,

Satoru Gojo

PHYSICAL. TOUCH. Gojos love language is physical touch, no I’m actually not taking criticism at this time <3

“But Narrator! He always has his full body condom (infinity) on!” I hear you yell. And Yes, dear reader, that’s the point.

He’s spent so much of his life unable to let anyone get close. Touch is inherently an act of trust, and he doesn’t touch anyone.

So the first time you hug him, and he actually lets himself experience intimacy, he actually turns into a puddle and melts in your arms.

And that shit is basically coke, he’s had a taste and he can not get enough.

When you’re driving he’s touching your thigh, you’re going to sleep he’s cuddling you close, you’re taking a walk he’s holding your hand, watching a movie on the couch and his head is in your lap. You get the idea, if you’re around he’s touching you

If you really want to make his day, offer to play with his hair. There is a 40% chance he’ll tear up about it.

Honestly, I genuinely feel like he’d be a little bit annoying about it. Random hugs and kisses constantly happening, it would be hard to get anything done, I’m not gonna lie

He’s kinda like a cat! The moment you try to get any work done, he’s crawling into your lap and you gotta work around him.

Hold on, wait, where's my cat meme-

It’s Him.

I’m being serious, cup his face like that and watch him turn to putty.

Moral of the story: Gojo just wants to be held

Man is never defeating the Baby Girl allegations

The Sickeningly Sweet,

Suguru Geto

WORDS OF AFFIRMATION, BABYEEEE

Suguru was born with a silver tongue in more ways than one and he knows how to use it.

“You’re breathtaking, you know that?” “How did I get so lucky to have someone as magnificent as you?” “My darling is so talented, what ever will I do when the world learns to appreciate you as much as I do?”

He’s going to single handedly raise your self esteem, watch him. He is going to pour honeyed words over you like a warm, safe shower

….Look, I’m not good with words, BUT HE IS! You get what I’m trying to say!

He would leave little notes for you to find around the house with sweet little messages. Just to give you a little dopamine rush, ya know?

He definitely sends you random texts throughout the day letting you know that he’s thinking about you and missing you.

God help you on any holiday that could possibly call for card giving. Valentine's Day, Christmas, your birthday, your anniversary, He’s going to write you a card, and it’s going to make you cry. It’s a personal goal of his.

Doing simple household chores has never felt more rewarding tbh.

Like, yea, you’re going to do the laundry anyway. But having him tell you how thankful he is for you and how much he appreciates it really makes getting through the task easier.

Would writing a song for someone count as acts of service or gift giving?...

Doesn’t matter, he writes songs for you, there I said it.

He’s 100000% The type of boyfriend that points out how attractive you are Every. Single. Time. He sees you in any state of undress. Prove me wrong, you can’t. Doesn’t matter if he’s seen it 101 times before, He’s going to call you hot.

Honestly he’s a major confidence booster.

Ngl, part of me thinks I’m giving him too much credit but oh well LMAO.

The Always Helpful,

Kento Nanami

Nanami is giving me Acts of Service tbh.

Like, he’s 1000% the “I will make you breakfast in bed” kind of husband material, and that is an act of service if I’ve ever heard it.

Honestly, He just wants to do anything he can to try and make your day a little bit easier.

If that means doing the dishes even if it’s technically your turn, then so be it!

Doors might as well not exist to you when you’re with him, he will open them all

“I noticed your water bottle was empty. I got you another one.” “I know you’ve been stressed lately, I made your favorite for dinner tonight.” “Here, let me get that for you.”

He was made to be a caretaker tbh.

You can read between the lines there as little or as much as you’d like

If he catches you doing a chore, he’s going to find a way to help, sorry I don’t make the rules.

You’re washing the dishes? He’s drying and putting them away. You started cleaning the living room? Perfect, he’ll clean the kitchen. Oh, you washed the laundry? Looks like he’s gonna fold it and put it away.

He wants you to feel like you’re in a partnership. I genuinely don’t think he buys into this traditional idea that one partner makes money and the other takes care of the home front. Homemaking is a team effort god damn it!

It goes both ways though. If you really want to make him feel loved, a warm home cooked meal is the way to this man's heart.

He’s going to make the next meal to show his appreciation though.

Someone put this man in a maid dress tbh.

I need me a Nanami tbh lol

The Ever-Present,

Ryomen Sukuna

OKAY sooo here’s the thing. It’s fuckin Ryomen my guy. Love languages almost require conscious acts of love, or to at least ya know admit you’re in love. In that sense, Ryomen doesn’t have a love language; he actively mocks the concept of “love languages” as humans refusing to accept the fact that their emotions are all just chemical reactions in their brain designed to make them want to fuck.

That being said, it's Quality Time.

Ryomen’s love is always quiet. It’s him sitting in the same room as you while you read, casually talking with you while you do chores, or insisting on being in the garden while you tend to it because “It’s my (his) garden, I’ll be here if I want! Don’t think I’m here for you.” He absolutely is there for you.

His biggest act of love is letting you sleep in his room with him. That's quality time by definition my guy.

He genuinely gets so jealous when you spend time with other people because that's how he defines love. It's the person you want to spend time with (Don’t ask him about it, he won’t admit it) so you spending time with other people means you love them. And he can not handle the idea of you loving anyone that’s not him.

Remember when I said Satoru was like a cat? I take it back, Sukuna is like a cat. He wants to be in the same room as you but the last thing he wants is to be perceived by you.

He just wants to watch you read your book and not be grilled as to why he insists on being with you all the time. He’s clearly just, uh…enjoying the fireplace! Duh! Foolish mortal, why would he vie for your affections?...so, uh..whatcha reading?

He will never admit it, but his favorite thing in the world is to sit in the garden with you, listening to you talk about flowers while he pretends not to care.

This is followed closely by holding your close to him at night, whispering words of affirmation to you you will never hear when awake.

I think that spending quality time with you is the only way Sukuna knows how to show love. I think he often gets overwhelmed by physical affection. He’s not used to it, and he didn’t immediately take to it the way Gojo did. Words of affirmation are out because he’s not a wordsmith unless he’s making threats. Can’t do acts of service because his ego would never let him do a favor for anyone else, and he can’t find any gifts that feel worthy of you- none of them feel right. So, Quality time it is.

Words may fail him, but he’s aware of how he feels. And the soft intimacy of listening to your favorite music with you, watching you hum along and dance makes him feel so viscerally raw, that it’s almost enough to make him admit there maybe more to love than just chemicals making you want to fuck.

Should I just write a fic at this point? Maybe because GOD I am a fucking sucker for soft Sukuna. Yes I am aware I am part of the problem, I do not care, give me 2 weeks. I can fix him!

Just imagine stargazing with Sukuna for a second. Imagine listening to the crickets chirp off in the distance, both of you are aware that it goes against everything he’s ever said for him to be out here with you, and both of you know better than to acknowledge that fact. You know you’re not supposed to love him because he claims he will never love you, but as your hand meets his, and you watch him tense for just a second before relaxing under your touch again, you both know it’s only a matter of time now.

I always get carried away on Ryomens section in these.

I just really love my weird little demon dude lmao.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #ryomen sukuna #satoru gojo #nanami kento #sukuna x reader #gojo x reader #nanami x reader #suguru geto #geto x reader #suguru x reader #jjk headcannons #gojo headcannons #nanami headcanons #geto headcanons #sukuna headcanons #Anon asks

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chaesparklez · 17 days

Text

victory (pt.1) | taerae x reader

wc: 2.7k

reader: femme afab

warnings: 18+ SMUT MINORS DNI

teasing, lap dancing, oral m!receiving, sloppy oral sex, tension, slightly bratty reader, subby taerae

synopsis: game rules

- whichever player makes the opponent cum in the shortest amount of time wins. the opponent only has to cum once for the player to win.

- the game is timed. the timer starts upon first contact with the opponent's center.

- acts of foreplay like kissing or heavy petting excluding the genitals do not count.

a thrilling game of control and domination. whose victory will it be?

a/n: i am so so happy to have written this story! the idea and writing process for this piece flowed out so naturally and i had so much fun writing it. as a kkultarae i feel like a taerae fic was long overdue. enjoy the story and stay seated for pt 2 :)

cross-posted on wattpad and ao3. available through user @/chaesparkle

“let's play a game."

taerae looks up from his computer, slipping his headphones off one ear.

"what was that, jagi?" he replies.

you smile mischievously and take a couple steps towards him where he sits at his gaming desk. you ruffle his hair and rest your hand on the nape of his neck.

"i said, let's play a game. a really fun one." you smile, massaging his neck with your hand.

he looks up into your eyes, his gaze a mix of curiosity and amusement.

"what game is it?" he asks.

you grin deviously.

you and taerae had been dating for a year and a half now. initially shy, he had opened up wonderfully with you, appreciating how you were always ready to lead him and teach him something new. whether it was explaining some cool academic concept, a technique on how to fold a fitted sheet... or how to eat pussy.

with his lack of experience, you guys started off pretty slow so he could learn the basics. but once he got going... well.

the thing about taerae was that he was incredibly hardworking. he knew what he lacked in and worked tirelessly till he perfected it. and he did so with this quiet confidence that you'd always found insanely sexy. not overly cocky, never too critical of himself, just aware of his good points and always ready to improve.

you can imagine how that translated into the bedroom. over the course of the past year you had basically given him a 101 on how to drive a woman crazy, and needless to say you couldn't keep your hands off eachother once he had grown comfortable exploring.

and today, you decided you wanted to give a surprise test to spice things up a bit.

"let's see who can make the other cum the fastest."

his eyebrows raise in surprise, caught a little off guard at the unexpected proposal. but shock is taken over by amusement, then competitiveness as his eyes glint with determination.

"what are the stakes?" he asks.

"winner doesn't have to do the dishes for a week."

he laughs and ruffles his hair. "can't pass up that," he takes his headset off and swivels around in his chair to face you fully.

'okay, any rules?' he asks.

you purse your lips in thought for a second, deciding how you wanted to do this. "hmmm."

you set out the following rules:

- whichever player makes the opponent cum in the shortest amount of time wins. the opponent only has to cum once for the player to win.

- the game is timed. the timer starts upon first contact with the opponent's center.

- acts of foreplay like kissing or heavy petting excluding the genitals do not count.

taerae loved this organisation. he smirks and nods his head, loving the prospect of both winning a competition and getting to see you crumble before him.

"sounds good to me. get ready to have the fastest orgasm you've ever had." he grins.

"unfortunately that'll be you." you smile.

"guess we'll just have to see about that. who should go first?'

"i will. come to the sitting room in 10 minutes." you reply, already having decided what you'd do with a smirk.

"okay then," he replies, gazing at you with darkened eyes. 'i’m anticipating it.’

you smile and plant a kiss on his neck. "may the best player win." you whisper.

"oh, he will." he breathes.

"honey, you can come out now!" you call.

taerae enters the sitting room to find the lights dimmed and a chair placed in the middle of the room. you are nowhere to be seen.

"jagi, where are you?" he calls back, mildly puzzled.

"you'll see plenty of me in a second," you chirp with a grin from the adjoining room. 'sit in the chair and wait in the meanwhile.'

he takes his place and laughs quietly to himself, anticipating to see what you've prepared. you had a habit of surprising him but he was sure he wouldn't fall for it this time being determined to win the game.

well, he was sure in for a ride.

all of a sudden, he hears music filling the room. the speakers were playing a song from all corners of the space. he looks around bemused.

"jagi?" he calls out.

showtime.

"yes?" you reply innocently, stepping into the doorway.

taerae's eyes widen with shock for a second, then he bites his lip with a smile, throwing his head back with a chuckle knowing that he's already in danger of losing by how his cock is twitching in his pants just at the sight of you.

you stand before him dressed in a baby tee and plaid micro mini skirt, white thigh high socks and platform heels. the only accessories you wore were a kitty headband and a white garter with a bow around your thigh. much of you was on show not leaving a lot to the imagination; although taerae's imagination right now was running wild. you smile, knowing this outfit would drive him crazy.

you knew that your gamer boyfriend was secretly into the stereotypical sexy female twitch streamer getup despite him insisting he was different. after all, he was still a man. and you were going to play this to your advantage to win the game. you were going to give him an agonizing lap dance.

you strut slowly towards him and circle around his chair while caressing his shoulder. he places his hand on top of yours as you brush it across his hoodie, to which you remove your hand immediately.

"no touching yet." you whisper, waggling a finger at him mischievously.

taerae bites his lip and covers his face with his hands, knowing that having to sit still while you give him a lap dance barely clothed might actually make him cum in his pants if he doesn't control himself. his cock was already throbbing like crazy.

all he could think about right now was how fucking sexy you looked in that outfit. like a present wrapped up for him with that bow around your thigh. he wanted nothing more than to fuck you in this getup, removing your garter with his teeth. bending you over and sliding your panties aside before thrusting his throbbing erection into your core, watching you teeter in those stilettos...

but here he stayed sat on the chair as you tortured him with your wily charms. he sits on his hands purely because he wasn't sure he could refrain from touching you if he didn't.

now slowly, more deliberately, you strut to the back of his chair and run your hand along his chest where you can momentarily feel his heart pounding, tracing your fingertips up along his neck then pulling his head back with a tug to his hair. you exhale warm breath onto his exposed neck before gently kissing him below the lobe then nibbling on his ear.

"fuck." taerae breathes, fighting not to let out a moan.

he was struggling to keep his resolve as you knew exactly how to make him crumble- by targeting his erogenous zone. the tingling sensation of your breath on his neck and your gentle nibbles on his earlobe drives him insane, exhaling shakily with his eyes closed. he swallows nervously and purses his lips together.

you release him with a smile, continuing to circle round with your hand tracing his other shoulder, down to his chest, then his thigh, till you stand before him. you place your leg between his thighs, stiletto resting on the polished oak of the chair. then grazing his inner thigh with your foot. he clenches his teeth in desperation, using all the power in him to not forfeit the game and fuck you right in this chair.

you draw your hand up your thigh beginning at the knee, brushing past the lacy garter. taerae's gaze follows your touch; your panties were visible as your skirt hiked up past your thighs. he stared with longing at your parted thighs, wanting nothing more than to grab them and bury his head between them..

you lift his chin with a finger forcing him to look away from your leg and at your face.

"look at me, baby." you whisper.

he nods in submission, prompting a tingle to spread through your center at the yearning look in his eyes. you step back and begin to dance for him, letting the music wash over you as you sway your hips, flip your hair and draw out every movement so his eyes linger on the arch of your back and your tantalising ass peeking out from under that micro mini skirt. taerae watches you intently, entranced and still struggling to ignore the aching bulge in his pants.

"you're determined to win this, huh?" he rasps.

"of course." you reply, cocking your head to the side and grinning.

running a hand through your hair, you amble slowly towards your tortured lover. then straddle him in the chair, legs either side of him with your chest in his face. he swallows nervously at your proximity, gazing up at you with longing.

“you can touch me if you want,” you whisper.

he runs his fingers up the side of your exposed waist, making you shiver gently. you begin to move your hips, grinding against his clothed cock and feeling it graze your center. you bite your lip to stifle a moan, the both of you engaging in a torturous battle of restraint; you weren’t sure who’d lose.

you continue to undulate against him and lean down to plant kisses on his neck. you suck and nibble at the smooth skin, peppering his neck with splotchy red love bites. he lets out a shaky breath and you feel his cock twitch. gingerly, he palms your breast, long fingers running across your nipple and squeezing gently. you let out a soft moan against his neck and retract, gazing into his eyes as your chests rise and fall against eachother. you feel yourself start to lose focus and remember suddenly to maintain your resolve, breaking the moment of catharsis by planting a kiss on his full lips and leaving his lap.

knowing your ass looked great in this skirt, you decided to tease him further by facing away and bending over slightly, tracing your fingertips down the back of your thighs, shaking it a little with a giggle. you can practically hear him stop breathing trying to control himself.

placing your hands on the arms of the chair, you flick your hair while swaying your ass side to side before sitting in his lap, this time pushing your clouded thoughts aside determined to win the game. you hook your arm around his neck and begin to grind again, slower but more firmly this time. rolling your hips and feeling his erection poking your ass as you move against it. you brush your other hand across your chest as you lose yourself in the movements.

"jagi... please.." he rasps in your ear.

pretending not to hear his plea, you give yourself a sly smile and rise from his lap.

then you sink down to your knees in front of him looking up at him with pseudo innocence.

"please what, baby? are you asking for something?" you ask, batting your lashes.

"touch me. let me touch you. please... so hard." he groans, clenching his jaw and throwing his head back in agitation.

"someone looks bothered. let's see if we can get rid of some of that tension." you reply wily.

you rub his thighs with your hands, deliberately avoiding his cock to avoid breaking the rules. he exhales shakily. you smile, finally deciding to reward him for holding out this long.

"you've done so well, baby. let me make you feel good." you whisper.

you pull down his pants enough so his erection springs out, tip leaking a bead of precum. even though you were trying to assert dominance right now, the sight of him this hard made you suddenly aware of the wetness building between your thighs.

you reach under the chair for the stopwatch you had placed there and hold it facing towards him.

"let's start." you say, and press the 'go' button.

taking a moment to push your hair back, you take his cock into your hand and spit on it before stroking it gently. you gaze up into his eyes and slowly lick along the dorsal vein at a painstaking pace. his cock twitches in your hand as if it calls out for more. starting at the shaft, you plant sloppy kisses all the way up his length till you reach his angry pink tip, then deepthroat him. taerae lets out a deep moan, the feeling of his cock all the way down your warm throat sending tingles down his spine.

you swirl your tongue around his tip to lick up the leaking precum before slowly sucking him off, your mouth travelling halfway down before coming up again. he looks down at you with a dark gaze, pupils focused on you intently.

you begin to suck him off more intensely, starting off slow then progressively getting faster, sloppily spitting all over his cock making a warm sticky mess all over the both of you. you watch as the saliva runs down his length; it momentarily remains a string suspended in air between your lips and his cock, and as you jerk him off it makes a delectable sound.

he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. "doing so well, baby. you look so hot right now drooling all over my dick."

you smile in satisfaction and carry on. you pick up the pace, head bobbing up and down rapidly as you suck him off with your ass jiggling in time with your movements. you deepthroat him again and stay there for a couple seconds, moaning so the vibrations from your throat send him into a new plane of ecstasy. your eyes water slightly from the pressure but you continue at a slowly increasing speed, feeling him get closer to climax as his groans of pleasure grow louder.

then your final weapon. you enclose your lips around his tip while your hand remains wrapped around his length, and suck.

"f-fuck. oh my god. fuck." he breathes, stuttering from the sheer stimulation. your lips targeting the most sensitive part of his cock while you jerk him off sloppily drives him insane. he screws his eyes shut and moans.

"i'm close," he pants. you maintain the pace and carry on sucking and licking the smooth head of his cock, making eye contact with him once again.

and he shatters.

with a deep grunt, he cums, hot fluid spurting all over your tongue. you slow down the movements of your hand and suck his tip clean of every last drop of cum, then swallow, releasing his cock from your mouth with a pop. you move the hair out of your eyes, slightly out of breath and panting.

he looks down at the scene before him: his cock covered in a mix of spit and precum, your chin covered in saliva, cheeks red and lipstick smudged. he holds your chin and wipes a smear of pink away with his thumb.

"have to give this one to you, baby. you never fail to surprise me." he laughs wearily as you gaze at eachother.

taerae's face is flushed and his pupils waver from side to side as you kneel before him a mess. hair tangled, makeup smudged...

you hold up the stopwatch.

"five minutes twelve seconds. think you can beat it?"

he takes a moment to regard you, then smiles, leaning forward in his chair with a knowing expression.

what you didn't know was that taerae was just as competitive as you- if not more. and while you had gone above and beyond his expectations right now, he still had something in store for you that would have you folding immediately.

planning, organising, calculating like a true 'T' on how to give you the fastest orgasm of your life. you didn't stand a chance. he smirks at you with an air of utmost confidence, caressing your cheek.

"i think you'll be surprised at what i have in store for you, jagi," he breathes in a deep voice.

and you find yourself a little thrown off by his sudden resolve, thinking you hadn't crumbled him to dust as finely as you thought you had. but overwhelmingly what you felt right now was... lust.

his dimples appearing as he flashes that sly smirk, eyes filled with competitiveness and that quiet confidence that made you very aware of how your core was soaking wet and throbbing.

noticing your expression, taerae chuckles again and leans forward so your faces are only inches apart.

"let's see what you have to say to my plan." he whispers in your ear.

*and the game continues…*

#zb1 #zerobaseone #zb1 fanfiction #zb1 imagines #zb1 fics #zb1 smut #taerae imagines #kpop smut #kim taerae #taerae smut #taerae x reader #zb1 x reader #zb1 scenarios #zb1 taerae #zerobaseone taerae #taerae scenarios #kim taerae smut #zb1 x you #zb1 hard hours

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alterlest · 6 months

Text

𓃶 Hearth Magic 101

⛤ Please note!!! this post will contain my personal gnosis at some points. Magic is intimately personal and everyone’s practice is different. You may agree or disagree with me at any point during this post. However, while I am sharing this to be educational, please keep in mind that this is my personal outlook on this subject ♡

☾༺♰༻☽

𓃶 What Is Hearth Magic?

Hearth Magic, at its core, is magic of the home. This kind of magic differs greatly between families, cultures and traditions. When starting Hearth Magic, you must take a moment to really think about what home is to you. Your hearth can be anywhere, but generally, the hearth is seen as a place of comfort, growth, and rest.

Taking care of your home has always been important and even sacred for many people. Taking care of it magically is just another way of respecting this place that takes care of you. Your home is somewhere that protects you and those you invite in. Personally, Hearth Magic is almost like showing your gratitude to this familiar place. I would suggest doing research into how the home is taken care of in your own cultures, or watch how others in your life take care of their home and take notes!

☾༺♰༻☽

𓃶 How can I Practice Hearth Magic?

Just like any kind of magic, Hearth Magic will be something you incorporate into your practice in your own ways. To get started, however, here are some things you can do to:

⛤ Get into the habit of cleansing your space. This can be your whole home, or just the one specific place you consider the hearth (a bedroom, living space, kitchen, fireplace etc). You can also cleanse while doing day to day chores! incorporate moon water or intention while washing dishes, or do an herb sweep when cleaning your floors. Brooms are also important magical tools!

⛤ Try a house or home blessing/spell. For me, I made a large spell jar and incorporated ingredients commonly used in my family’s cooking, our yard, and local herbs/herbs we use a lot. This can be used as an invitation for positive energy, or a ward against negativity. This will really help set the energy of the space.

⛤ Start incorporating magic into your cooking. Kitchen magic is an easy and convenient way to keep your life a little more magical. Try adding herbs to sauces with intention, or cook in honor of spirits or deities. Easy foods to incorporate kitchen magic into (at least personally!) include sauces, soups, baked goods, and pasta dishes.

⛤ Start to decorate your home in a way that makes you happy. This doesn’t have to be any specific aesthetic; just making your space somewhere you enjoy being through decor adds to the energy!

⛤ If you like spirit work, consider the possibility that, if you live in a house, there may be a house spirit attached to the space. This can give you an extra opportunity to connect to this space and the spirits within it by honoring this entity.

☾༺♰༻☽

⛤ In all, Hearth Magic can be a very grounding and important part of your magical path if you plan to practice it. It allows you to really grow in a familiar and comfortable space, as well as providing you with a comfortable place to come back to every day, even for mundane life. ♡

☾༺♰༻☽

#pagan witch #paganism #witchblr #witchcraft #celtic paganism #witches #hearth magic #home magic #kitchen magic #kitchen witch #witchy community #witch #deity witchcraft #spirituality #spirit work

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gothhabiba · 5 months

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loving your falafel research saga and just wanted to ask - something I remember hearing about falafel is that while Israeli culture definitely appropriated it, the concept of serving it in pita bread with salads, tahini etc. is a specifically Israeli twist on the dish. I wonder if you found/know anything about that?

The short answer is: it's not impossible, but I don't think there's any way to tell for sure. The long answer is:

The most prominent claim I've heard of this nature is specifically that Yemeni Jews (who had immigrated to Israel under 'right of return' laws and were Israeli citizens) invented the concept of serving falafel in "pita" bread in the 1930s—perhaps after they (in addition to Jews from Morocco or Syria) had brought falafel over and introduced it to Palestinians in the first place.

"Mizrahim brought falafel to Palestine"

This latter claim, which is purely nonsense (again... no such thing as Moroccan falafel!)—and which Joel Denker (linked above) repeats with no source or evidence—was able to arise because it was often Mizrahim who introduced Israelis to Palestinian food. Mizrahi falafel sellers in the early 20th century might run licensed falafel stands, or carry tins full of hot falafel on their backs and go from door to door selling them (see Shaul Stampfer on a Yemeni man doing this, "Bagel and Falafel: Two Iconic Jewish Foods and One Modern Jewish Identity," in Jews and their Foodways, p. 183; this Arabic source mentions a 1985 Arabic novel in which a falafel seller uses such a tin; Yael Raviv writes that "Running falafel stands had been popular with Yemenite immigrants to Palestine as early as the 1920s and ’30s," "Falafel: A National Icon," Gastronomica 3.3 (2003), p. 22).

On Mizrahi preparation of Palestinian food, Dafna Hirsch writes:

As Sami Zubaida notes, Middle Eastern foodways, while far from homogeneous, are nevertheless describable in a vocabulary and set of idioms that are “often comprehensible, if not familiar, to the socially diverse parties” [...]. Thus, for the Jews who arrived in Palestine from the Middle East, Palestinian Arab foods and foodways were “comprehensible, if not familiar,” even if some of the dishes were previously unknown to most of them. [...] They found nothing extraordinary or exotic in the consumption, preparation, and selling of foods from the Palestinian Arab kitchen. Therefore, it was often Mizrahi Jews who mediated local foods to Ashkenazi consumers, as street food vendors and restaurant owners. ("Urban Food Venues as Contact Zones between Arabs and Jews during the British Mandate Period," in Making Levantine Cuisine: Modern Foodways of the Eastern Mediterranean, p. 101).

Raviv concurs and furnishes a possible mechanism for this borrowing:

Other Mizrahi Jewish vendors sold falafel, which by the late 1930s had become quite prevalent and popular on the streets of Tel Aviv. [...] Tel Aviv had eight licensed Mizrahi falafel vendors by 1941 and others who sold falafel without a license. [FN: The Tel Aviv municipality granted vending license to people who could not make their living in any other way as a form of welfare.] Many of the vendors were of Yemenite origins, although falafel was unknown in Yemen. [FN: Many of the immigrants from Yemen arrived in Palestine via Egypt, so it is possible that they learned to prepare it there and then adjusted the recipe to the Palestinian version, which was made from chickpeas and not from fava beans (ṭaʿmiya). Shmuel Yefet, an Israeli falafel maker, tells about his father, Yosef Ben Aharon Yefet, who arrived in Palestine from Aden [Yemen] in the early 1920s and then traveled to Port Said in 1939. There he became acquainted with ṭaʿmiya, learned to prepare it, and then went back to Palestine and opened a falafel shop in Tel Aviv [youtube video].]*

But why claim that Yemeni Jews invented falafel (or at least that they had introduced it from Yemen), even though its adoption from Palestinian Arabs in the early days of the second Aliya, aka the 1920s (before Mizrahim had begun to immigrate in larger numbers; see Raviv, p. 20) was within living memory at this point (i.e. the 1950s)? Raviv notes that an increasing (I mean, actually she says new, which... lol) negative attitude towards Arabs in the wake of the Nakba (I mean... she says "War of Independence") created a new sense of urgency around de-Arabizing "Israeli" culture (p. 22). Its association with Mizrahi sellers allowed falafel to "be linked to Jewish immigrants who had come from the Middle East and Africa" and thus to "shed its Arab association in favor of an overarching Israeli identification" (p. 21).

Stampfer again:

On the one hand (with regard to immigrants from Eastern Europe), [falafel] underscored the break between immediate past East European Jewish foods and the new “Oriental” world of Eretz Israel.** At the same time, this food could be seen as a link with an (idealized) past. Among the Jewish public in Eretz Israel, Yemenite falafel was regarded as the most original and tastiest version. This is a bit odd, as falafel—whether in or out of a pita—was not a traditional Yemenite food, neither among Muslims nor among Jews. To understand the ascription of falafel to Yemenite Jews, it is necessary to consider their image. Yemenite Jews were widely regarded in the mid-20th century as the most faithful transmitters of a form of Jewish life that was closest to the biblical world—and if not the biblical world, at least the world of the Second Temple, which marked the last period of autonomous Jewish life in Eretz Israel. In this sense, eating “Yemenite” could be regarded as an act of bodily identification with the Zionist claim to the land of Israel. (p. 189)

So, when it's undeniable that a food is "Arab" or "Oriental" in origin, Zionists will often attribute it to Yemen, Syria, Morocco, Turkey, &c.—and especially to Jewish communities within these regions—because it cannot be permitted that Palestinians have a specific culture that differentiates them in any way from other "Arabs." A culinary culture based in the foodstuffs cultivated from this particular area of land would mean a tie and a claim to the land, which Zionist logic cannot allow Palestinians to possess. This is why you'll hear Zionists correct people who say "Palestinians" to say "Arab" instead, or suggest that Palestinians should just scooch over into other "Arab" countries because it would make no difference to them. Raviv's conclusion that the attribution of falafel to Yemeni immigrants is an effort to detach it from its "Arab" origins isn't quite right—it is an attempt to detach it, and thus Palestinians themselves, from Palestinian roots.

"Yemeni Jews first put falafel in 'pita'"

As for this claim, it's often attributed to Gil Marks: "Jews didn’t invent falafel. They didn’t invent hummus. They didn’t invent pita. But what they did invent was the sandwich. Putting it all together.” (Hilariously, the author of the interview follows this up with "With each story, I wanted to ask, but how do you know that?")

Another author (signed "Philologos") speculates (after, by the way, falsely claiming that "falafel" is the plural of the Arabic "filfil" "pepper," and that falafel is always brown, not green, inside?!):

Yet while falafel balls are undoubtedly Arab in origin, too, it may well be that the idea of serving them as a street-corner food in pita bread, to which all kinds of extras can be added, ranging from sour pickles to whole salads, initially was a product of Jewish entrepreneurship.

Shaul Stampfer cites both of these articles as further reading on the "novelty of the combination of pita, falafel balls, and salad" (FN 76, p. 198)—but neither of them cites any evidence! They're both just some guy saying something!

Marks had, however, elaborated a little bit in his 2010 Encyclopedia of Jewish Food:

Falafel was enjoyed in salads as part of a mezze (appetizer assortment) or as a snack by itself. An early Middle Eastern fast food, falafel was commonly sold wrapped in paper, but not served in the familiar pita sandwich until Yemenites in Israel introduced the concept. [...] Yemenite immigrants in Israel, who had made a chickpea version in Yemen, took up falafel making as a business and transformed this ancient treat into the Israeli iconic national food. Most importantly, Israelis wanted a portable fast food and began eating the falafel tucked into a pita topped with the ubiquitous Israeli salad (cucumber-and-tomato salad).

He references one of the pieces that Lillian Cornfeld (columnist for the English-language, Jerusalem-based newspaper Palestine Post) wrote about "filafel":

An article from October 19, 1939 concluded with a description of the common preparation style of the most popular street food, 'There is first half a pita (Arab loaf), slit open and filled with five filafels, a few fried chips and sometimes even a little salad,' the first written record of serving falafel in pita. [Marks doesn't tell you the title or page—it's "Seaside Temptations: Juveniles' Fare at Tel Aviv," p. 4.]

You will first of all notice that Marks gives us the "falafel from Yemen" story. I also notice that he calls Salat al-bundura "Israeli salad" (in its entry he does not claim that European Jewish immigrants invented it, but neither does he attribute it to Palestinian influence: the dish was originally "Turkish coban salatsi"). His encyclopedia also elsewhere contains Zionist claims such as "wild za'atar was declared a protected plant in Israel" "[d]ue to overexploitation" because of how much of the plant "Arab families consume[d]," and that Israeli cultivation of the crop yielded "superior" plants (entry for "Za'atar")—a narrative of "Arab" mismanagement, and Israeli improvement, of land used to justify settler-colonialism. He writes that Palestinians who accuse "the Jews" of theft in claiming falafel are "creat[ing] a controversy" and that "food and culture cannot be stolen," with no reflection on the context of settler-colonialism and literal, physical theft that lies behind said "controversy." This isn't relevant except that it makes me sceptical of Marks's motivations in general.

More pertinent is the fact that this quote doesn't actually suggest that this falafel vendor was Yemeni (or otherwise) Jewish, nor does it suggest that he was the first one to prepare falafel in pitas with "fried chips," "sometimes even a little salad," and "Tehina, a local mayonnaise made with sesame oil" (Cornfeld, p. 4). I think it likely that this food had been sold for a while before it was described in published writing. The idea that this preparation is "Israeli" in origin must be false, since this was before the state of "Israel" existed—that it was first created by Yemeni Jewish falafel vendors is possible, but again, I've never seen any direct evidence for it, or anyone giving a clear reason for why they believe it to be the case, and the political reasons that people have for believing this narrative make me wary of it. There were Palestinian Arab falafel vendors at this time as well.

"Chickpea falafel is a Jewish invention"

There is also a claim that falafel originated in Egypt, where it was made with fava beans; spread to the Levant, including Palestine, where it was made with a combination of fava beans and chickpeas; but that Jewish immigration to Israel caused the origin of the chickpea-only falafal currently eaten in Palestine, because a lot of Jewish people have G6PD deficiencies or favism (inherited enzymatic deficiencies making fava beans anywhere from unpleasant to dangerous to eat)—or that Jewish populations in Yemen had already been making chickpea-only falafel, and this was the falafel which they brought with them to Palestine.

As far as I can tell, this claim comes from Joan Nathan's 2001 The Foods of Israel:

Zadok explained that at the time of the establishment of the state, falafel—the name of which probably comes from the word pilpel (pepper)—was made in two ways: either as it is in Egypt today, from crushed, soaked fava beans or fava beans combined with chickpeas, spices, and bulgur; or, as Yemenite Jews and the Arabs of Jerusalem did, from chickpeas alone. But favism, an inherited enzymatic deficiency occurring among some Jews—mainly those of Kurdish and Iraqi ancestry, many of whom came to Israel during the mid 1900s—proved potentially lethal, so all falafel makers in Israel ultimately stopped using fava beans, and chickpea falafel became an Israeli dish.

Gil Marks's 2010 Encyclopedia of Jewish Food echoes (but does not cite):

Middle Eastern Jews have been eating falafel for centuries, the pareve fritter being ideal in a kosher diet. However, many Jews inherited G6PD deficiency or its more severe form, favism; these hereditary enzymatic deficiencies are triggered by items like fava beans and can prove fatal. Accordingly, Middle Eastern Jews overwhelmingly favored chickpeas solo in their falafel. (Entry for "Falafel")

The "centuries" thing is consistent with the fact that Marks believes falafel to be of Medieval origin, a claim which most scholars I've read on the subject don't believe (no documentary evidence, + oil was expensive so it seems unlikely that people were deep frying anything). And, again, this claim is speculation with no documentary evidence to support it.

As for the specific modern toppings including the Yemeni hot sauce سَحاوِق / סְחוּג (saHawiq / "zhug"), Baghdadi mango pickle عنبة / עמבה ('anba), and Moroccan هريسة / חריסה ("harissa"), it seems likely that these were introduced by Mizrahim given their place of origin.

*You might be interested to know that, despite their Jewishness mediating this borrowing, Mizrahim were during the Mandate years largely ethnically segregated from Eastern European Zionists, who were pushing to create a "new" European-Israeli Judaism separate from what they viewed as the indolence and ignorance of "Oriental" Jewishness (Hirsch p. 101).

This was evidenced in part by Europeans' attitudes towards the "Oriental" diet. Ari Ariel, summarizing Yael Raviv's Falafel Nation, writes:

Although all immigrants were thought to require culinary education as an aspect of their absorption into the new national culture, Middle Eastern Jews, who began to immigrate in increasing numbers after 1948, provoked greater anxiety on the part of the state than did their Ashkenazi co-religionists. Israeli politicians and ideologues spoke of the dangers of Levantization and stereotyped Jews from the Middle East and North Africa as primitive, lazy, and ignorant. In keeping with this Orientalism, the state pressured Middle Easterners to change their foodways and organized cooking demonstrations in transit camps and new housing developments. (Book review, Israel Studies Review 31.2 (2016), p. 169.)

See also Esther Meir-Glitzenstein, "Longing for the Aromas of Baghdad: Food, Emigration, and Transformation in the Lives of Iraqi Jews in Israel in the 1950s," in Jews and their Foodways:

[...] [T]he Israeli establishment was set on “educating” the new immigrants not only in matters of health and hygiene, [77] but also in the realm of nutrition. A concerted propaganda effort was launched by well-baby clinics, kindergartens, schools, health clinics, and various organizations such as the Women’s International Zionist Organization (WIZO) and the Organization of Working Mothers in order to promote the consumption of milk and dairy products, in particular. [78] (These had a marginal place in Iraqi cuisine, consumed mainly by children.) Arab and North African cuisines were criticized for being not sufficiently nutritious, whereas the Israeli diet was touted as ideal, as it was western and modern. […] [T]he assault on traditional Middle Eastern cuisines reflected cultural arrogance yet another attempt to transform immigrants into “new Jews” in accordance with the Zionist ethos. Thus, European table manners were presented as the norm. Eating with the hands was equated with primitive behavior, and use of a fork and knife became the hallmark of modernity and progress. (pp. 100-101)

[77. On health matters, see Davidovich and Shvarts, “Health and Hegemony,” 150–179; Sahlav Stoller-Liss, “ ‘Mothers Birth the Nation’: The Social Construction of Zionist Motherhood in Wartime in Israeli Parents’ Manuals,” Nashim 6 (Fall 2003), 104–118.]

[78. On propaganda for drinking milk and eating dairy products, see Mor Dvorkin, “Mif’alei hahazanah haḥinukhit bishnot ha’aliyah hagedolah: mekorot umeafyenim” (seminar paper, Ben-Gurion University, 2010).]

**On the desire to shed "old, European" "Jewish" identity and take on a "new, Oriental" "Hebrew" one, and the contradictory impulses to use Palestinian Arabs as models in this endeavour and to claim that they needed to be "corrected," see:

Itamar Even-Zohar, "The Emergence of a Native Hebrew Culture in Palestine, 1882—1948"

Dafna Hirsch, "We Are Here to Bring the West, Not Only to Ourselves": Zionist Occidentalism and the Discourse of Hygiene in Mandate Palestine"

Ofra Tene, "'The New Immigrant Must Not Only Learn, He Must Also Forget': The Making of Eretz Israeli Ashkenazi Cuisine."

#sorry for this but you should've known better than to ask me about falafel at this stage in my life #falafel research saga

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kitchenwitchery72 · 1 year

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Herbalism 101: Bay Leaves

EP. 2

Bay leaves are one of my absolute favorite herbs when cooking with intention. They are delicious and very common in tons of food cultures. On top of this, they are quite easily accessible.

Properties: Protection, healing, success

Uses in the Kitchen

Bay laurel, more commonly referred to as Bay leaves, is a very versatile plant. I often use it in cooking to flavor stocks or pickled goods. With such an aromatic flavor, it tastes great in hearty or acidic dishes. Tying a bunch together with bay leaves, rosemary, and thyme is a great way to add flavor to stock.

Uses in Healing

Bay leaves have a number of benefits when used in herbalism. Bay leaves do have many digestion related benefits. They can help with bloating and gas, in this case I usually use them to make a tea along with peppermint. The leaves are also good for treating certain skin ailments that do not involve broken skin, such as dandruff! Adding bay leaf oil into your hair care routine would be a good option.

Uses in Witchcraft

Bay leaves, particularly in witchcraft, are extremely versatile. One of the most common uses is setting intentions. The easiest way I have found to do this is to use a marker or candle wax to write out your intentions or a sigil onto the Bayleaf itself. I will often use this in simmer pots or cooking (if you are cooking with it, make sure it is a safe marker for that use). Some other ways to use this is burning they leave or putting it in your shoe to carry with you throughout the day.

Tips for Growing at Home

Bay leaves come from a tree called Bay Laurel. They can be grown inside and pruned to be kept at a certain size, but because they are a slow growing tree they can ultimately reach very large sizes when grown outdoors. If you are attempting to grow it inside the most important things are well draining soil, the right amount of humidity, and lots and lots of sunlight.

Bay leaf tea

In order to make this tasty and beneficial tea, you only need a few things: 2 bay leaves, 1 cinnamon stick, and hot water. Steep the ingredients as you would any tea and enjoy while hot. I drink this when I'm having stomach issues or I'm feeling a bit on edge.

As always, this is not medical advice. These are helpful home tips and remedies, but they will not cure diseases.

#kitchen witch #witchcraft #witch #green witch #cottage witch #herbs #magick #spellwork #herbalism #herbalmedicine #herbalism 101 #bay leaves #bay leaf #intentions

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milkistay · 1 year

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what STRAY KIDS would do on valentine’s day

pairing. skz x gn!reader

format. headcanons

chan

fancy dinner date

something about chan gives the impression that he’d really like doing the whole Dressing Up And Going Out extravaganza for valentine’s day. white tablecloths, gold champagne, decorative red rose centerpiece; chan’s gaze on you, thick with adoration, illuminated by the candlelight; a small, special gift handed to you shyly. he giggles at the cheesiness of it all but you look incredible and he’s never been more in love.

minho

home date

you best believe minho has a whole menu planned for you. multiple courses. drinks. sides. desserts. you spend the early evening as the sous chef, handing him spices and wooden spoons while pressing quick kisses to his cheek (he smiles every time). it’s sickeningly domestic. the dinner tastes fantastic of course, but not better than how the blush on minho’s face looks when you pay him the nth compliment of the night. you end the date on the couch, holding each other close and playing stupid games to decide who cleans up (you clean up together anyway).

changbin

chill dinner date

changbin adores taking his loved ones out to restaurants. he’d love to pick a old favorite spot or somewhere new and spend the evening sharing dishes with you and talking about anything and everything in your lives. and by the end of the night, when you’re both full of pasta or sushi or samgyeopsal, you’ll walk home together and changbin, ever so the gentleman, will drape his jacket over your shoulders. he lies in bed later, smiling at all the photos he took of you.

hyunjin

museum date

typical of our sweet hyunjin to want to take you to a museum. the winter rain is drumming on the windows but you’re protected by the quiet serenity of the museum. hyunjin leads you from room to room, holding your hand, and stops in front of every piece depicting two lovers, whispering, “that looks like us,” with a smile. and you listen, happily, when he begins to give you an art history 101 lesson because his eyes light up so beautifully. and when you finally leave, you duck into a small ramen shop and warm up while hyunjin flips through the new art book you bought him at the gift shop.

jisung

café date

what’s sweeter than a cold, winter morning spent inside a café sipping warm drinks with jisung? doing all of that one valentine’s day! jisung insists on trying their holiday specials (just a normal latte but with heart sprinkles or iced tea dyed pink and red) as you claim a small table in the corner, nothing in the world to care about expect for the loved one in front of you. it’s cozy, it’s familiar, it’s jisung’s favorite morning of the whole month.

felix

picnic date

felix is ever so endearing when he packs a bag with lunch and drinks and desserts and finds a perfect spot at the park—just under the light scatter of shade from a nearby tree. he lays his head in your lap while you play with his hair and the sun peeks through the leaves, golden spots across his cheeks. he brings flowers and chocolates, of course, along with a heart-shaped card that’s filled with his handwritten notes on all the things he loves about you (he writes small and squeezes words in every space, but he still runs out of surface area). a perfect afternoon spent, in his professional opinion.

seungmin

movie date

honestly, it doesn’t matter which movie you watch because you barely end up even watching it. instead, cuddled up under one blanket on the couch and sharing each other’s favorite snacks, you and seungmin can’t stop talking long enough to actually pay attention. you’re trading stupid jokes and bits of stories from your weeks. you tell him about how you saw your friends earlier, he tells you about the annoyingly difficult new choreography he has to learn, you tell him about the puppy stuffie you saw in a store that reminded you of him, he tells you about his mom calling him to wish you a happy early birthday and so on and on and on. you fall asleep to the soft hum of the movie and seungmin fiddling with your fingers mindlessly.

jeongin

beach date

unbeknownst to you, jeongin has been planning this for weeks. he carefully selected the perfect beach—secluded, with a breathtaking view of the sea and the shore—and packed a bag with blankets and your convenience store drink of choice. you spend the whole afternoon with your feet in the sand and jeongin’s arm around you, looking out at the horizon and babbling about anything. and then the sun sets, staining the clouds colors of pink and orange, and finally, the constellations return to black sky. under the safety of the night, you and jeongin spill everything—dreams, hopes, silly wishes, sillier fears—and wonder how two people can be so perfect for one another.

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