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carmenized-onions · 3 days

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Ad Interim. | No Service

logline; The days and doubts and desires; the air, underneath the shoe.

[!!!] series history, this is the ninth; the amount of links are getting nauseating just go to the landing LMAO.

Spotify Playlist, if you like to listen while you read. I listen to it when I write :) Constantly gettin’ added to. I listen to this playlist too much in my day to day now, fr.

portion; 3k+

possible allergies; you're almost ten chapters in, you know very well by now that these two are rife with anxiety and insecurity.

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader (gets she/her'd mb)

fun fact: i finished this one 19 hours after the last chapter, whoops, but let it sit in my drafts to give some breathing room and do some rework

It is t-minus three days, until the worst Friday of your life.

But today’s Tuesday, and though you feel a touch uneasy, you figure it’s probably just the breakfast from yesterday at La Mattina settling in your stomach— Or, at least, hope it is.

You’re at home, sitting on your couch, pensive, haggard, leaned over. Elbows to knees, prayer hands to face, staring at your phone on the coffee table in front of you.

Just send it. Just send the text. Don’t be a fucking wuss. You’ve re-written it in your notes app like five fucking times— He does not care this much, he doesn’t even have basic reading comprehension— Okay, that’s mean— But it’s just not that deep. Just fucking! Send it!

Actually no, no, upon sixth review, the paragraph you had written out was way too intense, way too presumptive. Backspace, backspace, backspace—Just say hi. Let’s just start with Hi.

‘Yooooooooo’

Are you fucking possessed? Good Lord. How is he already typing he never used to reply this fast, what the fuck—

‘Are u fucking haunted?’

‘Fuck is yooooooo’

‘Yooo to you too, cousin’

Faster texter now, but Richie is still the same guy, at the end of the day.

‘this is a loaded fucking question’

‘but do you think you’ll be free any time this week?’

‘not unless ur dead or dying’

‘are you dead or dying?’

‘not that I’ve heard’

‘but I was thinking maybe we could like, get food or smth’

‘chat one on one. Been a minute, yknow’

That was too much. You didn’t need to do all that. Now he’s gonna go well who’s fault is that? And it’s yours. You know it’s yours. And then you’re gonna have that fucking conversation— Which is what this whole meet up thing was supposed to be about in the first place—

‘heard’

‘can’t get time off but fak needs to have his training wheels ripped’

‘could have dinner at the bear this week? Like 2 hours. Then I can watch him and keep him from shitting the bed’

‘and still get to do a fucking one on one, you corporate speak ass’

‘I didn’t know how else to fucking say it alright!!!!!!’

‘Dinner @ bear sounds good to me’

‘but probably ask carm/syd first if it’s cool’

‘yea yea I’ll fuckin check in with daddy don’t worry’

‘that sucked for me. That sucked to read. Go to jail.’

‘already have.’

‘I’ll let u know a time when I know. See u chip’

You heart it. The classic signal that it’s the end of a conversation. Holy shit. You did it. You actually texted someone that you miss that you miss them— Not directly, but you know Rich knows. And specifically, to book a dinner, to talk about what happened, to apologize for it. That’s pretty fucking huge. Which means—

It’s time to eat a whole freezer cake and lay in your pyjamas all day and interact with not a single soul on this entire planet. You’re absolutely at your social limit, for the day. Maybe you’ll talk it through with Mikey, actually. To the air, more accurately, but, y’know, same thing.

You’re gonna get dinner with Richie. You’re gonna get dinner, with Richie, this Friday. And it’s not gonna be awkward or weird, at all.

It is t-minus two days, until the worst Friday of Carmen’s life, so far, at least. There’s always next year.

But today’s Wednesday, and though he feels a little nerve-wracked, he’s pretty sure it’s just because the kitchen was so fucking dysfunctional this morning, and now that their prep’s off, the tempo of the whole fucking day is off, and they're behind on two tables. And fucking seriously this time, can someone get him a fucking marker that fucking works.

Okay, maybe it’s a little more, than nerve wracked.

Sydney is ever the intuitive, and always correct, at the station next to him— Because yes, they’re still down a hire since the meth guy, so now Carmen is on line.

She can tell, that somethings wrong with him, something’s always wrong with him. “Take your ten, Chef.”

Carmen shakes his head, obviously, there’s still prep to catch up on. And if he doesn't do it, it's not gonna get done, and even if it does get done, it's not gonna get done right. He’s pressing the dead sharpie down on the tape, like if he just brute forces it, it’ll start to work. “M’good, Chef.”

“Carmen.” She turns to him fully, stopping her work. And so, he does too. “Take your fucking ten.” She deadpans, she’s not taking no for an answer. She rubs her fist over her heart.

Carmen takes a beat, before nodding, doing the same. “Heard, Chef.”

He needs to look over expense reports that he can’t quite comprehend, anyways.

He really needs his sister. He steps into his office. Despite the fact that they re-constructed just about everything in the restaurant, this musty office remains the same. Untouched. After caving down walls, they had to cut the budget somewhere. He’s glad though, that it's untouched. It might be crowded, poorly organized, have an off smell (probably because of the birth in here, just a few weeks back), but it’s exactly as his brother left it, and that helps him feel… Connected, somehow.

What the hell is Var vs Budget? He’s googling every other word, here. He’s more than grateful, that before going home on mat leave, Sug set up a good enough automated Excel sheet that he could just plug in numbers and it did all the calculating for him. Doesn’t mean he knows what any of the numbers mean, but, they’re there.

He knows that red equals bad. Natalie told him that very specifically. Which did seem like she was calling him fucking stupid, but he let it go. There’s a lot of red. That’s a lot of bad. Well, not a lot, but like, a third of this is red. That’s probably more than it should be. How many months do they have again? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

He is never gonna get to pay himself, he’s never gonna be able to pay Syd, he's never gonna get her a star, she’s gonna live with her dad for the rest of her life, you are never gonna get to work here, you’re gonna work as a bottle girl for the rest of your life, he’s never gonna get his shit together so he’s never gonna get to call you his, he’s gonna have to hand the deed to Cicero and then fucking everyone is gonna to lose their jobs and he’s still gonna be him. He’s still gonna be him. Carmy Berzatto, the chef that lost everything, little brother to everyone's hero who blew his brains out. Starless in Chicago, unable to feel anything more than sorry for himself. Carmen’s gonna die as Carmen, and nothing more. At the end of the day.

Take a deep breath, Bear. Relax.

He’s catastrophizing. You told him that. He forgot to look into it. He googles that, instead of another business term he doesn’t understand.

‘Fixates on the worst possible outcome and treats it as likely, even when it is not.’

Well, it does seem pretty fucking likely that he’s doomed to fail and fall into a Sisyphean nightmare of opening restaurants and falling on his fucking face, dragging everyone he loves down with him with his stupid failed pipe dreams. He's no better than his brother.

He tries his best to think of whatever level-headed bullshit you'd give to him, right now, tries to taste the hot chocolate, the lavender and cardamom coffee. He smells your shampoo, in his hair, that helps.

Maybe, maybe it’s just been a bad week. Maybe there will be a lot of bad weeks, maybe there won’t be. Maybe things will be fine, maybe they won’t. You and Syd will still succeed, even if he fails. Everyone will, even if he fails. He has a very capable crew. And while he cannot escape the thought that failure is around the corner, at the very least, he is comforted by the idea that at least he will be the only one sinking with the ship he commands.

The thought of drowning alone is still impossible to rid of. Though.

But you’ve sent a text. And isn’t that a wonderful distraction?

Your connection results in response to his, from this morning, of course. You actually got it today. He swells with what feels like pride, and despite the fact that no one's looking at him, he has to hide his smile with his hand, embarrassed by how happy he is, when he sees the photo you’ve sent, just now. A selfie, sitting next to an oven, Other Tony’s oven. You’re holding a fried wire in your hand.

The text below it is a wonderful salve, ‘If you ever fuck up your ovens, I’ve got like, 10 thermocouples in my personal stock now :))’

So good to him, too good to him. Too good to anyone. ‘Heard.’

Carmen so, so fucking desperately wants to ask you to come to The Bear, right now. You’re only two blocks away, at La Mattina. You’d come, if he asked. He knows that. But he also knows that even if you calm him down, in the long run, it’ll set his day even further off tempo, he’ll be distracted the rest of his shift, and that’s the last thing he needs. He can handle this himself.

‘:)’ For levity. Or something. He’s trying. You give it a heart, so that means he’s done something good, he’s pretty sure.

There’s a knock at his door. Richie does not wait for an answer before coming in. His knocks are more like warnings, really. Carmen’s quick to tuck his phone away, he knows it’d be perfect cannon fodder to be teased into oblivion.

“Aye, cous—”

Carmen does not let the man get a word in inch wise, “Who’s on expo?”

Richie grimaces, this fucking song and dance, again. “Syd.”

“Who’s on her station, then?”

“T.”

“And hers?”

“She’s doin’ fuckin’ both Carmy— And—” Richie pulls a sharpie out of his breast pocket, throwing it at him. Carmen catches it. “Fuckin’ works. Alright?”

Marker works, and the system works. He catches the double meaning, too. Carmen nods, “Heard.”

“Christ.” Richie looks to high heaven, looks to his best friend, really, to give him strength. “Can I take my fuckin’ turn now?”

“Yeah, yeah, go ‘head.” Carmen turns to his desk, looking over the excel sheet, again. He can’t imagine Richie needing all of his undivided attention, right now, he’s not you.

Speaking of you, he can’t find your repair expenses anywhere on here. He needs to text Sug, about that. No, she’s got a fucking baby, he’ll at least look for a physical copy, first.

“I need to take two hours, on Friday.”

“Huh?” Carm’s head snaps up. Okay, maybe he does need to give his full attention to Richie, right now. “Eva got a fuckin’ recital, or somethin’?”

“No, no, uh— Chip wants to get dinner.” Rich scratches his nose with his thumb. “Thought since Fak's been training to host f'like, the whole fuckin’ month, could do dinner 'ere, let him do a run on us. Two birds, one bullet, y’know.”

“It’s stone.”

“I’m not fuckin’ high, cousin—” “No, it’s— Alright.” Carmen closes his eyes, hand over his face, deciding this is not the fight he wants to choose. “Tony’s getting dinner with you?”

“If I’m allowed, your fuckin’ Majesty.”

If it were up to Carmen? He wouldn’t be. But you specifically asked. Why, he has no idea. Carmen crosses his arms. “Yeah, yeah, s’fine. Just start at like, a not peak time. Like 4:30? Then when rush starts after 5 Fak’ll have a lil' momentum.”

“Heard. I’ll tell ‘em.” Richie nods, turning to make his way out.

Carm’s leg bounces, a tick that he’s pretty sure he’ll never get rid of. “… Ey Rich?”

He stops, turning back to Carmy, “Yeah, cousin?”

Carmen taps the end of the sharpie on the table, not looking at Richie, “What’s uh— Why d’you call Tony ‘Chip’?”

Ever so slightly, Richie’s brows furrow. “Did'j'ya ask her?”

Carm shakes his head, “S’why I’m asking you.”

Richie takes a beat, head rocking to the side, “Y'should ask her, she’ll tell you.”

Carmy squints, at that, “Is it fuckin’ dark or somethin’, cousin?”

What’s so secretive about Chip? He figured it would be some stupid inside joke with chocolate chips, like Sug with the salt mix up. Richie swallows, frowning just a bit. He clearly does not know how to answer this question, which just makes Carmen even more curious.

“S’ not dark, kinda, it’s just, y’know. Personal.” Since when the fuck did Richie have respect for personal? Probably since he sent him to stage. Goddammit.

“Did you not coin it?”

“Mikey did.”

Oh.

Huh.

Mikey got to do that first, too, eh?

“But, y’know, ask her, she likes you well enough to tell you, I think.” Richie shrugs, palms out. “Kinda tells stories like that better than me, anyways.” That's high praise— Not in the sense that Richie's a great storyteller, but that he's willing to admit it, for you.

“Oh, she doesn’t bury the fuckin’ lead?”

“Oh, fuck you.” But it’s true, so Richie’s amused. There’s something nice, about being known. Even if it’s to tease.

There’s a lull of silence. Quite frankly, Carmen’s hoping that Richie’s general disdain of silence will force him to confess your nickname backstory, just to fill the void. It doesn’t. Instead, it just gears him up, in the worst way, able to read the look on Carmen’s face.

“You really wanna fuckin know, huh?” Richie tilts down his head, teasing. Carmen groans. Oh dear god, why him. “Oh, fuck, you fuckin’ like her, don’t’chu, cousin? You fuckin’ dog.”

“Shut the fuck up, Rich—”

“Aye, Chip’s a real catch, I gettit— Works hard, plays nice, cleans up good— Y’have my blessing.”

“Didn’t ask for it.”

“Aye,” Richie snaps his fingers, pointing at Carmen like he could smite him. “Don’t gimme no talk back, she was my boy first, a’right? One bad word from me, n’ your lil’ fantasy—” He gestures an explosion with his hand, making a ‘pop’ sound with his lips.

“Gone, cousin.”

Carmen leans back in his seat, playing with the sharpie in his hand. He’s essentially Kubrick staring down Richie, but the guy is unaffected. “Friday, 4:30, two hours. If Fak fucks up, you’re on deck.”

“Heard.”

“Jeff, can I please get an all day, baby?” Baby is Tina’s new HR approved version of ‘for the love of fucking god’ She’s definitely at her limit, meaning Syd’s definitely at her limit on expo. Richie starts to step out, walking backwards.

“You comin’ cousin?”

Carm scratches his nose, straightening up back to his desk. He wishes he could go back to the kitchen, where he knows he’s good, instead of in here, with some goddamn spreadsheets that he cannot comprehend beyond bad. “Uh, one sec, I just need to finish this fuckin’—” He shakes his hand in the air, “Whatever the fuck this is.”

Richie nods, tapping the doorway on his way out. “Heard… g’luck.”

Carmen does not look at the spreadsheets. No. He thinks. He doesn't think about business.

That wasn’t true, was it? A phone call from Richie wouldn’t be the end of him, end of you, would it? Carmen is on the losing playing field here, practically everyone here has more history with you than he does. If he had a… lapse in behaviour, and it got back to you, would that ruin him? God, even his work family ruins things for him. Or could. Which means they will. Catastrophizing.

Whatever. What the fuck ever. He needs to find your invoice. After some flipping through last month’s file, he finds a sticky note from Sug between loose pages.

‘reminder: ask carmy 4 tony invoice’

He squints. You said Nat took care of it. Maybe it’s an old sticky note, he’ll text her about it, it’ll be a solid forty hours before he’ll get a response, anyways. Mom stuff. He really needs to go visit his niece again, soon. Maybe this weekend. Take Richie’s car. But then he'll probably will be forced to take Richie, too. Maybe he should just ask you, instead. Let Nat thank you for the heating pad she’s been loving, properly. Have dinner, all together, in an actual family home, instead of just each other's apartments. That'd be nice.

Yeah. Yeah. He’ll ask you on Friday, when you come for dinner. He grabs a pad of paper, biting the cap off his sharpie. He’ll make you something off menu, on Friday. You’re coming before the rush, anyways, he’ll have time to play, on Friday.

He’s gonna do right by you, this Friday.

Tomorrow, you’ll be getting dinner with Richie, and it’ll be the worst Friday of your life.

But right now, it’s Thursday night, and you’ve finally finished Carmen’s piece for The Bear. You know you told him if he didn’t like it, he didn’t have to put it up, but admittedly, if he doesn’t like it, you will be crushed.

One big white canvas.

Nine perfect squares, perfectly equidistant from each other at all angles.

Each square a snippet, a photo transfer. The squares themselves are messy, sun damaged, bleach stained, light flared. All twinged blue and yellowish. But so perfectly cut and curated.

Each image, something new. Starting at the top left, it’s The Original Beef. Then, the inside. Then the booths.

Then the second row, the sandwiches, held in hands.

The center photo. You've taken almost all of these photos on a disposable from yesteryear, but this is the one you like the most.

Mikey. The only transfer completely unbleached, unaltered, unruined. He’s holding two cut outs. One, Food & Wine and the other, a small section in the off off off pages of the New York Times.

Both specifically the one’s that mentioned Carmen, winning Best Chef and the James Beard.

Mikey was so proud. So so proud, silently, just with you— Couldn't look soft. Carmen does not know this photo exists. No one does. You hope this piece will act as the catalyst for you to be able to talk about the elephant in the room you’ve yet to open for him.

Right next to Mikey, is a balloon on a pipe— A photo you grabbed from Sydney and printed. You can only imagine the stress you could’ve eased, during their fire safety test. C’est la vie. Fak got to prove himself.

And on the last row, the new, ritzy, booths. The Seven Fishes dish— Also a photo you stole from Sydney. And finally, The Bear’s sign. Taken at night, lit up in all its neon glory.

Though the images are disconnected, starting from Mikey in the center— Clean, the flaring and staining grows more intense at the pictures in the corner. Just bordering on illegible. It all feels interconnected, woven.

It’s Carmen. Or, at least, you think it is. That’s what you were trying to achieve. You took inspiration from the way his brain works, the way he cooks messy but produces orderly, the way he’s grown something out of what was barely more than nothing. The way love and grief is at the center of everything. He’s awfully inspiring.

You’re excited, to show this to him tomorrow, on Friday. Hopefully all goes well, on Friday. You’re coming before the rush, you’ll probably have a little time to talk, on Friday. You won’t be able to get into everything, no, you’ve promised most of your bandwidth to Richie, but you’ll make a good start, on Friday.

You’re gonna do right, by Carmen, on Friday.

Tomorrow.

HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE

i've still got 2k of beats to cover for the next chapter, and have 7.9k already written out, for it. This is going to be fun. lmao. I'm genuinely very very excited for you to see it, when it comes out. Cannot believe I thought like 4 chapters ago that'd this next chapter would be the one to be released next. I almost briefed over all of these past few chapters to be nothing more than snippets in a chapter, I would never forgive myself if i went through with that plan, fr.

Anyways, no time for the future, this is NOW!! I hope I described Tony's paintin' good. I think it'd be nice. MBMBAM reference in the intro, are you fucking HAUNTED? ARE YOU FUCKING POSESSED? Love griffy, had to. Carmen CANNOT stop having anxiety attacks, someone get him on prozac frfr.

Tell me your thoughts or I'll eat my hat, I'm gonna need some words to chew on while I write, anyways. Hitting a wall choreographing this back half of chapter ten my GOD. Also oh yeah, silly aesthetic thing. I dunno if anyone noticed or cared, but i do a different ombre banner when it's carmen's perspec-- Did it last chapter too, aint that cute?

Also, I must finally give in, I was lazy to do taglists, but have folded, so here u are mfs. If you'd like to be added, you gotta leave me an essay somewhere. It's the RULES! Well, leave an essay and also ask to be added to the taglist that is but IT'S THE RULES!!

@anytim3youwant @navs-bhat @whoknowswhoiamtoday @gills-lounge @slut4supersoldiers @sinceweremutual @itsallacotar @catsrdabestsocks101

fully added people that never asked to be on here, you're just like, top fans, so i thought it would be nice, but if you WANT TO BE TAKEN OFF LET ME KNOW I'LL DO IT IMMEDIATELY ALSO IF I'M FORGETTING ANYONE WHO ASKED PLEASE DO REMIND ME

#carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto imagine #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto x you #carmen x reader #carmy berzatto #carmen x oc #carmen berzatto x female reader #carmy x reader #the bear fanfiction #the bear x reader #the bear fx #the bear hulu #the bear #fanfic series

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algae-tm · 4 hours

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SUMMER LOVIN’

Charles Leclerc x Reader

You and Charles fall in love in St.Lucia (one shot)

Warnings: none?

•••••••••••••••••••••••••

INSTAGRAM

youruser

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youruser: you think you just fell out of a coconut tree???🥥

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yourbffuser: HELLO??!! Who is the man????

- youruser: what man?

- yourbffuser: now i KNOW you aren’t serious. in the second pic!!!!

- youruser: oh him… that’s pookie 😋🤭

- yourbffuser: count your motherfuckin days

yoursisteruser: you collect white men like pokemon smh

- youruser: gotta catch ‘em all!! 😏😤

-yoursisteruser: sigh

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charles_leclerc: St. Lucia 🌊☀️

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user1: why is he so boyfriend coded in the 2nd pic?

- user2: don’t be alarmed bestie but it might have something to do with the literal girl he’s holding hands with in the 3rd pic…

landonorris: is this what the youth call a soft launch?

-charles_leclerc: you are the youth

carlossainz55: ay who’s the girl?

— charles_leclerc: No one and everyone

— user1: wtf does this mean 😭 😭

— user5: why is this simultaneously the dumbest yet most romantic thing I’ve ever read, and I have a boyfriend 😭

— user6: girl- tell your boyfriend to step up or leave him… the bar is in literal hell. — user7: bro releases a couple songs and thinks he’s cool and mysterious

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youruser: cute solo travel idea- get a man to take you places

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yourbffuser: two posts with the same guy? I fear we’ve lost her

- youruser: NOOOO I’m still a bad bitch, I’m licensed and everything!!

- yoursisteruser: heartbreaker turns into lover girl… story for the ages

yoursisteruser: who is he???? Your fans want to know!!

—youruser: just a cute monegasque

—yoursisteruser: is that a cheese or something?

— youruser: a place apparently… he gets stroppy when I call him French 🤷🏾‍♀️

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charles_leclerc: summer lovin’ happened so fast

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user4: two posts with what I’m guessing is the same girl… please twitter users starts sleuthing!!

— user5: or, hear me out, bit of a wild suggestion, just let them be?

— user3: do you think they were together b4, or he found her on holiday??

— user4: wait holdup I didn’t even think of the possibility that this could be just a vacation romance you’re so right @user3

— user5: why do I even bother with these people

pierregasly: day 67895 of asking you to tell me who she is!!

— user53: lmao Pierre is one of us confirmed

— user43: close! He actually knows Charles personally so no he isn’t one of you

— user53: now what did I do to you? 😭

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youruser: bye bye bye you were bigger than the whole sky…

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yourbffuser: oh pooks

yoursisteruser: glad to know you have a heart

— youruser: bite me

— yourbffuser: time and place, bestie @yoursisteruser

MESSAGES

SIX MONTHS LATER

MESSAGES

3 MONTHS LATER

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charles_leclerc: mine mine mine mine mine mine mine

(tagged youruser)

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lewishamilton: nice to see it brother! You know what they say

— youruser: once you go black!

— lewishamilton: I was gunna say the course of true love never did run smooth…

— youruser: mine works better!!

— user4: lmao she’s hilarious

— user5: and just as chaotic as Charles 😭 they’re made for eachother

—user6: idk I think he needs someone more introverted… she’s attention seeking (this user was blocked by charles_leclerc)

—charles_leclerc: blocked 🤭😙

—youruser: my man, my man, my man!

landonorris: she’s gorgeous

— charles_leclerc: why do you live to cause me distress??

georgerussell63: blimey, was only yesterday you told us you never got her number

— maxverstappen1: very stupid

— danielricciardo: Max be nice

— maxverstappen1: sorry

carlossainz55: well done cabron!

youruser: mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine mine

arthur_leclerc: she’s lovely

— charles_leclerc: isn’t she just

#charles leclerc smau #f1 smau #charles leclerc x black!reader #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x reader #formula 1 smau #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #formula one smau #f1 fic #f1 x you

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drarrily-we-row-along · 1 day

Text

Dolonia

Dolonia is defined as: a state of unease prompted by people who seem to like you too much, which makes you wonder if they must have you confused with someone else—someone flawless, selfless, or easy to understand from a distance.

Potter rolled over, pressing his too hot, too sweaty body against Draco's. And in spite of the fact that he was altogether too hot, that he was sticky, and still breathing too heavy, he couldn't find it in himself to complain.

"That was good," Potter said, trailing his fingers over Draco's ribs, brushing back and forth lightly and leaving trails of electricity shaking through Draco's chest.

He hummed, hoping it sounded aloof and noncommittal, like he wasn't trying too hard and didn't care too much about Potter's opinion, anything to convince himself that that was the truth.

"Do you want to order in some food from the Thai place down the street?" he asked, "or maybe we could go out? There's that diner a couple of blocks away, y-"

"You want to eat with me?" he asked incredulously, because fucking was one thing and occasionally sleeping in the same bed after being too tired to move made sense. But going out and eating together was something else entirely.

"Yeah," Potter said, shrugging like it was no big deal. "I'm starving, aren't you? We haven't eaten since lunch and that case was no easy thing to solve."

"Yes," he conceded, "That's what the celebratory sex was for."

Potter laughed, that bright, delighted sound that made it seem like nothing in the world was wrong. "Sure, just." He sat up, looking down at Draco, eyes impossibly large and impossibly green, "do you not want to get food with me? It's fine if you don't," he added, "just say so and I'll leave you to it."

"It's not that I don't want to get food with you," he said with a frown, staring at the mole on Potter's neck to avoid looking into his eyes. "It's just that you seem to be making this into something that it's not."

"What do you mean?" he asked, fingers carding through Draco's hair and brushing the loose strands back off his face.

He rolled his eyes, trying to make himself seem less vulnerable than he actually felt. "It's like you don't remember who I actually am sometimes."

Potter laughed, "Of course I remember who you are. You're my annoying, prat of a partner, too brilliant for his own good. You're the idiot that I come in to work with every morning wondering what sort of chaos my day is about to hold because even simple robbery cases turn into something that has years of ancestral battles and blood magic tied into it. You have very particular tea habits, and you like everything just so. I drive you mad but you still put up with me in your bed anyway."

"You're a good fuck, Potter," he said flippantly.

With a laugh, Potter leaned in and kissed the tip of his nose, like casual affection was the sort of thing that they did. "I know you."

And that reminded Draco of where this had all started, "right, but it's like you don't remember all the other parts, all of the things that came before."

He shrugged, "Why would I? You aren't that person anymore, you don't believe those things, you've turned your entire life around."

"But I am still those things," he said, shaking his head. "Sure, I don't believe what I used to, but that doesn't change that I was raised in that culture, it doesn't change that I still go to have brunch with my parents at the manor every other Sunday, or that I know how to get my way in the Ministry, or that I'm an expert manipulator-"

"Hey," Potter said, cupping his cheek. "Hey. Relax. Take a breath," he said, lips pressing to the crease between Draco's eyebrows. "You're okay. We're okay."

"I'm don't-"

"I know who you are, Draco."

"But-"

He shook his head, "I know who you are. I remember all of the things there are to know about you. I know who you were, I know all of the work you've done to be different, I know who you are now. I know you," he repeated. "Just like you know me. It's what makes us such good partners in the office and out of it." He let out a soft self-deprecating chuckle, "Please don't think that you're the only one of the two of us who's spent the past fifteen years meticulously watching the other. I know you, Draco."

He frowned up at him, uncertain where this could be going then, if Potter consciously chose Draco with all of his faults and flaws instead of just for the convenience of it.

"I know you," he repeated, "and I want you." He shrugged, "I've just been waiting for you to be ready to hear it." He grinned at him, "So, what do you say? Dinner?"

And how could he say anything but yes?

#drarry #love #soft #fluff #short and sweet #prompts #askbox #hello everyone. the writer is not dead-she's just happy and loved #one shot

144 notes · View notes

feyburner · 9 hours

Note

I loved LOVED a word, a look, will be enough. I’m obsessed with the way you write jason and tim. No pressure to answer this at all, but I was curious if you have a headcanon about how the missing spleen reveal eventually goes

Jay »

Good afternoon Timothy.

« tim

uh oh

Jay »

I just had a fascinating conversation with Doc thompson

Care to hazard a guess about what?

« tim

pollen season

Jay »

No.

« tim

bird flu

Jay »

Is there a reason you havent told anyone in your life that you dont have a fucking spleen?

« tim

okay first of all

i’m not sure why doc thompson felt the need to tell you my private medical information

pretty sure they have a rule about that

Jay »

It’s not her fault.

I mentioned that you got whammied with that stupid germ bomb from Typhoid Tony or whatever the fuck his name was

« tim

vik vyral

Jay »

And she got all serious and told me I should get you into the clinic asap, and I was like no he’s fine now, it was basically a 24 hour bug, and she was like no, theres no such thing as a 24 hour bug for him, he needs to come get his blood tested yesterday

And then she clearly realized I had no fucking clue what she was talking about and clammed up. Wouldn’t say a thing. Told me to ask you myself.

Jay »

The look she gave me when I said you slept it off and went back to work. Like I should know better. like I was letting you be careless and shit bc thats just how I am or something.

« tim

“letting” me?

Jay »

yeah. Letting you. I know you know what I mean

« tim

i’m not sure i do.

Jay »

When youre with someone you take care of them.

I dont pretend to know much about this shit but I know that.

I’m not talking about handcuffing you to the radiator. Im talking about knowing whats going on with you and knowing that sometimes you let shit slide that I wouldn’t. When it comes to you

You do that for me and the others all the time. Thats how it works.

« tim

doc thompson doesn’t know you’re “with” me

Jay »

If you think everyone doesn’t know exactly what’s going on then your detective skills need work

Jay »

Also, Jesus, Tim.

« tim

ok sorry, i didn’t mean the scare quotes part

but did you pause to consider maybe there’s a reason i haven’t told everyone other than whatever shortsighted masochistic bs you’re assuming

Jay »

I dont need you to tell everyone. I’m not asking you to write a report on it.

Just like. if there’s any other major medical shit can you maybe tell me

Before you fucking die of a sinus infection or whatever bc the asshole who lives with you didn’t know your immune system has the horsepower of a bicycle

« tim

did you know you curse more when you’re fronting like you’re not worried about me

Jay »

I’m actually not fronting! in this moment!

« tim

okay

well. i am sorry

that sounded sarcastic bc of who i am as a person

but it’s not. i mean it.

Jay »

Sorry for yelling at you

« tim

i dont wanna go into it over text but i’ll tell you tonight. okay?

about what happened.

also there’s nothing else. it’s just the spleen thing

ok?

Jay »

Okay.

« tim

well and the mango allergy

well. and i’m double jointed specifically bc i have joint-hypermobility syndrome

which is why im so flexible :)

but also why i dislocate things a lot :(

um and im mildly allergic to carrots, bananas, pineapples, and most legumes, but it’s fine they just make my tongue itch

i think that’s all

Jay »

Tim can you be honest with me for a second

« tim

yeah…

Jay »

Are you inbred

« tim

NSJDN/&2&jdj?!_£_??

Jay »

Like are you that type of rich person

You can tell me. We are not going to procreate so I dont mind either way

« tim

just scared the living shit out of an intern who had never seen me laugh before. i think she thought i was choking

jesus CHRIST

i will see you at home.

Jay »

You

didn’t answer the question….

#feyburner ask #jaytim #my writing #idk what this is tbh i think i just wanted them to have a little spat. sharp edges meet rough edges etc

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genericpuff · 7 hours

Note

Are there any things you like about LO? Or is it all shit to you. Personally, I think it could be a great storyline with the right execution, but a lot of the stuff and plot is unnecessary (I.e. Hades being thousands of years older than Kore and making characters fall in love with people they are racist/classist towards 😨😨)

Oh there are LOADS of things that I liked and still enjoy about LO despite all the shit I've thrown at it. I love love LOVE a lot of the older art-

Like, damn, that shit is so charming! I swear I had that Tower 4 panel as my phone background for like, 2 years LOL

Rachel had a really strong understanding of shape language, composition, color theory, and expressive linework in a way that was really appealing and unique at the time, but along the way it was just lost, undoubtedly due to her taking more of a backseat in the character art process and leaving it to her assistants.

That said, there's a lot of... not so charming, too.

I think, on the one hand, there's a lot to appreciate in the old art that shouldn't be rejected as we criticize this series. At the end of the day, as much as we riff on it, many of us did love this series at one point in time, so we shouldn't cringe at what it used to make us feel or pretend like we were ever above it when we were very much lost in it for ages before it went down the tubes.

But there is a lot to be said about the effects of rose-colored glasses, and how LO was never perfect. The reality is that much of Rachel's work is exemplified by the odd beautiful thing that sticks in our memories, but when we actually go back to relive those memories, we find they're all strung together by some not so beautiful stuff that makes us go 'wait what???'

Case in point, with LO we remember beautiful compositions like this:

But then within those same episodes we get:

And it's like oh. Yikes.

Aside from the art, there was also the SA plot as well as the Act of Wrath. The SA plot felt really special to me at the time because I was someone who was once in Persephone's shoes, being pressured into sex that I wasn't ready for but wasn't capable of saying no to. I can appreciate what Rachel was trying to do with that plot, but over time it became clear that she wasn't committed to seeing that plotline through and so I kind of just dropped my expectations for it entirely.

That said, it wasn't the SA plotline that set me off. I had good faith in that one still that it would be addressed eventually. It was the Act of Wrath plotline that did me in. The premise of it was totally my cup of tea in the way of "quirky character has a dark evil backstory!" which is shit that I absolutely LOVE, but then when the "twist" happened that Eris was the one to give her wrath, that was literally when I had my almost "canon event" moment of realizing "wait... I don't think Rachel knows what she's doing." And then it was just all downhill from there. The S2 finale sealed my fate LOL

All that said, as much as my brain is often defaulting to "ew! gross! bad!!!" in all honesty I do still appreciate what LO meant to be back when I still enjoyed it. It meant enough to me that I just couldn't let it the fuck go when it started to go downhill, so much so that I started making my own version of it! And that's something that sets it apart so much more from other comics I really don't like anymore (or comics I never liked to begin with) like Down to Earth, The Kiss Bet, Let's Play, etc. where I really can't even be bothered to think about them let alone talk about them to the extent I do about LO. I may be full of beans when it comes to LO, but I'd still rather be talking about it and all its failings and what it used to mean to me than about any of those other works. I loved it enough to still want it in my life and that's what Rekindled has accomplished for me.

#ask me anything #ama #anon ama #anon ask me anything #lore olympus critical #anti lore olympus #lo critical

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zoropookie · 10 hours

Text

HOW HATERS ARE BORN (HHAB)

♡ chapter thirty-eight — why couldn't it be mini-golf? (💋)

[[ALL WRITTEN CHAPTER]]

The dinner party was quiet for the first part.

But not the kind of quiet that would have made anyone into a bad type of uncomfortable. No, it was the kind of quiet that usually hangs heavy in the air with a clear path to stop it. But that path mentioned was definitely not going to be brought up anytime soon, nor even uttered.

The "path" being the eventual contemplation of both your and Kuni's relationship. Or..."relationship"? You had no idea. And frankly? You were too annoyed by Venti's chewing to even think about it right now.

There sat the bodies of Hu Tao, Thoma, Aether, Lumine, Heizou, Yanfei, Ayaka, Xiao, Kazuha, Venti, Kuni, and you at a very long table with what felt like it had no end in sight. Only sounds were the soft clinking of silverware against the china and the eventual murmur of someone to another. It was similar to faint ripples disturbing the surface of the pond.

Venti, seated next to you, was eating away with an unbothered look, feasting at his second dish of the hot pot with numerous amounts of meat. "Oh my god," He said with his mouth full, exaggerated smacks and crunches that seemed to echo louder than the previous ones, grating irritably on your nerves. "Brilliant. I mean, who came up with this?!"

"Been a thing for...forever, actually." Kuni's eyes dulled as he replied with the most unamused tone imaginable, swirling his chopsticks in the soup stock.

"Do you live under a rock?" Hu Tao's eyes narrowed, ever the lively one as she plopped a piece of well marinated pork in her mouth. "It's a common thing, not very new, dumbass."

"Ohhh, no. Don't go and try and make me look like the dumbass." Venti pointed. "Scara~ I know that you were too lazy to try and think of an actual dinner for us out of your busy schedule, but it really reminds me of how creative you can be anyway. I mean, a steamboat?! Your mind! Can I still call you Scara?"

"No." He replied flatly, not even looking up from his bowl.

"Where did you find this?" Venti marveled. "Genius invention, if I do say so myself. Like, watch this." And with that, he put the raw piece of beef inside of the boiling hot broth.

The beef had bubbled inside of the broth, cooking the meat almost instantly. The rich aroma was wafting throughout all of the visitor's nostrils, leaving a tempting bubble of juice that lightly coated the beef he pulled out, making your own mouth water despite your annoyance.

"You wanted to show us... you cooking meat?" Ayaka asked, her voice tinged in a genuine and curious way, wondering if there was an end confirmation to this. Unfortunately, there wasn't, and the rest of the table sighed.

"You know what guys, the art of cooking is lost on a lot of people, don't expect you to know about it. I wish that you could see how philosophical every thin slice that goes into your mouth is, but I'm not your own eyes." Venti threw his hands up in defense.

"Venti...when the pot is at a very high temperature, the meat inside of it usually tends to cook after a few seconds. That's how it works." Aether slowly told him, to which Hu Tao narrowed her eyes in a death-like stare.

"But what about the journey of that high temperature cooked meat?" Venti continued, his tone almost as philosophical as his aggravating chewing. "The laughs, the memories, the stories, preparing this meal together. That's...what makes this dinner more special than others. Our first."

"And our last." Kuni rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed. "I didn't let you guys into my house just for him to give us a TED Talk on the importance of family time. Just eat the fucking food and save us the theatrics."

"There's no point, he's just going to keep at it." Yanfei sighed in defeat. "He knows what he did. This will never end as long as we're all alive."

"Yeh? What did I do that was that awful?" Venti raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a pout. "Because what I did do was put those two together at a dinner table right now. You're welcome, by the way." He poked the direction towards you and Kuni.

"He's got a point..." Thoma let out a small chuckle, gaze flicking to the both of you. "You're both being civil right now. Most times you'd just try to bite your tongue whenever you were around each other."

"That's so not true." You scoffed. "I'd say I was very civil. Me, at least. Can’t say the same about others."

"Yeah? Throwing me under the bus now?" Kuni shot you a withering glare. "You asked me out first, don't think I don't remember when we were about to get in the car."

"Hey, quick tip for when you're stuck in conversations you don't want to be in: being proactive helps. Being a fake flirt helps. Someone had to break the ice, and it wasn't going to be you." You shrugged.

"By flirting with me?"

"I mean, it got your attention, didn't it?" Hu Tao replied, leaning back in her chair. "You're smitten."

"I am not smitten. I have intense feelings that should be mutual." His eyebrow quirked up, a hint of amusement softening his features. No matter how defensive his tone was, he knew he couldn't believe anything he said. "You shouldn't be chastising me anyway. I already made myself clear before you got here that I hate the shady shit."

"And I made myself clearer that I didn’t want anything from you right now, no?" You retorted immediately, head shooting towards him with a glare, tone clipped and snippy. "You'd be smart not to bring it here."

Tension rose to a great extent as your words began to make everyone uncomfortable, with the exceeding silence and awkwardness that ruminated between you and Kuni. It was pretty much just the two of you that were giving off an aura like no other. Safe to say that even Venti's attempt of getting the both of them to ease up from what they eventually have to do was a failure.

You glanced at Venti after he began to start moaning despite this, and sighed inwardly. Only he of all people could manage to make eating a piece of meat sound like something else. You threw your chopsticks back on the table, it causing a metallic thud. "Alright. I think I'm done."

"I'm sorry that I'm trying to bring liveliness that you all lack right now. Why is so quiet anyway?" Venti asked, his eyes looking around at everyone's suddenly shifted demeanor.

"You shouldn't be encouraging Venti to be loud, Thoma." Lumine hesitated in her words, trying to disengage the situation. "Let's just do an exercise. We'll say something really nice about the person next to us, and if you have nothing to say, you're going to stay here and help Kuni pick apples as a summer job."

Heizou shot up immediately, slamming his hands down on the table. "I have nothing nice to say about anyone here. Fuck all of you."

"Fat fucking chance. Sit your ass back down." Kuni snarled.

Kazuha frowned, furrowed brow betraying his own confusion. "What did we do...?"

Lumine squinted at him, taken aback by his words before pressing her lips together. "You have to play the game first to decide that, jackass."

“Well, this game already isn’t very fun.” Heizou blurted, saltily sitting back down. “Easy enough for nobody to jump me here though, I’ll take all the compliments I can get.”

"I’m glad that Kazuha and Thoma are sitting next to you and not me.” Hu Tao’s eyes dulled. “I’d blow my brains out before I ever compliment a child trafficker.”

“Okay, good thing we’re not starting with you, then.” Lumine argued with the both of them. “Fuck,” She muttered under her breath, composing herself before she had to speak again. “Then, since you’re one of the last letters of the alphabet, You go first, Xiao.”

Xiao picked his head up, his sharp eyes scanning for the person next to him who just so happened to be Venti. “Oh,” He paused, the rest of the table waiting for his response as Venti excitedly bounced in his seat. “I don’t want to play.”

Venti’s shoulders dropped. “Are you kidding? C’mon, you can’t think of anything?”

“Said he doesn’t want to play, this is our group therapy dinner where consent is the Hail Mary. No compliments for you, too bad, so sad.” Hu Tao stuck her tongue out playfully.

“Your attitude right now is the main reason that one of these days you’re going to get scammed so bad by a pyramid scheme that you’re actually going to start believing the Tupperware you’re selling is valuable. It’s not. It never will be.” Venti squinted.

Hu Tao sat there for a minute, looking into the other’s eyes before scrunching her nose up. “Are you okay? That was extremely specific.”

The rest of the table was silent, until Lumine sighed quietly. “Okay…Xiao, can you at least try to come up with something so we can move on? You don’t have to do it again, this is just a one time thing.”

“I’m grateful,” Yanfei gritted her teeth inwardly. “Never thought I’d have to be genuine anytime soon. Why couldn’t it be mini golf?”

He let out a slow breath, clearly reluctant to even participate in this obviously forced exercise. The more he stalled, though, the longer it was going to take to ebb how uncomfortable it is. “Venti,” He began, voice steady but devoid of emotion. “Your music is very refined.”

Venti clutched at his own heart, making a sound like he just got punched in the gut. “I’ll take it. That’s so cute of you.”

“Yeah! This is a really good exercise for us! We haven’t gotten the time to really appreciate each other as friends.” Thoma smiled. “Go ahead, Venti! Say something nice about (Y/N)!”

“Right.” Venti turned his head to you, trying to fully grasp what he wanted to say. It left eye contact with him very unsettling. “Hm…no matter what happens to you, you’ve still proven that you deserve what you have. Keeping that energy lead you to many people wanting to be around you in result. You should be grateful for that.”

You couldn’t help but stiffen at his words, letting out a small smile tug at your mouth in return. “That really means a lot, Venti. Thank you.”

You took a minute to sink in Venti’s words before you slowly turned to the person who you dreaded giving a compliment to right now— Kuni sat there perfectly. His head rested gently on his head as he leaned against the table with his elbow.

“You…” You stammered on your words, trying to look in your mind for something, anything, you could say that wouldn’t compromise your position. But you knew that despite everything, you liked him a lot. He did prove that he was into you a long time ago, you just didn’t want to admit it. “I like…uh…”

You were unsure how to respond. And Kuni knew that too, so he took the lead. “I think you’re the only person who’s brought me joy in more than just a platonic situation. Being around you is something special to me, I’d rather it not go to waste fighting.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, wanting to look agitated, but his words were so genuine that you were put on the spot. You felt tears brimming up in your eyes in return, trying to hold your eyes open to shun them away, only resulting in them returning tenfold.

You quickly stood up from your seat, bitterness running down like waterfalls. “Excuse me.” You murmured, before rushing off to an undisclosed room.

The rest of the table was silent after that, looking around at each other awkwardly. From what was supposed to be a comfortable exercise turned into something entirely worse than expected. Especially since they all had a feeling that it would go wrong with you sitting next to him.

Kuni groaned, his head hanging and his back pressed firmly against the chair. “Fuck,” He drawled, feeling his patience wear thing. “So fucking annoying.”

“Go after them.” Thoma said amongst the quiet, a warm smile on his face. He knew that even though he wanted to go himself, there was someone who was planning to be with you for a very long time. “You’re good. We’ll all be here when you come back.”

Kuni hesitated, to which Kazuha smiled and nodded. “You said you had Mario Kart, right? We can just play that if you don’t mind.”

“Oh, fuck yeah!” Hu Tao was one of the first people to stand up, shooing Kuni off with her manicured hand. “Go. Bye! We’re going trashing on your expensive equipment for three hours.”

No matter how much he wanted to kick everyone out, he was given a small reminder as to how they’re the main reason why you haven’t given up on him. Unfortunately. So he didn’t say anything, leaving towards his bedroom, the same room he heard you lightly sobbing in.

The room both of you found yourselves in were dimly lit and a complete contrast from the kitchen. It was quiet, but the quiet here was different and heavy and thick— almost suffocating him. You sank down into a plush armchair sat in the corner of his room, sitting in silence with yourself until now.

You didn’t bother looking up to see who it was, you knew who it was. Kuni’s footsteps were light and soft enough to tell you that, he took the seat opposite you, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. You were forced to look at him.

He looked beautiful from up close, his features naturally pairing together with the rest of his face. His jawline a perfect structure, his eyes soft enough for you to stare into his violet pools. His hair light and feathery, strands of it sticking in small clusters.

“Tell me what’s going on.” He sat back, mustering up a mix of concern and patience on his face. “I already told you I’m not going to fight with you anymore.”

You wiped your eyes candidly, the back of your hand leaving residue of your tears. A hiccup broke your speech, “That’s the problem, isn’t it?” Your wetted eyelashes brushed against your cheeks as your eyes squeezed shut. “You’re too patient now.”

“Didn’t learn it in a night.” He absorbed your words like they were all that he was able to get in that moment. “I mean, I still have no idea why you came around even this quick. You don’t have a reason to stay by my side as much as I do for you.”

“Oh, of course. Because it’s always different for you. You’re still trying, just like you did when you hated me, it’s confusing. You’re so…fucking confusing.” You looked up again, meeting his eyes with defeat. He was going to be in your life whether it was a friend or a lover, and with the more days that pass with him in it, you start to feel yourself teeter back and forth. “You’re not going to give up, are you?” Your voice was weak.

His eyes never left your face, tentatively taking your hand in his. “I had to get used to the idea of potentially never seeing or talking to you again when I left.” He paused, sincerity striking his face, more of an intense look than usual. “I never want to go through that again so long as I owe it to you. It’s cowardice, and I’d rather face you myself.”

“When will you not owe it to me?” Your heart was hurting, beating faster than it could ever. “I never wanted you to be indebted to me, you did that because you felt guilty, so just squash it already.”

At every second he stayed quiet, the brighter it dawned on you his intentions. He wanted to be by your side as long as possible. “Then it’s all done,” You stared at the hand holding yours, his warmth and steady hands with his skin slightly bulging with his veins, a black ring on his middle finger. “No more games. No more pretenses,” He said calmly. “I want you. More than I wanted anything.”

“Yeah.” You said slowly, a sense of cautious hope blooming in your chest. “I think I kind of do too.”

Swallowing hard, you tried to gather your own sense of resolve here. But all that you were able to even think about was how close he was to you…and the fact that you wanted to suck his face off.

The silence this time was a comforting one, understanding of each other that was unspoken for. He leaned in close to your face, the heat of his breath slowly lingering on your skin, making you ache in a passion you’ve never felt before even when Childe was trying to pursue you.

“Can I?” He whispered.

The breath you had was swept away by his tantalizing voice, nodding slowly at his request. It wasn’t like the last time where the anger and frustration was taken out on the love they pressed into the kiss. No, this one felt a lot better than you ever would have imagined.

The kiss that followed with your words was fluffy at first, the meeting of lips that quickly grew deeper as the months and months of progress they put into their entire history together was no longer at its standstill anymore. His hands snaked across your body, also with an aching desire nestled in his chest.

He tasted amazing on your lips, and you pressed yourself against him in a swift movement, swapping seats gradually. You were dazed, if your eyes could have hearts in them, they would have already.

You didn’t recoil, or protest, or fight him every step of the way anymore. Your tongues danced together in a passionate tango, its foreign-like actions to you making your eyes bleary with love. You were melting into him, no matter how much you didn’t want to give him that satisfaction.

It looks like you have a lot more to explain to your fans than expected.

previous ♡ masterlist ♡ next

YOU ARE on your way to being one of the hottest streamer in your nation at the moment, racking a monthly average of 10 million viewers, but something specific bothers you about it. you know that a lot of people hate you, but there's this one account. one account that's been following you since the early days of your career. they leave a flood of rude comments in your stream, your moderators banned each account they made, but they keep making more. you are at the end of your tether. but you are yet to find out that this persistent cockroach is none other than your friend's friend (and the only other streamer that's bigger than you), scaramouche.

taglist ♡ @thystarsshine @veekoko @gumickajolli @simonisferal @kamiboo

@justpeachyteastea @feiherp @pinkismyfavcolor @aether-darling @kunisnaomi

@keiiqq @mine-lu @featuredtofu @danhenglovebot @k4zushi

@kyon-cherri @b4tm4nn @iiinaurate @quacking-simp @auroratumbles

@kookiibun @ulquiorraswife @amvpk01 @simplysm1le @h3xi2g0n3

@alatusorrow @scaranthropy @mellowberrie @magica-ren @vernith

@kabukipookie @bananasquash @suqarlaced @dellalyra @lightyagamifan

@yourfavoritefreakyhan @heartsforseo @yomishen @pwushizz @swivy123

@strxwberryfetish @ibyobi @ashfrommars4 @chemiru @ainnofinway

@agaygothicmushroom @levianamor @dragontammerz @wth121 @lylovw

@morgyyyyyyy @lovemari @suniika @littlesliceofcheese @yumejo89

@liuaneee @franaby @tiddieshakeshownu @mimi3lover @kavineyah

@kittywagun (bold users means i'm having trouble tagging you)

#zoropookie #hhab #scaramouche x reader #genshin scaramouche #genshin #genshin smau #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin fanfic #genshin x you #genshin x yn #scaramouche x yn #scaramouche x you

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slutshamethesquirrels · 21 hours

Text

Borrowed Clothing

gojo x fem!reader

length: 6.6k

cw: mild angst, that's p much it

A cutie little Gojo-centric one shot I wrote to cope with everything Gege has put us through, in which Gojo gets to borrow a really cool shirt (amongst other things).

“Gojo?”

He's still in his school uniform, black blindfold covering the upper half of his face, but you didn't need to see his eyes to know something was off. Typically, his posture was one of complete and total ease, loose and open shoulders with long arms falling wherever gravity held them, undoubtedly a habit from being virtually untouchable. The man before you, though, looked like if he got any tenser he’d simply cave in on himself. His usually plush bottom lip was chapped, as if he'd been chewing on it all evening, and there was a slight swell to his cheeks and nose- had he been crying?

“Did you mean it?” He asked, his voice falling out husky and cracked.

Your eyebrows furrow slightly in confusion, unsure of what exactly he means, so he clarifies:

“When you said if I wanted, I could, uhm-” He clears his throat and tosses a look over his shoulder, bouncing anxiously on his heels like he was a normal man on the run from something.

His words jog your memory.

You hadn't seen him in two weeks, but the last time he'd stopped by the diner you worked at he’d ended up convincing you to take your lunch break with him. You always thought he looked a little funny in there, with his high class attire and long gangly limbs fighting for more booth space than was physically possible for him to take up.

Despite his tendency to stand out, he’d been coming in for years. It started when he’d caught you using your water-based curse technique to clean tables faster. Over time the conversation slowly transitioned from trying to get you to join up with Tokyo Prefectural Jujutsu High School to topics that ranged from the weather to the existence of god. You never knew what kind of question was gonna fall out of Gojo's mouth.

Frequently, the two of you discussed jujutsu society. He hated moral arguments and debates but had a love for the craft, though how could he not, being who he was?

It wasn't like Gojo to let you peak into his brain, though. Majority of what came out of his mouth was unhinged, sure, but distinctly detached from any sort of deeper subject matter. You weren't dumb, and you’d definitely caught onto the way he carefully danced around certain topics with jokes and sly subject changes. You got the feeling that he wanted someone to talk with, but didn't really know how to beyond surface level. Couple that with an obvious intellect (buried under a couple hundred fart jokes), and he made for a decent conversationalist.

“I feel like you're my friend, but I’m not really your friend.” You’d told him over the plates of food as the strings of your waitress belt dug into your sides.

“I would never be friends with a weakling like you.” His smirk was devious, bating you into a spat with him, which you’d fallen for, hook, line, and sinker.

“I'm not weak!” You scoff, but you weren't really offended. You played this game with him all the time, Gojo loved a good tease.

“You won't even join us at the school because all you can do with that shitty little curse technique is mop floors.”

There he was again, poking the bear and dancing around what he was actually trying to say. If you had to guess, what he really meant was something along the lines of:

”The fact that you have no interest in utilizing your curse technique disappoints me. You could be doing so much more than food service and I don't understand why you aren't developing your skill.”

So you do your best to communicate your answer to his actual intention:

“It's not a weakness to use a talent for mundane tasks, you dick. For your information, I can do a hell of a lot with my little technique.”

You poke your tongue out at him and he playfully knocks at your ankle under the table, a soft smirk playing on his lips as you continue:

“I mean, when you really think about it, your highness, am I weak because I refuse to use my technique for violence, or are you because you’re a slave to yours?”

You’d truly, honestly meant it as a casual lighthearted roast. The subject matter was serious, sure, but with time you'd come to know Gojo as the type of person you could joke about anything with. He sure had no problem laughing at your expense.

He tried to remain unbothered for the rest of the conversation, but you could tell he was rushing. For once, his laugh had seemed hard and forced. His demeanor had sunken from his typical egotistical borderline-mania into that of a shy theater kid attempting to play a bubbly and jovial character. Before he left, you tried to quell the flames on the bridge it seemed you were actively burning.

“Gojo, are you okay?” You asked as he fished a few bills out of his wallet and tossed them onto the table.

“Of course, why wouldn't I be?”

You wished you could see his eyes, really get a feel for what might be going on in that handsome little head of his.

“Did I hurt your feelings?” You insist, your bottom lip jutting out just slightly as you reach across the table to grab his hand. Just a foot or so away, your hand meets a sort of density in the air, stopping you from getting any closer, and your heart cracks a little. He hadn't used Infinity around you in so long.

“Please. Me? You're gonna have to try a lot harder than that if you wanna work me up.” He smiles, but it's not genuine. His nose always crinkled when he really smiled, it was something you noticed early on, one of your favorite little quirks of his.

Before he left, you'd written down your address and your phone number, and told him if he ever wanted to talk he was free to call or show up whenever.

Honestly, after those few weeks you assumed he was done talking to you. But here he was.

“Of course I meant it.” You nod with a soft smile, opening the door fully and stepping off to the side to allow him entry.

He shuffles past you, tension obvious in his gate with locked knees and his hands clenched in his pockets. You feel the density of his infinity as he passes you and make a mental note that he didn't come unguarded. If he didn't seem so volatile, you’d almost want to laugh at how comically large he looks standing in the living room between your ancient box tv and low set coffee table. He could easily reach up just a few inches above his head and flake off the little bits of plaster from your ancient popcorn ceiling.

Awkward tension settles for what feels like forever as he scopes out your living space. You can't imagine he's ever willingly allowed himself to associate with someone as… financially challenged as yourself. You did your best to make it homey, you really did, but it was hard when your ‘couch’ was actually a loveseat pulled from the side of the road on trash day, and all your wall art was thrifted.

“It smells good in here.” He finally breaks the silence, and you let out a breathless chuckle.

“I just threw some cookies in the oven, actually. I kind of thought for a second there you'd sniffed me out from all the way across town.” You attempt to loosen his demeanor, and he cracks a small grin, but it's tight lipped and forced.

“Did you, uh, wanna talk?” You prod, twisting your fingers nervously in front of you.

Immediately, his half hearted attempt at being humored by you is dropped. He chews on his cheek, one hand coming up behind him to paw at his scalp, the other staying firmly in his pocket as he thinks.

“Yeah,” He breathes “I just-”.

He fidgets uncomfortably, his head tilting as he seems to make eye contact with the ugly brown outdated wood paneling on your walls; you can't tell beneath the blindfold.

He clears his throat “I don't think I really know how.”.

“Okay. That's okay.” You draw a deep breath, nodding slowly and boring a hole into the carpet by his feet with slightly bewildered eyes as you attempt to formulate a plan for how to navigate the situation.

Eventually, you draw a deep breath, closing your eyes just briefly to re-ground yourself. When you reopened them, you stare directly into him, confident that you could do this.

“Tell you what, why don't you hop in the shower? I have some of my ex boyfriend's clothes that you can wear and by the time you get out the cookies should be done. Maybe after you're out of that uniform and have something on your stomach you'll feel a little better, yeah? We can circle back to the talking later.”

He cocks his head to the side, the ghost of his typical smug grin playing on his lips.

“You really think I'm gonna wear your ex's clothes? He obviously has no taste if he let a woman like you walk out.”

You roll your eyes and cock your hand against your hip, far too used to his flirty nature by this point and putting absolutely zero weight on his words. But you knew his games by this point, and felt fairly certain you could lead a horse to water. An intelligent, cocky, annoying, devilishly handsome, certifiably traumatized horse.

“You don't think you could make his sweatpants look good?”

He scoffs, much more comfortable teasing than directly approaching whatever it was that was eating at him, his shoulders loosening a bit.

“Babe, I could make rags look good.”

You let him help himself to your bathroom while you pillage around in your closet for your ex’s leftovers, hoping they'll suffice. He was a pretty tall guy, so you’re to too worried about that, but he was nowhere near as fit as Gojo, though you couldn't imagine anyone would be, what with the exorcism of curses constantly and all.

Eventually, you find a pair of gray sweatpants. Digging deeper into the box, you find a few t shirts. One is black with a gaudy band logo on the front in that heavy metal style lettering you could never make out, another has a rather… mysterious stain on the front, the other one was a gag gift you gave him several years back. Light pink, the front decorated with peace signs, hearts and smiley faces surrounding the words “alpha male” in bold white sparkly cursive lettering. You giggled and threw that one over your shoulder along with the sweatpants. You had a feeling Gojo would appreciate it far more than your ex had.

“Stop jackin’ it! I’m coming in!” You warn with a knock as you lean into the bathroom and place the outfit along with a towel on the counter.

“Damn, I was so close, too!” He sarcastically whines, and you're unsurprised to be able to see his eyes peeking at you overtop the shower curtain.

“How's the weather up there?” You ask, and he rolls his eyes with a scoff as you gather his uniform off the floor and leave to go throw it in the wash and check on the cookies.

You're just settling into one side of the tiny little loveseat when he emerges, looking much more relaxed, spinning his blindfold around one finger absentmindedly. You eye the t shirt, rolling your bottom lip between your teeth to keep from smirking at him, and it only somewhat works.

“I stand corrected-” He groans as he settles into the other side of the loveseat and kicks his bare feet up on the coffee table, his limbs taking up every inch of it with one arm flung all the way across the back and the other dangling lazily off the armrest, still holding his blindfold “-your ex must've fucking rocked. This shirt fucks-”.

You burst into laughter and toss your head back momentarily “I knew you'd like it!”.

You reach forward to hand him the plate of cookies, rolling your eyes incredulously as he immediately shoves one in his mouth and has to do that weird open-mouthed-blow-breathing around it because it's too hot.

“He actually never wore it.” You tell him, and his brow dips in suspicion as he chews “I got it as a gag gift for christmas and he didn't think it was very funny. He assumed I didn't get him an actual present as well.”.

He swallow's harshly, and then groans in overdramatized exaggeration as you reach for the remote “Well, it is an actual gift for me, because I’m keeping this shit.”.

“Who said you could have it?!” You tease as you flip the tv on, hoping the old DVD you were watching would be enough to placate him.

“I did, unless you wanna fight me for it.” His tone is suggestive, and you reach for a cookie, shaking your head and scrunching up your face to signal that it wasn't exactly worth your life.

“I’m gonna wear it under my uniform.” He tells you and you cover your mouth as you stifle a laugh through a mouthful of cookie “And after my students are done battling a tough ass curse in the middle of the city, I'll offer to take them to some fancy ass restaurant as a reward-”

“Gojo!” You protest, but you’re giggling, and so is he.

“The minute we get seated? I’m gonna be all ’Damn, it's hot in here! Is it hot in here to you guys?’ and then take my jacket off for the grand reveal.”

“Megumi is gonna murder you.” You tell him with a grin. You’d never met the kids, but you knew enough about them to pick up on the vibes. Gojo sometimes talked about them like a proud father, but more often than not like an annoying older brother.

“Yeah, yeah-” He waves his hand dismissively and snatches another cookie “Itadori will think it's funny, though.”.

The two of you eventually settle into silence as you eat, and you’re surprised to find that it's not uncomfortable. Gojo, for all his faults, was fun to be around, at least for you. It was just like your lunch breaks. Teasing, taunting, followed by comfortable silence. He carried with him a warmth that you couldn't quite explain, a certain aura of boyishness that made you fuzzy inside.

“You know,” You eventually break the silence “-sometimes I forget you're like, a god amongst men or whatever.”.

He tenses and sits up a little straighter. After his hair had dried he’d slipped his blindfold back on, and you absolutely despised that you couldn't read his eyes. You knew he wore it for logistical reasons, but sometimes you felt like it was just another barrier between him and the rest of the world. Him and you.

“Sorry.” You breathe when he doesn't respond.

He shakes his head and chuckles wryly “Don't be. It's not you, I just-”.

His hands tense and release repeatedly. He was always fidgeting in subtle ways, like he had more energy than he knew what to do with. You often wondered if he'd benefit from some sort of fidget toy.

“I don't see how you can separate me from it. My abilities, I mean. I don't see how anyone could ever separate me from it.”

Your eyebrows raise in concern, and attempting to display some modicum of validation without pushing, you nod, swallowing thickly. You couldn't understand him, couldn't say ‘I get it.’ because you both knew the truth; no one would ever truly get it. So instead you settle for “Okay.”.

“I don't even think I can separate me from it.”

He brings his hands out in front of him, turning them over and you wish, you want so badly to get into that brain of his.

“I think,” he sighs, dropping his hands and tipping his head back “You were right. The other week. I’m a slave to it. I've never been anything but a slave to it-”

“Gojo.” You breathe, and move the plate of cookies to the coffee table to slide closer to him “I didn't mean that for real, I was just joking, I swear-”.

“That doesn't make it any less true.” He argues immediately, and your heart sinks a little when you reach out to touch him and are stopped just a few inches short “My whole life, I've been the Six Eyes and Limitless combo. It's controlled absolutely everything about me from the very beginning.”.

A dam was breaking inside of him, and you could feel it. He was back to being just as tense as he was before, maybe even worse, and you wanted nothing more than to wrap him in your arms.

“You know Suguru? I told you about him, right?”

You nod. His half friend, half lover from highschool who had defected from Jujutsu Society and gone absolutely batshit. When Satoru told you about him, the conversation always started with a heartwarming or funny story and ended with a casual joke about Suguru turning into a genocidal maniac. You had the feeling the subject was sensitive, so you always just laughed.

“You know what he said to me before he left?”

You shake your head to confirm you didn't and he drew a deep shaky breath.

“He asked me ‘Are you the strongest because you're Satoru Gojo? Or are you Satoru Gojo because you're the strongest?’.”

Silence settles, tense and thick, and you bore holes into the ugly pattern of your couch, sitting on the opposite cushion with your hands folded in your lap.

“In the end,” His voice was raw, choking “I was only my abilities to him, too.”.

He sniffles and you lift your head. You can't see his eyes, but he hides his face in the crook of his arm anyway.

“Gojo, can I hold you? Please?” You damn near whisper.

He doesn't respond, but you feel the energy shift in the room, the air relaxing back into stasis. He had let his infinity down.

You crawl into his lap, straddling his thighs and pulling away the arm that was covering his face, wrapping it around your middle and allowing him to lean into your chest and cry in earnest. Your hands find purchase in his hair, scratching his scalp in soothing motions and then dipping under the neckline of his shirt to do the same between his shoulder blades. His hands grip at the back of your shirt for purchase, twisting the fabric there with force.

“I don't think that's what Suguru meant.” You offer, and he just squeezes you tighter.

“I think, what he was trying to get you to realize was that you have to find yourself beyond your strength. Beyond what you can do for the school or society.”

“Yeah?” It's quiet, muffled into the cloth of your shirt.

“Yeah.” You confirm, moving to cup his cheeks and pull his head back to look at you, which he allows “But also he was a crazy genocidal maniac, so-”.

At this, he laughs weakly, and you smile sympathetically.

“Some people clean diners with their curse technique, some slaughter villages, some have no sense of self beyond it-” Was his sarcastic half-attempt at a joke and you just roll your eyes and wrap him in a bear hug, squeezing him like you wanted him to melt right into your skin.

It feels like forever you just hold him like that.

“If it makes you feel better,” You mutter into the top of his hair “You've always been anything but your stupid curse technique to me.”.

He lifts himself from your chest, leaning back to look up at you “How so?”.

“Well,” you hum, thinking “When I think ’Gojo’ I think of the guy that harrasses me at work-”.

He chuckles, nodding.

“-I think of a devoted, albeit irritating by all accounts, mentor to some fairly kickass kids. I think of a handsome face and an infectious laugh-”

“Oh, now you're just stroking my ego.” He chides.

“No! I’m serious! Shut up for once, big mouth.” You scowl at him but there's no real fire behind it as he shrugs and interlocks his fingers behind his head. He’s trying to act nonchalant but you can see the tips of his ears turning red.

“I think of that one time you dropped by to see me, and you didn't know it but I had just broken up with my boyfriend that morning. I still had to work because I couldn't afford not to but all I wanted to do was stay in bed and cry like a little bitch. But then you showed up and all of a sudden it was bearable.”

He rolls his bottom lip between his teeth, humming as his blush creeps from his ears all the way across the exposed portions of his cheeks.

“You mean a lot to me, Gojo.” You tell him, earnestly “And if you woke up tomorrow to find yourself stripped of every little bit of cursed energy- If you showed up at my door just a normal dude- nothing would change.”.

“You promise?” He asks, his voice small and hopeful, almost childlike.

“I swear, Gojo-”

“Satoru. Call me Satoru.”

“I swear, Satoru.”

And then he's pulling you into him by your collar, pressing his lips to yours. You kiss him back, unsurprised to find that he's just as amazing at kissing as he is at anything else. It's precise at first, methodical, slowly pushing boundaries as his hands move to the nape of your neck and his tongue glides across your lips. You grant him entry, feeling the world around you melt as he explores your mouth with his tongue like he couldn't get enough, like he was memorizing all the ways his tongue could slot against yours.

He sucks on your bottom lip, grunting and nipping at the flesh, causing you to gasp and rock against him. He hisses at the friction, his hands moving to your hips to push you down harder, forcing you to feel the way his cock grows harder with every stroke.

It would never, ever be enough to get you off but the fact that you were dry humping Satoru Gojo was enough to have you throwing your head back in search of air, your hands finding purchase on his shoulders as he licks a stripe from your collar bone to your chin.

“Fuck-” He spits, rocking you harder against his clothed erection “I think I have a praise kink. I've never been so horny in my whole life-”.

At this, you laugh, looking down at him with adoration.

“Yeah, buddy?” You tease and he squeezes your sides to reprimand the action “You want more?”.

His face turned a shade of brick you didn't think possible as he stuttered out a half chuckle “I-I don't- maybe?”.

“Maybe? Just maybe? You're awfully pretty but I'm gonna need a solid answer, Satoru~” You coo, testing the waters. His cock twitches beneath you and his breathing falters. He found his answer immediately.

“Yes, oh my god keep talking-” his whines, his hands fumbling erratically to get you out of your shirt.

“You're such a good boy.” You tell him as he pulls your bra off with a vengeance, like it owed him money “You make me so happy. You know why I haven't made a move on you yet, baby? I just didn't want to lose you, you're so-”.

You cut yourself off with a gasp and a whine as he pulled one of your nipples into his mouth, his other hand kneading your neglected breast with ferocity and desperation.

“Don't stop, don't you dare fucking stop.” His words are aggressive but his tone is high pitched and whiny, needy.

“You're so nice to look at, don't know what I’d do without that gorgeous face.” You look down at him and slide your thumbs along his temples, catching his blindfold and tossing it behind him carelessly “Wanna see your eyes, babe. You're too beautiful to hide from me.”.

He groans against your chest, his hand plunging into the soft material of your pants and immediately toying with your clit.

You couldn't believe this was actually happening. You’d always thought he was attractive, but that was just the thing. You and every other person with eyes. You hadn't allowed yourself to ever even toy with the idea of fooling around with Gojo because, well, he was Gojo. How had you ended up here, watching the pupils of his inhumanly gorgeous eyes blow wide and roll back in his head as he drew the world’s most perfectly timed circles on your clit?

“So good, Satoru. So fuckin’ good-” You keen, tugging back on the snowy silk of his hair to expose his throat to you, lapping at the skin there with as much adoration as you can muster. His fingers prod at your entrance and you experimentally suck hard against the sweet pale skin of his neck.

“Fuck, fuckfuck-” he sputters, sinking his pointer and index into you almost in reward to your action, curling and shifting until he hits that spongey spot that has you whimpering against his throat and rocking you hips in time to meet his movements “God damn, you're so tight. Can't wait to ruin it, baby. Just like I always wanted-”.

“You-” You jerk back to meet his gaze with a shocked expression “You thought about this before?”. He picks up pace, this speed brutal and almost too much and yet so, so delicious. Just like him.

He grins, devilish “Only every night since I first laid eyes on you. You have no idea how many times I’ve cum to the thought of you.”.

He's speaking over your mewls, delighting in the way your face twists and contorts with every thrust. Your indistinguishable sounds meld more and more into words until you're saying nothing but his name, over and over, and he feels your cunt fluttering around his fingers. Before you can cum, he withdraws, smirking like the cheeky little prick he is as you whine at the empty feeling.

“Satoru! I was gonna-!” He plugs your mouth with his soiled fingers, groaning as he swipes them back and forth over your tongue.

“What was that?” He asks tauntingly.

“I don't think I quite caught- ah, haha, fuck!” He giggles as you glare and bite down on his fingers in protest and he responds by shoving them in further, causing you to gag just a bit while his other hand dips below the band of his sweats, stroking himself in earnest. You get the hint and swirl your tongue along the length of his fingers in earnest, bobbing your head and moaning as if it were his cock poking at the back of your throat.

“Can't take it anymore, need you so bad-” He pants, withdrawing his fingers from your lips and bringing his hand around your head to pull you forward by your hair to kiss you, shuffling downwards until he's fully flat beneath you- well, almost. He's entirely too tall for your sad excuse of a sofa, one knee cocked awkwardly beneath you and the other dangling down onto the floor.

You giggle at him against his lips as he completely ignores what has got to be the most uncomfortable position in the world, pawing at your waistband desperately like he couldn't stand to see them on you for another second.

“C’mon, needy-” You tease as you lift yourself off of him, offering out your hand “Bedroom.”.

He looks like he wants to protest, but takes your hand anyway, playfully smacking your ass and causing you to yelp as you lead him down the short hallway to your bedroom.

“Aye!” You chastise and he just giggles like a little boy.

“I’ve always wanted to do that.” He sounds ridiculously satisfied with himself.

The minute you're over the threshold of the bedroom you go ahead and rid yourself of your bottoms, finding a sense of pride in the way he shamelessly eyes you over, swallowing thickly, red in the face.

“Mm? What is it, Satoru?” You purr, reaching up to pull his face down to meet your lips, sighing as he swirls his tongue against yours languidly.

“You're so pretty. So pretty.” He murmurs against your lips, and you smile against him. You knew there was a really sweet man underneath his teasing nature, and hearing it poke through has butterflies erupting in your belly.

Your kiss your way from his lips to his jaw, down his neck, nipping at his skin along the way until your kneeling in front up him, planting teasing kisses to the bulge in the front of his pants, loving the way his hands shake at the contact as they move to pet your hair.

“Y/n” He strains, and it sounds like a warning. His eyes are squeezed shut and his brow is furrowed, all his effort seemingly being used to restrain himself.

You hum in question, mischievously giggling as you tug at his sweatpants until they're pooling around his ankles, watching in awe as his cock springs free. He's huge, of course he's huge. He's Satoru Gojo. Your cunt clenches in anticipation, and you want nothing more than for him to rearrange your guts, but you sit on that feeling for the moment, unwilling to let the opportunity to get back at him for ruining your orgasm go to waste.

From there, you start at the inside of his knees, trailing sloppy kisses along the smooth inside of his thighs, and he lets out little pitchy whines in between breaths that tickle your ears and pet your pussy. You can feel your own arousal seeping down your bare legs, desperate for him.

“If you don't put my dick in your mouth, like, yesterday I am gonna loose my shit-” His eyes open, just barely as he watches you, sputtering out a low and throaty moan as you apply little kitten licks to his balls, bringing up one hand to thumb over the head of his cock and smear the precum leaking out of the tip across his frenulum.

“That so?” You murmur against the skin of his sack before pulling it into your mouth, stroking the top half of his dick at a tantalizing pace.

“Ah, holy shit-” He bucks into your hand, aching for more as your cheeky little giggle makes your lips vibrate against him “I’m s-so serious, y/n. You're playing with fire.”.

“I'll take my chances.” You smirk up at him.

“Don't.” He warns, his voice teasing but breathy, and then hisses as you drag the pointed tip of your tongue against the underside of his shaft, eyes full of mischief and ignoring him completely.

“Three.”

You raise your eyebrows in mocking question. Was he giving you a countdown?

You press your lips to the tip of his cock, pressing almost chaste kisses to the slit. He shudders.

“Two.”

You love the way he accidentally slips into sensei mode sometimes. It has you dripping. You want him to put you in your place.

You swirl your tongue around the tip and pump him once, twice-

“One.”

You look on your face was pure joy as you pushed your tongue out and flattened it against the underside of his cockhead, shaking your entire head back and forth teasingly.

“You're done.” He chuckles as the hands that had been loosely caressing your hair all of a sudden tangle hard in the locks and slam you down on his cock with reckless abandon, causing you to cough and gag around his girth.

The groan that escapes him is fucking music to your ears as he fucks your face with fervor, one hand coming down to rest under your jaw and feel himself poking at the tender muscle if your throat from the outside. You can't breathe, and you don't want to. You can't think, and you don't want to. In this moment, you only want to exist for him to use as he sees fit. As degrading as it is, as fucking disgusting as you feel with tears and drool streaming down your face, it turns you on to no end.

“Goddamn it, babe-” He grunts, pulling you off of him with a single fist in your hair, staring down at you with a heaving chest as he watches the strings of spit stretch and snap from his cock to your mouth in awe.

For a moment, all is silent, nothing but the sound of your mixed heavy breathing coating the room. And then your eyes wander from his face to his chest and you absolutely burst out laughing.

“Wha- Hello?” He starts giggling too when you snort, your forehead resting against his muscular thigh and your hands gripping his knee for some sort of purchase. You aren't sure if you're crying because you're laughing or because you just had approximately ten inches of cock crammed down your throat.

“I can't-” You wheeze, trying desperately to communicate “I can't take you seriously in that fuckin’ shirt!”.

He looks down with wide eyes and barks out a laugh “Dude, I totally forgot!”.

His hands find yours, pulling you to your feet as you both cackle, any dominant tension completely obliterated as you giggle into the fabric of that stupid fucking shirt.

He tips you back to press his lips to yours before muttering against you:

“You’re so fun. Get your goofy ass on this bed so I can fuck you stupid, dork.”

He didn't have to tell you twice.

Thankfully, he does remove the shirt before he goes to settle over top of you, but you stop him with a hand on his chest. He eyes you incredulously as you push on one side of his chest, guiding him to lay down flat on his back.

“You sure you can keep up with me?” He asks, impressed and a little playfully flummoxed at your bold decision.

“It's not that-” You take his hand and let him guide you, whimpering as you settle over his waist and his cock makes much needed contact with your clit “I just wanna take care of you, Satoru. Let someone else do the work for once.”.

He hisses as you rock the head of your clit against him, whining at the delicious friction for a few moments, killing two birds with one stone; giving you both pleasure and lubing him up with the steady stream of arousal that was seeping out of you. Deciding you’re ready, you lift up a bit, reaching underneath you to help guide the tip of his cock into your hole.

“Condoms?” He whimpers, something resembling common sense seeping through the lust filled haze.

“No need, unless you're not clean.” You grab his hand and guide him so he can feel the implant under your bicep.

He manages to throw you a look, full of faux-offense “Why would I be the one with the STD?”.

You just stare at him for a moment, your face all-knowing, until the two of you erupt into giggles again. You hoped he never matured. This version of him was your favorite.

He playfully smacks your ass “Hurry up, I wanna feel you- ah, ah fuck-”.

You sink down onto him slowly, watching his face fall open in pleasure with every inch deeper. Halfway down, his eyes roll back and his hands find purchase on your hips, willing you down a little quicker than you’re ready for but you allow it, too satisfying with the way he's blubbering beneath you, too satisfied with the stretch of him stuffing you to the absolute brim.

For a moment, you still, breathing heavy and bracing yourself against his abdomen with your palms as you struggle to adjust. You swore you could feel him in your throat.

“Y’okay?” He murmurs, his hands twitching at your sides, fighting his last shred of sanity as you nod and brace yourself to begin bouncing on his cock. His grip tightens on your waist and he says your name to grab your attention.

“Not yet, you'll tear something. Start like this-” He moves your hips with a vice grip, rocking you back and forth instead of up and down, every roll of your hips causing him to grind against your g-spot just right. It feels like lightning shooting through your core and you find yourself letting out little whimpers with every motion. Eventually he takes his hands off you and places them behind his head, alternating between watching with adoration in his eyes the place where your centers meet and the way your face scrunches in pleasure as you chase your high.

“That's it, baby.” He praises, breathless “Look at you, taking me so well. How's it feel, hm?”.

“So good, ‘Toru-” You keen as the pressure builds, and builds, and builds; fluttering you eyes closed and rocking faster, you miss the way his eyes sparkle at the new name. One of his hands reaches forward to thumb your clit in time with your movements and your pussy clenches around him in response, twitching and quivering around him as you dangle dangerously close to the edge.

“Oh my god, yes! ‘Toru- fuck- gonna cum, pleaseplease-!”

“Cum for me, baby-” His other hand reaches forward to push three fingers against your waist with a bit of force, just above your pubic bone and holy shit- Where'd he learn that trick?

The added pressure had your vision blurring white as you cried out a blended song of pleasure, collapsing into his chest as he groaned beneath you, his thumb still circling your clit as he helped you ride out your high.

You’ve barely had the time to collapse against his chest before he takes control from underneath, pounding into you with force. There's no pain save the overstimulation as the high of your previous orgasm never really ended, and all you can feel is him. He surrounds you, and invades you, bullying his tongue into your mouth with fervor, keening and whining with every thrust. He sounds so desperate. You're ears struggle to make out which sound is his and which is yours.

The overstimulation builds to a point you've yet to experience, tears pooling in your eyes and streaking down your face, shaken loose with the force of every thrust that rocks your body and smooths your brain.

“S-satoru-!” You cry out “Too much, please, it's too much-!”.

“Nonono-” He shushes you through pained and ragged breaths “I’m almost there baby just a little more. You can do that f’me, yeah? Be good, be good-”.

He thrusts become a little uneven as he shamelessly chases his own high, and you openly sob as he brings one hand to the nape of your neck and snakes one arm around the small of your back, pulling you entirely flush against him.

“Thank you, baby- fuck, thank you thankyouthank-” He babbles in your ear, barely above a whisper, and the sound is enough to send another oragasm rolling over you- or maybe the first one never really ended.

Instinctively, your teeth latch onto his shoulder and he hisses as his hips stutter and stall, hit ropes of cum coating your walls for what feels like forever. With a whimper, he shallowly thrusts a few times, fucking his cum into you as far as possible before slowly pulling out.

Slowly, he goes limp, his hold on you becoming loose and languid as you both catch your breath.

Eventually, he flips you down behind him, wrapping his arm around your waist and burying his head into the soft valley of your shoulder.

“Satoru,” You complain “I’m gross-”.

Kiss-bitten lips press soft kisses to your shoulder, and he hums in acknowledgment, but doesn't let you up.

find me elsewhere here

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru #jjk x reader #jjk #gojo smut #jjk gojo #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #stsg if u squint #cope fic #fix it fic #satoru gojo

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coloursflyaway · 17 hours

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hi this is ouija board anon ☺️ so glad to hear that my prompt will get two different interpretations! how fun!! feel free to use this ask to answer with the second fic if you’d like 💘 thanks for sharing!!

Hi and thank you so much for reaching out! I'll use this ask now, just so I can keep the original prompt until the other one is written 😊 And thank you so much for sending it in in the first place, I had a lot of fun with it!

“Charles”, Edwin starts, and there is something in his voice, something in between bewilderment and quiet displeasure, but still fond somehow. It’s one of the things that Charles likes about him most, that no matter how annoyed Edwin might get with him, there’s always an undercurrent of affection when he talks to him.

Charles might have had to question most relationships in his life, but he’s never had to question this one. Edwin likes him, has liked him for over ten years now, and Charles has vowed to himself never to take that for granted.

“Yeah, what’s up?”, he asks, sitting up straighter, just in case whatever is bothering Edwin will need more attention than a quip and a smile. It seldom does, especially when they are between cases, but one never knows.

“Why is there a ouija board in our office?” Edwin demands to know, holding the box up like it has personally offended him. It’s kind of cute, in a very Edwin kind of way.

“Oh!” Charles gets up, suddenly excited, because even if Edwin is the clever one between them, he’s actually proud of this one. “Isn’t that mint? I picked it up in one of the shops around the corner – and yes, I did leave some money behind, don’t worry – because I thought it might come in handy in future cases. You know, we could talk to someone who’s alive with it?”

“Why would you want to talk to someone who is alive?”, Edwin asks, prim in a way that means he hates the words coming out of his mouth, and usually, Charles can read him like an open book, but there is something strange about him now. A bit frantic, maybe, a bit unmoored.

“They might have something interesting to say?”, Charles offers, confused, and gets up so he can walk over to Edwin, pluck the ouija board from his hand. “See, they have this little planchette thing, we could move that around to ask a question-“

“But why would you want to ask a living person anything in the first place?” There is something slightly shrill tinting Edwin’s voice, and Charles wants nothing more than to soothe it, even if he doesn’t know how to.

“To find out if they know something for a case?”, he tries, but it’s obviously not the right thing to say, because Edwin’s thick brows knit together, his lips thin from how tight they are pressed. Charles frantically rifles through explanations in his head, because there has to be one, but he’s coming up short.

“But are we not the Dead Boy Detectives?”, Edwin challenges, and the shrillness is still in his tone, masking something else, something Charles has the feeling might hurt.

“Yeah, sure”, Charles agrees, and looks down at the ouija board for a second. It’s nothing special, just pressed wood and paint, nothing that should upset the most brilliant boy in the world like this. “What’s really going on, Eds? It’s just a toy, and if you hate it so much, it’s not like we have to use it or anything.”

“I’ve told you not to call me that”, Edwin starts, but there is no actual heat behind it, and now that is proper worrying. “It’s just…”

His voice trails off and he deflates; Charles has to force himself not to rush in and gather Edwin up in his arms, hold him close.

“…you have, in the past few weeks, occasionally referred to the fact that you miss aspects of living”, Edwin eventually says, after far too much time, soft and almost defeated, still saying the last word like it has personally offended him. “I was wondering if the acquisition of this… thing is part of that general displeasure with being dead.”

General displeasure with being dead is what he says, but when Edwin looks up at him, that’s not what is written on his face, and suddenly, Charles can read him again, as clearly as if Edwin had spelt his thoughts out to him, letter by letter.

“Edwin”, he answers, as softly, as warmly as he can, and there is so much worry, so much hope in Edwin’s eyes that Charles’ chest aches with it, both with affection and the pain of Edwin having to be hopeful in the first place. “There’s nothing about being dead with you that I would want to change.”

And it takes a moment, but then a smile blossoms on Edwin’s lips, and Charles needs to bite his own to stop himself from thanking every deity that might want to answer for it, for Edwin believing him.

“Truly?”, Edwin asks still, but there is no hope left in his voice, because it is not necessary anymore, just a need for reassurance. There is nothing Charles would rather offer.

“Absolutely”, he responds and the word comes easy as breathing, as easy as a heartbeat would for a living person, a breath.

And Edwin nods, looking brave and calmer and happy, and when the affection Charles feels for him threatens to overwhelm him this time, he just gives into it, pulls Edwin close and against his chest and holds him tight.

And this time, unlike most others, Edwin goes willingly.

#dead boy detectives #dead boy detective agency #edwin payne #edwin paine #charles rowland #painland #payneland #paynland #chedwin #charles x edwin #edwin x charles #they just make me so happy #i want to quit my job and just write fanfic every day for 12 hours straight

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keepittoyourshelf · 2 days

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Since the algorithm on my various socials thinks I actually want to see a ton of people simping over Rhys and ACOTAR, let’s get down to the bones of why that algorithm is fucked beyond all comprehension, shall we?

I’ve never hidden the fact that I’m pro-Tamlin, not in the sense that I approve of what he did, but from the place that I believe he’s worthy of forgiveness in the same way any of the men that SJM otherwise glorifies in her work is worthy of it for any of their transgressions.

I shouldn’t have to do a paint by numbers thing here to make this obvious, but based on the actual text written by SJM in her own words, Tamlin has objectively done nothing better or worse than Rhysand has.

The big complaint is his temper, of course, and pro-Rhysies love to bullshit about how the red flags were all over book 1 and SJM is such a master at foreshadowing.

He locked Feyre in a house against her will to protect her, when she clearly didn’t want to be caged. How is that any worse than Rhysand…drugging her and making her give him lap dances, in order to protect her, when she clearly didn’t want to be dancing naked in front of strangers?

Go on. I’ll wait for your rationalization.

Rhysand’s whole shtick was that he’s only playing the villain to keep Velaris (and only Velaris) safe…those fucks in the Hewn City can eat a bag of dicks, right? But tell me again how Tamlin is the really bad one for enforcing a tithe because it’s unfair to those who can’t afford it (fair point). But Rhysand chooses to save the one city in his court that has zero problems. Let’s let those that might already be suffering from poverty get kidnapped and tortured by a psychopath. That’s probably better than a tithe, right?

And let’s not forget how Tamlin mocked Feyre and Rhys at the High Lords meeting. While funny, it was in poor taste. At least Rhysand didn’t publicly mock Tamlin. He had the decency to do it privately when he went out of his way to go to a deeply troubled man’s house and, in the midst of an obvious mental health crisis, not only had the gall to ask for resources from a man that has no resources because his own wife fucking destroyed them out of spite, but proceeds to rub in his triumph over a man that has nothing left. Nothing to see there, right?

Even if you could ignore all of that (and you’d have to be willfully fucking thick to do so, which a lot of these people are), I shall leave you with Tamlin’s role as a spy for Hybern. That’s obviously supposed to be a real shock because TaMliN BaD at this point, so why would anyone believe him? It’s not like he had a really good explanation like Rhys gave when he murdered literal children and innocents just to ensure Amarantha didn’t know how noble he actually was. Right? RIGHT?! And it’s not like anyone would have a harder time believing someone who had played evil and done actually evil things for the “greater good” (a collectivist dog whistle if there ever was one) for fifty fucking years over the dude that suddenly goes bad after being a progressive and respected high lord for the same period of time? I mean, it’s not like we’re dealing with severe mental anguish and trauma here. That’s crazy talk.

Shadow Daddy does no wrong. Even when he does. Because reasons.

Those idiots on TikTok making stupid videos showing their bf’s being all shocked and I KNEW IT when Tamlin “turns” can chew glass along with all those dipshits selling mugs that say “Tamlin’s Tears” on Etsy right next to merch glorifying a man that literally gaslit his soulmate into believing that forced drunken naked lap dances were actually a good thing, when you think about it.

SJM isn’t a master of foreshadowing. She’s a sloppy writer of moderately entertaining fiction that has a kink for glorifying severely unhealthy behaviors without the benefit of a trigger warning.

Fuck off if you think that’s all okay and think that anyone that says Tamlin isn’t any worse comparatively is the crazy one. Projection is a real disorder. Look it up. Right after you order your 543rd Rhysand candle.

#anti rhysand #anti feysand #anti sjm #anti feyre #pro tamlin #anti inner circle #anti acotar #sjm critical

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infiniteko · 2 days

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Hi what was your life journey like before & after nd? why/how did you come across it in the first place and what changed after it clicked if anything? no one on nd tumblr talks about their everyday life growth journey they just repeat " " . i asked someone this question and they told me they werent on a growth journey and it makes no sense to ask someone who isnt "suffering" or dealing with whatever advice on how to stop if they dont know what its like.

The reason why no one is talking about their "personal experience" Is because once you wake up, you understand that there is no person, and there is no past experience, only the "effect" of a past or person and even that is not what it seems to actually be in reality. It's not about growing, it's about Knowing. So, everything someone might say about what was "before AV" is not what actually what was/is.

Another reason people don't talk about it is because it's not about that. It's about Knowing yourself and once you know your own Being, you know everything else because there is nothing else other than the "indescribable" that you have to notice by yourself. That's where the focus is, it's not a "before and after"-thing.

My friends who have accounts here too, and the other Admins of this account we all agree on the same thing. If we all talked about our before and afters like we have been asked about 1 million times people will treat something that is a hint to yourself as a method to get something from it or to change something but it's nowhere near the core message. In order to swim, you have to know how it works. In order to fly a plane, you have to know how it works.

In order to operate your phone, you have to know how it works. Those are just very loose examples, it doesn't mean that in order to change XYZ you have to know yourself. Once you know yourself, you know that in reality, deep down, nothing changes because nothing is there. There is nothing solid that is changing. Would you call a dream solid?

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crumblinggothicarchitecture · 2 days

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Hey. This might be very stupid, but i hope you answer this.

Today I accidently got sucked into your blog, which is ironic since I'm a huge swiftie. (but I'm not here to hate on you, I swear)

The thing is for months I've been doubting where I stand on that. Like if i should call myself a swifte or not. when I was young, I used to worship the ground she walked on. but in the past year, I've slowly realised I've been very sheltered. like the problems people point out about her sometimes are actual real problems, but my brain just doesn't know how to respond to that as it has been taught taylor swift is a goddess and can do no wrong. Since your posts are tagged with #exswiftie, i figure you'd understand.

I am not from america, so I can understand then politics part of it all only to a certian extend. the other things, I just dont know what to say to that. The most i can reply is..."yes that is a bit of a problem". I feel don't feel like a swiftie at that moment.

I had fed my mind this narrative that people who hate taylor swift passionately are like untrustworthy or just a walking red flag, or just "don't get it". Now after reading your actual breakdowns I understand you have a rather educated opinion and perception of things. Which clearly rules out my narrative.

I don't know what I feel like I have to define where I stand on this, I just do. I know I genuinely enjoy her music a lot, even there are songs I don't want to hear more than once. I love the whole swiftie lore, digging deep on each lyrics finding out what they mean, finding clues easter eggs just losing my mind over surprise songs. Then i see this other side, which can't be defined with anything less than deeply toxic, which makes me question whether or not this thing i love so much is genuinely good or not.

Hello dear, apologies for the delay in reply :) I am happy to chat with you. I hope that you did not think I would ignore you.

I was also a Swiftie for nearly 15 years. I got her debut record as a Christmas present in 2006 or 2007. Though I cannot remember which year it was, I loved her from the start. At 10 years old, I was immediately interested. My mother approved of me owning her music simply because she was inoffensive. She didn’t curse or talk about sex, in the beginning, so she was deemed appropriated for my childhood self. She and I have since grown up. She is now a terribly pretentious bully- and, well, I grew up much too poor and much too hungry to turn into a bully like her.

The problem- and something I think you’re very much aware of- is that Swift has built herself up in her fandom as perfect. She encourages fans to defend her every action- and rewards them for their efforts through “Swiftmas” or “Secret Sessions” or “hidden easter eggs that only the smartest- most dedicated fans will figure out.” It’s all methodically calculated to keep up an air of reciprocity between Swift, as the fearless leader, and her band of merry misfits- the fans.

You are not dumb for falling into her rhetorical situation - she's set the marketing strategy up on purpose. It’s specifically created to attract attention- and, to make people feel good, or productive, by participating in her marketing strategy. She gives people an image of herself as a poor innocent victim of the media, or of any critique, and then rewards people for defending her. In Literary study, we call this “Pathos” as the rhetorical appeal to emotion through messaging- textual work of some kind. Rhetoric like this can be found in all sorts of media- commercials about starving children or beaten dogs, charity event banners aiming to persuade someone to donate. It’s all predicated on the appeal to our common emotion, or human capacity to empathize with each other. For, every time fans are rewarded by her attention- after defending her from a perceived enemy, or figuring out some hidden clue- they feel closer to the idol, they feel happy to have her attention. They get that emotional impact of believing they are helping Taylor Swift, or understanding her better on some more human, connected, level. It’s a game of risk and reward for her. Never mind that none of this altruistic- she gets paid through our attention on her- and if you are not directly lining her pockets with your cash money, she does not actually care about you. It’s the image of caring she projects that matters much more than the fact that she doesn’t actually care.

I’m sure you can think of many more examples wherein Swift has played this game of attention and reward with fans. It’s everywhere- her easter eggs are a great example. Sometimes her use of Pathos is benign- non malicious, therefore a non-issue. However, she often weaponizes this rhetoric in a way that is harmful.

This interplay she sets up, between herself and her fans, is made more intensive through her pathos- heavy approach to Rhetoric. To further illustrate, one of the ways people often explain Pathos is by saying that it represents our, as human beings, judgement affect. We see, or hear, the narrative Swift espouses and make judgements about it. If she says: The music critics are sexist towards me. We say: 1.) Sexism is morally wrong, 2.) Taylor Swift is facing sexism from Music critics, Therefore.) The music critics are sexist and morally wrong, because they are criticizing Taylor Swift.

So, all the critics are bad- and we don't need to listen to them. It's also a way Swift creates permissive attitudes towards attacking anyone who critique's her- because she can so easily label them all as sexist.

She uses this basic syllogism to justify leveraging her fans against all kinds of people- it's not just the critics. I just wanted to give a concrete example, and I will go more in depth on this subject in another post.

She is playing with people’s emotions, while she is also self-victimizing,and leveraging her audience’s innate human rejection of, for instance, sexism as it offends our personal values. No one is saying that sexism isn't morally corrupt; however, Taylor Swift points to valid criticism and calls it sexism so that her audience will attack. People often have valid critique of Swift- She just doesn't want to face critique at all- ever. If people say her music is too self-centered- Swift says that is Sexism. If people say her music is boring- she calls it sexism. If people say her music is shallow and only centered are relationships- She calls it sexism. When, in reality, it's valid criticism that has nothing to do with her being a woman. Only ever writing songs about your own myopic, self-centered perception of interpersonal relationships is shallow. Her music is objectively boring, because it's derivative. Her music is completely self-centered- and she only admits to that when it benefits her, but when critics say it, she calls it sexism.

Please don’t think badly of yourself. I am not here to hate on you either- I was you. I am not here to hate on anyone at all- I just want to share how my own knowledge, and expertise, of rhetorical appeals and literary analysis can expose Taylor Swift. Swift relies on this rhetorical technique to thrive, she obfuscates the truth, schemes, and manipulates people into thinking her music is the best thing on Earth- or thinking that she is literally a Saint. Clearly- nothing on Earth is that perfect- So why does she need her fan base to consider her a genius, and a saint, so badly?

Personally, I have no problem admitting I have flaws. I think most sane people can admit to their flaws. It’s not a bad thing to have flaws. So why does Taylor Swift react to all criticism like it’s the worst thing on Earth. Why does she have a whole song about calling critics “mean/ and a liar/ and pathetic/ and alone in life” (“Mean” 2010). She has the nerve to call that song an “anti-bullying” song; yet, is it so clearly bullying that random critic who wrote a bad review about her concert one time in 2009? She really hated that guy- and all he was doing was his job. She called him a drunken loser for just doing his job.

She's written so many songs about how all her critics are just stupid, morally corrupt, or sexist: "The Man" (2019), "Mean" (2010), "But Daddy I love Him" (2024), "New Romantics" (2014), "Shake it Off" (2014), "I know Places" (2014), "Anti-Hero" (2023), "Paris" (2023), "Blank Space" (2014), "I did something Bad" (2018), "Dancing with our hands tied" (2018). There are more songs wherein she carries this theme of "everyone is out to get me, and they all hate me for no good reason" but I think I've listed enough.

The general message is all over "Evermore" and "Folklore" too every time she calls the general public "Clowns" or "masqueraders"

It's just everywhere- her subtle devaluation of legitimate criticism. Trying to chalk it all up to the critics being simply dumb, sexist, or malicious in some way. Perhaps some people are mean- true- but to generalize every criticism as evil? That's just her actually playing a victim card. There's no way every single critic, or person who doesn't like her, is evil, bad, or malicious in some way. Okay?

I’m tired of her claiming to be an amazing person and an amazing poet- when she is just not either of those things. She’s not a kind person- it's all over her music in the ways she maliciously hurts people for fun. She’s not an amazing poet either. I have a few college degrees- and one pass through her work, with a serious intention of literary analysis, I discover that her writing is plain, banal, and derivative.

She wants everyone to compare her to Emily Dickinson, Dylan Thomas, and Shakespeare. So, I’m doing what she wants and taking her work seriously enough to critique it. Except that, in critique, I find out why it’s all poorly written- and why it’s just a bunch of thinly veiled conservative iterations of the same boring message over and over. All she ever says in her music is “poor me” and “I hate” (insert person- Kim K., Kanye, Matty, Joe, Jake, John, Scooter, Scott, Harry, Calvin, the media at large, anyone who critiques her, and men in the music industry as a whole). She has the longest list of enemies I think I’ve ever seen- and the funny thing is that all these people avoid her at all costs. None of these people talk about her- yet she is still singing, writing songs, and getting her fans to post memes about how awful they are years, even decades, later.

It all gets a bit tiresome? No? Personally, I don’t wish to live a life full of such self-pity and hatred- so why should I listen to it in music form? Ya know?

In my posts, I am attempting to find the truth. I don’t want to “hate” on anyone or anything- but I am going to seek truth in her work.

I will be posting more about how she devoids Shakespeare of his social reformist efforts. I’m going to post more about how she twists the meaning of every literary reference she’s ever made. I am not kidding, she has misrepresented, and misinterpreted every single literary reference in her entire discography. It’s astounding how hard Swift tries to sound thoughtful- without actually being thoughtful. I will be posting about how she only ever name-drops to either tear other people down or self-depreciate herself in effort to seek pity. I will be talking more about her use of rhetorical appeals to both attract an audience, keep their attention through risk-reward trade-off, and manipulate them into fighting her battles for her. I will be talking about how she upholds a bunch of harmful stereotypes in her music. She often alludes, or blatantly includes allusion to colonialist attitudes. She’s used the LGBT community for profit without making any real activist efforts. She’s leveraged feminism like a weapon against other women- yet never actually has feminist themes in her music. She’s just so painfully hollow- upon closer inspection.

I don’t hate her as a person. I think she’s unethical, sure, but that doesn’t mean I hate her, want her to die, or anything extreme at all. I would never wish harm to another human being. In fact, after seeing a lot of the harmful stuff in her music, especially about her kind of fucked up views on relationships, I sincerely hope she gets some professional help and finds some peace in this world. When I critique Taylor Swift it’s about her work and her brand- It's not about her personhood.

I just think that no one Earth is above reproach, or critique, and we must all be held accountable for our own actions. She’s the one that puts her work out there for people- It's therefore completely appropriate for me to discuss her work.

Edit: Oh and I want to add- I wish you luck in figuring out what you really think about Taylor Swift. If you ever need to talk or vent more- my inbox is always open. :) With peace and love- bye bye

#anti taylor swift #taylor swift criticism #anti swifties #ex swiftie #taylor swift #taylor swift critical #literary theory #literary criticism #pathos #rhetorical appeal #rhetoric #rhetorical situation

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monstersinthecosmos · 2 days

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Hi, completely agree with what you said here but it makes me very sad to think about it. As someone who imprinted on Armand at 12, Marius/Armand was my first ship in VC but I find it hard to ship them post Venice era, even though Blood Communion seems to suggest some positive developments in their relationship (Marius standing behind Armand during his argument with Benedict supporting Armand being his own person iirc?). Idk I want them to work their shit out but it’s still hard to imagine them putting their differences aside sans an apocalyptic scenario like in QotD.

And sometimes idk if Marius loves Armand enough to work on it. I know that the corner of tumblr that loves Marius (And I certainly understand the appeal of a complicated and polarizing character like him. Kudos to Anne for creating Marius!) likes to push the idea that the turning of Benji and Sybelle was mostly out of love (and to a varying extent depending on the person’s pov, due to Marius’ mental health issues) but how much was that love and how much was it ‘my pet needs to have pets so that he stays alive for ME’. Not saying these 2 motivations are mutually exclusive but I’m genuinely curious about your views.

I’m rambling but guess what I’m trying to say is, how much do you think Marius’ love for Armand is unselfish, whether in Venice, at the end of TVA or after Blood Communion?

Asdghjakl yeah I have really similar feelings about them as a ship! Like the Venice era is my favorite time period in the VC but modern/present-day Marius/Armand doesn’t really hit the same way for me because it’s just such a motherfuckin mess lol.

What I do want to say, though, is that we’re kind of dancing around a topic here that involves the inhumanity and inherent monstrosity of Marius, and while I tend to think “THEY’RE VAMPIRES” is a lazy approach to analysis, there’s a deeper version of it that’s relevant here.

What I mean is that Marius can love Armand truthfully, sincerely, unselfishly and STILL cause harm, and still love him imperfectly, and still cause problems. I think when we really wanna start dissecting Marius/Armand as a ship, and the Venice era as a whole, and whatever trauma it left on Armand vs Marius’s motivations/intentions/character morals, it’s important to remember that Marius was not human.

I think a lot about like, when we say that Armand is a “pet”, or that Denis, Daniel, Benji, and Sybelle are Armand’s pets, there’s sort of a connotation or shorthand to TLDR that it’s their cute little human. But I think about like, for example!, my fucking cats! Like, when I think about ACTUAL pets IRL, um, I would fuckin die for my cats? They’re my lil babies? I love them so fully and with my entire fucking soul but they’re dumb little animals that live in my house and I take care of them and I don’t think they have a single thought in their fucking skulls.

So when you think about like, a 1500 year old immortal night creature adopting a little human, he can love Armand with his ENTIRE being, and I believe he really really did, and it’s still “aww the cute lil human that I feed”. And Marius is unique amongst the vampires for how hard he tries to stay connected to the human world, and it’s still never enough, he’s still never quite there, so I have always believed he had the right intentions even if he fumbled it or did things that could cause harm. It’s not like, he’s a ~MONSTER~ in a scary way, but literally, he’s so removed from humanity that he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing.

(Don’t let me get into a side essay here but it reminds me so much of like, imperfect boomer parenting, like looking at different generations’ parenting styles and realizing how much harm they caused, but most people aren’t intending to harm their children and just don’t know any better. Every generation will likely experience a form of this as we learn and grow and try to be better, but I find this really interesting for Marius specifically because of the age of the author!)

He was fifteen hundred years old when he met Armand. I think in a lot of ways he acted with good intentions that wound up causing a lot of harm. But it does a disservice to the story and to him as a character to only look at the outcome, without considering the universe he’s operating in.

And idk like, where is the line between selfish and selfless love? Like, Marius is clearly a fucking mess at the beginning of TVA and didn’t take the news of Armand’s suicide very well. Is it selfish to do something drastic because he’s worried that Armand is still suicidal? Where does one end and the other begin? Especially with immortals like, is your own death a gift? Is it an act of kindness to save someone’s life instead of allowing them to check out? Idk idk! Grief is fucking messy, it can be both, but I don’t think it’s fair to characterize it as purely for himself. He even immediately fucks off to Norway in shame afterwards. I think I prefer to think he just wanted Armand to be happy and safe. By the end of the book they're still struggling to communicate with each other about religion, and in some ways I think Marius doesn't think Armand truly wanted to die, vs seeing a religious fit for what it is. So I'm not sure he sees Armand's suicide attempt as sincere, either, and maybe doesn't feel the need to respect his wish for death.

I think a lot about the conversation Marius has with Armand after he turns Benji & Sybelle and realizes how bad he fucked up.

"You loved them selflessly," he whispered. "For all their strange faults, and wild evil, they were not compromised for you. You loved them perhaps more respectfully than I... than I ever loved you." He seemed so amazed. I could only nod. I wasn't so sure he was right. My need for them had never been tested, but I didn't want to tell him so.

Even at 500 years old, Marius still doesn’t entirely understand Armand as a complete person. He doesn’t completely understand Armand’s needs, or the person he wants to be, or what his human companions were to him. I think it even starts when Armand is still alive, how Marius treats him like a silly little pet, like, Armand’s piety is a cute little quirk that Marius humors without ever truly respecting. It doesn’t occur to him that Benji & Sybelle aren’t just pets. And I think Marius being stuck in his trauma means he’s just perpetually trying to believe in himself and control everything around him, while Armand stuck in trauma means he’s constantly trying on different roles and figuring out who he is.

(But FUCK ME, christ, “I wasn't so sure he was right. My need for them had never been tested, but I didn't want to tell him so.” this really fucks me up so bad, we have to keep talking about this another time because like, these two can NOT communicate with each other! They are useless with the barrier between them maybe they need to drink from each other more often and iron this out.)

Someone can do their best, and mean well, and still cause harm. Humans do this, too. I’m sure we’ve all been there. And Marius is a great example of vampires being stuck in the trauma of their turning—it doesn’t matter how wise he tries to be, he always comes back to the same trauma, over and over. Even the way he treats Armand in Venice is a direct result of Marius trying to fix his own trauma. And like, would therapy even work on a vampire, or are their brains stuck forever where they were? How much of their “changing” is just learning behavior, and learning to mask?

Because I think Marius 100% could do that for Armand. He loves Armand. Armand is his child. He was the first fledgling Marius ever made of his own will, after 1500 years! But I think canon left us off in a place where neither of them are quite there yet. Marius is in decent shape at the end of the series, I think—it feels like he’s made some huge strides in accepting himself and his nature, so I think there’s some potential! Armand also has to learn how to use his fuckin words a little bit better, which he’s never been good at, but I think the way he goes off on Lestat after keeping that inside for 200 years is a really great sign!

I go back and forth about “does therapy even work on vampires” all the time, like, do they have neuroplasticity, are they capable of change, have we uncovered something in the PL Trilogy that could be a key to them functioning better and learning to change. I don’t really have an answer because canon doesn’t, it’s just a fun thing to think about, but it’s the best way that I can reconcile Marius’s intentions vs his actions, and how he somehow continues to make the same mistakes and never learns!

Basically, I think it’s not helpful to ask if Marius loves him enough. He does! But loving someone doesn’t mean we magically know how to behave, and the qualities in Marius that cause him to behave selfishly are so deeply tied to his trauma, his control issues, his use of ego as a defense mechanism. And even in real life we can have boundaries and hold people accountable when they hurt us, even if it’s because of mental illness. We can have empathy and still have boundaries, and we can be hurt and still know when something wasn't personal. That feels kinda IRL and serious to frame vampire meta but like, Marius can love people and still fuck up, because he can’t help it, and I don’t think it’s a fair reading of the text to insist he’s a diabolical abuser because it just doesn’t really match his characterization otherwise.

I hope he gets better!

#trauma hole theory #marius de romanus #marius/armand #armand #the vampire armand #tva quotes #vc quotes #vampire chronicles #deep ass thoughts about vampires

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yuri-for-businesswomen · 21 hours

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actually i think its transphobic to say „transwomen are women“ when they are transwomen and „transmen are men“ when they are transmen - because its erasing their trans experience, them being trans.

i know this sounds like a joke but im serious.

for example, yesterday i saw a video where couples did lie detector tests together and there was one couple that was a man and a transwoman; i clocked her immediately (which is not a moral judgement of any kind she seemed like a cool person honestly). anyways one of the questions the man had was if she saw him as a straight man? and she said yes. and he made some other comments that showed clearly that he was struggling with his sexuality because he is with a transwoman but considers himself heterosexual. i know that for example blair whites partner is also vocal about how hetero he is.

and i genuinely feel sorry for trans people who are in a relationship with someone like that because they are so clearly uncomfortable with them being trans? and i feel like its very counterintuitive to reassure them theyre heterosexual, which in this context means „its okay to be with a trans person not because being trans is okay but because they are actually the opposite sex“. do you know what i mean? instead of saying „there is no shame in being bisexual“ and „there is no shame in being with a person who is trans“ they say „there is no shame in being with a trans person because they are actually the opposite sex“.

just something i noticed. trans activists call out trans erasure when the whole claiming they are the opposite sex is erasing trans experiences. we should work on the acceptance of trans people as they are and make it accepted to be with trans people instead of telling the people who are attracted to but uncomfortable being with trans people that them being trans does not matter and reassure them theyre still heterosexual. its bi erasure too lowkey, and a whole lot of homophobia.

#mine #gender #the insisting on twaw and tmam causes more issues than just recognising (medically transitioned) trans people as their own category

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literary-motif · 2 days

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Hey! I really really love your writing!!<3

I was wondering if you could write a fluff of Zaros and reader. Where zaros says something extremely hurtful to reader then immediately regrets it and he starts to feel extremely bad. After that he makes it up for them, while he makes it for them reader can obviously tell that zaros has feelings for them and that he’s bad at hiding his true feelings. (I’m sorry if this isn’t clear!! I’m trying to explain my vision but idk how T-T)

Thank you!!<333

I Mean What I Say

Zaros Atha'lin x Reader

Warnings: survivor's guilt

When Zaros saw you in the garden, the corners of his lips perked up. The usual feeling of warmth in his chest at the sight of you was overshadowed by resentment.

The talk with his mother had been rather heavy. She was beyond disappointed, furious even that he fell behind in the trials now that the throne was so close. It had not been his fault, truthfully.

He had tried his best, but it was an open secret that had him questioning the impartiality of the scholars constructing these trials that you were stronger than him, therefore beating him in physical combat, and more popular, easily securing your favor with the nobles and the people in a vote of confidence.

Nira had been furious, telling him to do better, reminding him about how important this was both for the good of Serulla and the Atha’lin family. It hurt to know that his best was not good enough, that he was not equipped enough despite his hard work to bridge the gap years of unfair advantage had given you.

He was desperate, the self-satisfied grin you had given him as the Serulla people cheered for you had burned a hole through his heart. What had you done to deserve their favor? He actually had ideas and plans to make life easier for them yet you had won them over with a few empty promises and forced smiles because you were the Earis and he was nothing more than a post-disgraced leech.

“Come to gloat?” he quipped, stepping up beside you. The seething rage and the feeling of injustice boiling within had turned his voice sharp.

He knew you enjoyed watching him fail when he had been so confident in the beginning. It was a small mercy you did not outright mock him on that stage, turning him into a laughingstock for the entire kingdom.

You did not look up, instead keeping your eyes fixed on your brother’s grave.

The garden was kept in perfect condition, but not all the riches in the vaults under the castle could halt the passage of time that slowly began chiseling away his name on the stone. It had been years, but his absence still left an aching void in your chest.

With the trials nearly completed, you could not help but wish for him to take the throne instead. It was his right, after all. No matter the days, weeks, or years you spent perfecting yourself, trying to become someone worthy of your mother’s legacy and the place he should have taken instead, you always fell short.

You wished you had more of your brother’s kindness, more of his calmness. You wished he was here to teach you the art of subtlety, about talking for hours with someone who did not share your view on things and emerge with a compromise. You wished you had more of his charms, his carefree appearance when you knew he contemplated all his actions carefully.

You wished he was here to cheer you on and guide you. But most of all, you wished he was here instead of you.

“I am not in the mood, Zaros,” you said bleakly. How long had it been that you were staring at the cold grave? The grass had turned humid, staining your robes and making you shiver as a gust of wind blew through the garden.

“I wonder what he would have thought of you,” he said, deaf to your quiet melancholy. “Then again, the way I knew him, he would be ashamed of you.”

It was not like him to provoke you this harshly. His teases had always been that, with a few truths and thinly veiled resentments added here and there, but never outright mocking. But with defeat hanging over him and the taste on his tongue of the trials rigged in your favor, even Zaros could not contain himself anymore.

Everyone had their breaking point.

“What the hell is your problem?” you spat, rising to your feet and spinning around to face him. The heavy quiet of your contemplations was broken by the fury now coursing through you.

Zaros stared back at you, giving a low chuckle at your clenched fists and furrowed brows. “Losing control again?” he mocked, “How do you think that will look on you when you have a crown on your head? At least he” — he pointed to the grave — “knew how to keep it together and actually cared about the people!”

“And what do you suppose I do about that?” you screamed, digging your nails into your palms to suppress the need to break something. “What do you want from me? Should I go and look for a mage to bring him back? Should I summon an entity and trade my life for his? It’s not my fault he’s dead!”

“Maybe you should,” Zaros said coldly, the iciness in his voice freezing your blood and making you feel hollow. “Serulla would be better off without you, so perhaps you should look for a way to atone for the fact it was him who died and not you.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but whatever venom you wanted to spit died on your tongue as Zaros’ words sunk in. You could only huff as your hands began to shake, the tightness in your throat choking you as tears blurred your vision.

You turned before he could see them fall, leaving Zaros behind without another word. The steps you took towards the palace were measured as you tried to create the illusion of being unbothered by his cutting words. You only hoped he could not see your body trembling in the dim light.

Zaros’ gaze did not follow you. He stood frozen, his eyes fixed on the tombstone as he tried to make sense of what had just happened.

‘Should I summon an entity and trade my life for his?’

‘Maybe you should.’’

Had he really said that? He clasped a hand over his mouth, sinking to the ground in shock. Had he just told the person he loved to seek out death? His free hand grasped the grass, trying to ground himself as the world spun. What had he done?

“No— I didn’t mean it,” he muttered wide-eyed, heaving a shaking breath as waves of self-loathing washed over him. How could he have said something so cruel? What kind of person was he to let desperation and resentment guide him to say something like that?

How could he fix it? What could he possibly say to get back from that?

“I didn’t mean it,” he gasped, choking on his breath. “No, please. I didn’t mean it. Earis!” He looked up, but the garden was deserted. Of course you had gone, but where to?

‘Serulla would be better off without you.’

He needed to apologize, needed to make this right.

Zaros got up shakily. He felt sick. What if this was it? What if he had ruined all the progress you two had made in getting closer again during the trials because he had snapped today?

“Damn the trials,” he whispered, bracing himself against the stone wall as the world kept spinning around him. Your chambers were just a few doors away. “Damn the throne. I don’t want it if it means losing you.”

He reached your door, knocking on it hurriedly.

No answer.

“Earis?” he called. His voice sounded strange to his own ears, muffled and choked as if it came from far away. “Earis?” he tried again, louder this time.

“The Earis has gone out,” a servant said, poking their head around the corner, “the library is my best guess— Are you alright, Sarl Zaros?”

He nodded in thanks, waving a shaking hand in dismissal of the worried look. “Fine,” he answered curtly, stumbling towards the library before they could say another word.

‘You should look for a way to atone for the fact that it was him who died and not you.’

“Earis?” he called shakily, letting the door of the library fall shut behind him. Silence was his answer.

He leaned back, resting his head against the sturdy wood and wiping the tears from his face. He sighed, taking a deep breath and calming his racing heartbeat. If you weren’t here, he needed to—

His thoughts were interrupted by a sniffle echoing through the silence of the empty library.

“Earis,” he said softly, turning the corner to find you curled against one of the large windows. The light of the setting sun was illuminating your face in a gentle orange glow. The speck of dust in the air seemed to shine in the light, creating the illusion of warmth, when in reality the scene before him was heartbreaking.

You did not look up at his approaching footsteps, turning your head away from him instead. “Come to gloat?” you rasped, continuing to look out.

Zaros flinched as you threw his words back at him. “No, I—” he sighed, sitting next to you on the windowsill. “I’m—”

“Save it,” you said tiredly, drawing your arms closer around you. “I don’t care. You’re right anyway. He would have been a better Regent. He would have been a better heir and it’s unfair that he can’t be.”

“It is,” he said, slowly reaching out his hand to take yours, “but his qualities don’t take away from yours. You can be a good ruler just as well. I’m sorry for what I said. I know it doesn’t change anything, but I hope you can forgive me with time. I— I was frustrated and angry. That’s no excuse for—”

“Thank you,” you mumbled, allowing Zaros’ hesitant touch against your hand.

“I could withdraw from contesting for the throne.”

“What?”

Your surprised exclamation made a small smile appear on Zaros’ face. You looked at him wide-eyed. After all the trials and all the challenges you mastered together, why would he drop out so close to the finish line?

“Consider it my gift of apology,” he said, squeezing your hand. His expression grew serious again. “In truth, we both know you’ve won. There is only one trial left and I doubt I can catch up with how far you’re leading. Additionally” — he hesitated — “I’m tired of playing my mother’s games. Whatever revenge scheme she has is slowly burying me with its weight and I— I don’t want to be the person you saw today.”

You were speechless. It sounded like a joke, but the sincerity you saw in his expression convinced you that it was true. “You’d do that for me?” you asked, searching his gaze. “You’d walk away from ruling Serulla simply to say you’re sorry?”

“I’d do anything to show you that I’m anguished at what I said to you and I am sorry. I don’t want to be someone you— someone you hate. Not anymore, not when we rekindled—”

Your hand on his cheek silenced Zaros immediately. He leaned into the touch with a soft gasp, brushing his lips against your palm. You tilted his head, leaning forward to kiss him.

Zaros melted against you, his arms wrapping around your back and pulling you into him. All the tension between you seemed to melt away as he held you in his arms, your hands gently threading through his hair and making him sigh.

“I’m so glad you’re alive,” he said as you broke apart, resting his head on your shoulder and squeezing you tighter. “I’m so sorry, believe me. I lo— I—”

You hummed, slowly nodding. “I know,” you whispered, tracing circles on his back. “I’m glad you’re alive, too.”

The sky was clear, giving you and Zaros an unobtrusive view of the constellations above. You were lying in the garden, the humid grass staining your clothes, but neither of you minded. The moment was far too precious.

“Zaros?” you asked, raising his hand to your lips when he gave you a short grunt in response. “You’re one for revolutionary ideas, aren’t you?”

He chuckled, raising his head from your shoulder to look at you. “You know I am, my Earis.”

“Here’s a thought for you then: What happens if we talk to the Queen come morning, telling her to call off the noble trials, and we instead rule together?”

Zaros was silent for a moment. “Together as what?” he asked quietly.

“Partners for now, and if perhaps it develops into something more, then we shall pursue that as well.”

“Revolutionary indeed, my Earis. Count me in.”

#sakuverse #zsakuva #zaros atha’lin #zsakuva zaros #zaros atha’lin x reader #zaros x reader

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