#tagging so i can do harm to others with this development
Note
i'm so confused rn, can you explain the goncharov thing?? i get off tumblr for five minutes
(Edits closed as of 28 Nov.)
Lmaoooo
Nah I getchu. So this post has been circulating for like two years:
Link to post.
But yesterday, it had inspired someone to do this:
Link to post.
Next thing I knew there were fake Letterboxed reviews.
Goncharov moodboards. Really good ones.
Link to post.
Meta analysis. So many fake meta essays. Disturbingly good ones. And of course the memes. (Edit: HAVE I SAID THIS SHIT IS DISTURBING)
As you can see, the myth just started to grow, characters and ships and tropes being added one after the other, almost bizzarely without contradiction, until there was enough of shape to the whole thing for people to start posting fanfic about it on AO3. "No beta we die like ice-pick Joe" is already a tag.
Link to post.
It was hilarious in the beginning, but the way it's developed within less than a day, kind of like it's being willed into existence, is freaking me out a bit. We're toying with powers beyond our comprehension. 😂😂😂
Link to post.
Of course, there could be an ulterior motive as well.
Link to post (tags mine).
Edit: guys, please tag these posts "unreality" so people with disassociation issues can filter them out (not this one, this is an explainer). <3
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Edit 2: Aparently the boots in the original post are actually referring to a movie called Gomorrah that came out in 2008, directed by Mateo Garrone, based on the Scampia Feud. And other people had also been making posts about the fake movie for a while before the poster took off.
found by @thepotch
Edit 3: Explainer: why did those boots have this movie on them anyway?
Edit 4: Alt text added to all images courtesy of @valentineish ❤️
Edit 5: Turns out tumblr has done this kind of thing before. Nine years in this hell place and I had to have "Squiddles" and penis smp explained in the replies.
Edit 6: This post collects the Lore so far.
Edit 7: Lynda Carter (real one)/ earns more/ Tumblr cred.
Edit 8: Holy shit y'all we have the theme music. With sheet music. And it's on Spotify!
Edit 9: THERE IS A TRAILER WITH THE THEME MUSIC
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I made this post 18 hours after the movie poster went up. Closed edits 27 hours after first posting. So all of the above happened within 45 hours of the movie poster going up.
Edit 10: Google document live-compiling all the lore so far (Day 3)
Edit 11: Masterpost of Goncharov soundtracks (Day 3)
Edit 12: Entertainment news articles covering the Gonch-posting (real) (Contd from yday)
Edit 13: The music from the masterpost all compiled into a 31-minute original score with video edits on YouTube (edit: unfortunately taken down)
Edit 14: Staff's Goncharov art showcase for Tumblr Tuesday
As of closing on Day 3 there are 371 works in the AO3 tag.
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Updating with Day 3 shenanigans I missed yesterday:
Edit 15: Goncharov TV Tropes page
Edit 16: Ethics of Gonchposting
Important PSA 1 (how to reduce harm to Tumblr's neurodivergents)
Important PSA 2 (reality affirmation, anti-bullying)
Important PSA 3 (why you should stop trying to vandalise legit information sites)
Edit 17: Character lore from beezlebub whose poster they originated from
Edit 18: What we know about/ Director Matteo JWHJ0715 (#unreality)
Edit 19: Link to post with screenshotted and described NYT article (scroll down) and this golden exerpt from BuzzFeed: 💀
(alt text included)
End of Day 4 there are now 485 works in the Goncharov tag on AO3
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Didn't get to update this on Day 5, so these are the Day 5 doings:
More trailers!
Trailer 1 (My favourite)
Trailer 2
Trailer 3
Trailer 4
I also just found out about the Goncharov Game Jam.
It appears this opened a day after after the meme took off.
Goncharov was first entered into Wikipedia between Day 4 and 5 (attempts to vandalise it with fake info don't count, incidentally – please knock that shit off) under List of Internet Phenomena. This was then expanded into its own Wikipedia page at the end of Day 5 because, according to the talk history: "the topic now meets the notability threshold for its own artice due to significant coverage in The New York Times and other sources cited." We're on Wikipedia, people!
And then we made The Guardian half a day later. So while the meme is definitely dying down to embers by now, it still stays winning.
YouTube channels with episodes on the meme:
InformOverlord (4:30)
Lessons in Meme Culture (2:43)
End of Day of 5 there were 511 works on AO3, and End of Day 6 (today) there are 556.
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🚨BREAKING 🚨 from Martin Scorsese's daughter's TikTok (real actual)
tw: unreality:
We did it you guys!
Clarification: Francesca Scorcese asked her Dad about the meme and Martin played along. Please reblog this PSA to help Tumblr people with psychosis. Thanks.
Final edit: Day 8. Media reactions to Scorcese's TikTok (everyone from Forbes to Vulture). That one Tumblr user who said they'd do a screenplay if their post got notes has promised to shoot a single scene, but please don't be dicks just because you reblogged it; leave them alone until they get around to it themselves. As of end of Day 8 there are 609 works in the AO3 tag. I love all you lunatics. Peace! ❤️
#goncharov 1973#reasons i can never leave this hellsite#we've ascended from pirating criterion movies to straight up manifesting them into existence#get on our level twits#knee of huss#goncharov#tumblr lore#tumblr memes#tumblr culture
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Hiii! If its no trouble could I have a zoro and reader fic with the one bed trope? The others know about their crushes on each other so they force each other to share a room? Anyway they end up cuddling and its all cute (the others will tease them forever about it lol)?? Thankss
intertwined ribbons
ABOUT
alternate title: opla zoro makes my hated tropes less hated
rating: general audiences/teen & up
characters: live action!roronoa zoro | fem!reader | live action!nami | live action!straw hats ensemble
pairing: live action!roronoa zoro x fem!reader
word count: 4.9k
description: unbeknownst to you, your crush on zoro is reciprocated. the rest of the straw hats take it upon themselves to get you together by locking you in his bedroom overnight.
tags: strawhat!reader, only one bed, forced proximity, confessions, no use of 'y/n', nami is a true instigator, cuddling, soft zoro, humor
author's note: thank you so much for the request and i hope it meets your expectations!! fun fact i actually used to hate the 'only one bed' trope, so i decided to challenge myself in writing this. and i think it's one of my fave tropes now lol
(you have an inner spirit that helps you make decisions except it’s just nami.)
“I just think that maybe you should stop avoiding him,” Nami started. You bit your cheek, ignoring her as you tied up the last of the ship’s rigging into a careful knot. Nami had been going on for the past few minutes, and you’d zoned out exactly three seconds in, when the name Zoro had first been spoken. Because of this reason you weren’t really listening, so you blinked up at her in confusion.
“Sorry? Who am I avoiding?”
“You’re impossible,” Nami grumbled. “And you know exactly who I’m talking about.” Which, well, fair. The math added up: you heard the word Zoro, you stopped listening, Nami continued talking until she realized you’d stopped listening. “Especially since you’re, you know—” she gave you another look, eyes rolling over to stare dead into yours— “Avoiding him.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you said innocently. Nami sighed, leaning over to tug the rope dangling from your hands out of your grip. You tried to reach back for it, but she didn’t let you. “Hey!”
“Yes, you do. Face it. You’re avoiding Zoro.”
You made a face at her. “I think there are ropes on the foredeck that I can attend to.”
“No, there aren’t,” Nami answered. “Now stop changing the subject. There’s this wild concept called communication. It works wonders.”
“Says you,” you muttered, though your arms crossed defensively across your chest. You noticed the action after a split-second and unwound your arms with a scowl. “Look, I just don’t see the point. And I haven’t been avoiding him.”
You were, in fact, avoiding him. Ever since that dreadful night a week ago when Nami had gotten you tipsy and stuck her hand in your chest cavity fishing for secrets, you’d been avoiding him. The other girl was ridiculously good at prying truths out of you, and during the conversation, you’d accidentally spilled your crush on the Straw Hat crew’s resident swordsman.
You’d managed to keep the secret for the months you’d been together, wherein the unfortunate feelings had developed, and you should’ve figured once somebody knew they wouldn’t leave you alone about it. Because Nami refused to talk about literally anything else. You’d expected this sort of behavior from Luffy, or maybe Sanji, but Nami? The world was more amatonormative than you'd thought.
Nami cast you a look. “You’re blushing.”
“Am not.”
“Are too. What’s the harm in talking to him?” Nami demanded, one hand on her hip as she stared you down. You gaped at her.
“Um, literally everything? One, Zoro can’t talk about feelings or emotions for shit, so when he rejects me it’ll be in the most excruciating, offhand manner that will probably leave me at the bottom of a barrel of rum, two, after being rejected I’m going to have to leave the Straw Hats, three—”
Nami rolled her eyes, looking increasingly fed up with you. “For someone so obsessed with not telling our resident grass-headed swordsman about your feelings for him, you’re talking rather loudly.”
You shut up, snapping your jaw closed with a glare. “Stop it,” you hissed.
“Besides, who knows if he actually will reject you?” Nami turned to work on the next section of rigging, glancing over her shoulder at you. “You’re catastrophizing.”
“I’m being realistic,” you snapped. “Okay, fine. He reciprocates my feelings. Then what? We date, we break up because all relationships eventually end, it becomes awkward, and—voila—I’ll have to leave the Straw Hats anyway. It’s a bad idea all around.”
Nami just let out a huff of breath, the exhale laced with irritation. “Catastrophizing,” she repeated.
“I am not—”
“Sure. Go help Sanji with dinner.”
You gave her an exasperated look, but at this point Nami wasn’t paying attention anymore, so you stormed off into the underbelly of the Going Merry. Speak of the devil, apparently, because once you entered the kitchen you spotted not only Sanji occupying it but also Zoro. He was lounging at the table, swords strapped to his waist and a bottle of something he was nursing in hand.
You averted your gaze from him, head running a million miles a minute. Had he noticed you’d been avoiding him? You’d tried to be furtive about it, but if Nami had noticed, maybe—
“Well, hello there,” Sanji called from where he was in the midst of dinner preparations. “Come to help?”
“Nami sent me,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest. “I think she’s appointed herself queen of the Going Merry.”
“Oh, she did that long ago,” Sanji chided. “You’re only noticing it now. Pick up a knife, then. I’d like some help dicing the carrots.”
You stiffly moved over to the counter, ignoring Zoro as you went even as you felt his gaze following your figure. You picked up the first knife you found, positioning yourself in front of the cutting board to start dicing the vegetables already laid out for you. Abruptly, Zoro stood up.
“Heading out,” he muttered. “Call me when dinner’s ready.”
With that, he left the room, leaving you and Sanji to exchange looks. “He’s moody today,” you said.
“Probably ‘cause you’ve been avoiding him.”
You felt the familiar pinprick of a blush starting to warm your cheeks. “You too?”
“You’re rather obvious about it,” Sanji said with a raised eyebrow. “But enough of that.” Weirdly enough, he didn’t seem to question why. There was no way Nami had told him, so you were left confused, but no matter. The point was that for now, you were safe.
The hour dipped to evening, and soon the moon was glowing in the sky, a shining beacon of white amidst the ocean of stars and shimmering sea. You suppressed a yawn, busing the dishes from dinner as the rest of the crew got up from their respective seats to dissolve to their own rooms. Zoro had already retired for the night—if you were avoiding him, he seemed to be doing the exact same—so at least you didn’t have that to worry about.
“Ah, wait,” Nami said, after you’d finished washing the dishes and was ready to head out. “Zoro wants to talk to you.”
You jolted, glancing nervously around you before grabbing her wrist. “What did you do?” you hissed. Nami just laughed.
“Calm down. I didn’t do anything.” Off your glare, she relented. “I promise. And I swear it’s not about feelings or emotions or whatever. Even though it’s obvious you’re avoiding him, you know Zoro wouldn’t say anything.”
You were still suspicious, but you dropped your hand. “What, then?”
Nami shrugged, tilting her chin up just so. “I guess you’re going to have to find out.”
“I don’t trust you,” you muttered. There was that look in her eye, the one she got whenever she was thinking of something truly devious. Still, you couldn’t figure out what she was up to, so— “Fine, I’ll go to his room. Walk me.”
Nami rolled her eyes, but she fell into step with you as you made your way across the ship. “You should bring it up to him, you know,” she started, but silenced after your sharp glare. “Okay, okay. I get the point. I’ll stop bothering you about it.”
You stopped by the mouth of Zoro’s door. “Wait, really?”
“Yes, really,” Nami said with an exaggerated roll of her eyes. She leaned against the wall beside the door, arms crossing over her chest. “I’ll leave you alone about Mr. Prince Charming over there. Knock.”
“You can't call him Mr. Prince Charming,” you said, though you did knock. “Prince’ is already a title.”
Nami gave you a look. “Okay, smart-ass.”
The door creaked open before you could give your response, and you turned, heart pounding in your throat as Zoro stared down at you. His arm was propped up by the open doorway, the other hand still clutching the doorknob. “What.”
“Um, Nami said that you wanted to talk—” you swiveled your head towards the other girl, but before you could finish your sentence, Nami was raising up your arm and unceremoniously shoving you into the room.
You shrieked in surprise as you fell into Zoro’s figure, stumbling into him and causing him to lose his balance. Your head shot up in offense, only to see the gleam of a golden padlock in Nami’s hand before she was yanking the door closed.
A dull click echoed through the room. The only thing you could hear for a few seconds was your own heavy breathing and the sound of Zoro gathering himself.
“Did she just—” You gaped at the closed door. “Lock us in?”
Zoro swiftly pushed past you, jiggling the doorknob for a few moments before giving up. Sure enough, Nami had sealed it with the padlock from the outside, so there was no possibility of either of you getting out of the room. You could vaguely hear sounds from the outside—dull thuds and scrapes—and watched as Zoro started banging on the door.
“Nami,” he called, voice dangerously low. “Let us out.”
“Sorry, Zoro!” Your jaw practically unhinged from your skull once you heard your captain’s familiar voice, all bright and cheerful like always. “We’re putting barrels in front of the door, so don’t even try breaking it down. Have a good night!”
“Luffy? What are you—” Zoro’s knocking quickened in pace, his voice getting increasingly louder. There was no response from outside, though you could hear snickers that sounded suspiciously like Usopp. What was going on?
You kicked into action, joining Zoro by the door and trying the door handle again. “Nami!” you yelled.
Nami’s soft laugh came from outside. “Sorry!” she called. “We’ll let you out in the morning.”
You gaped at the door, only aware of Zoro’s gaze sliding down to you as you dropped your hand from the doorknob. There were some more tigers from outside, and then receding footsteps. Zoro tried knocking one last time, but it was evident that the rest of the crew had all but abandoned you.
“Okay,” Zoro muttered, moving away from the door. “I need a drink.”
You watched him move across the room, picking up a glass from his bedside table that was only slightly full. He knocked it back in one swallow, Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion. “Um, what now?” you asked uncomfortably.
“Nothing. Whatever,” Zoro said, turning to glance over at you. After a moment’s thought, you noticed that he refused to look you in his eye—his gaze was firmly trained at a spot beside your head. He turned away, stripping off his sword scabbard and setting them on the floor.
You glanced around nervously. Zoro’s room wasn’t that different from yours, really—less decorated, but the constitution was the same. There was the bed, a wardrobe, a desk with various paraphernalia across it, and a little couch in the corner too. “You can look through the closet for something to sleep in. I’ll take the chair.”
The words didn’t register at first, and you were left standing there, staring as Zoro kicked off his shoes and assumedly started getting ready to sleep. “Um, what?”
Zoro glanced over his shoulder. He still wouldn’t look you in the eye. “They’re not letting us out until morning,” he said slowly. “You can take the bed. Might as well sleep.”
“It’s your room,” you started, crossing your arms. “I can sleep in the chair. I’m smaller than you, anyway, so I’ll fit it better.”
Zoro regarded you with such a reproachful look you almost wanted to laugh. “That’s ridiculous. Change.” With that, he turned around, leaving no room for discussion. You stared at him for a second before giving up, moving to his wardrobe and opening it up to search for something to sleep in.
“So, uh, any ideas on why they stuck us in here?” You asked, although you already knew the answer. Whatever Nami thought locking you in a room with Zoro would achieve, you were stubbornly not going to let her be right. God, you were so going to kill her once you got out of there.
“Nope,” Zoro said, with such a degree of finality you figured it wouldn’t be safe to question him further. “They’re just stupid.”
“I mean, I feel like they would have a motive?” You rifled through his clothes, trying very hard to detach them from their owner. Wearing Zoro’s clothes was not something you wanted your mind to linger upon. Eventually you found a shirt of his that would undoubtedly be oversized on you, and you hastily changed into it, satisfied to find it draped well to your knees so you weren’t exposing too much skin.
You stole a glance over your shoulder at Zoro, only to catch him in the action of peeling his shirt off. The stretch of the muscles in his back gleamed in the dim light of the room, and you tore your gaze away, heat rushing to your face. “Um. Anything?”
“Nope,” Zoro repeated. Carefully, you closed the wardrobe door, lingering in one spot with your hands clenched together. Once you heard him start moving again, you deemed it safe enough to turn towards the rest of the room. He’d changed into a loose tan shirt, and had settled back into the chair.
“I said I’d take the chair,” you told him hotly.
“Yeah, and I said no,” Zoro said, tone dismissive. He had his eyes closed, and you stared at him in disbelief.
“I’m not sleeping in your bed,” you said, and then, just to emphasize your point, plopped down on the floor. Zoro cracked an eye open and stared down at you. He sighed.
“Get up. Don’t be stupid.”
“I’m not being stupid,” you said. “It’s your room. It’s your bed. You will sleep on it. If you’re not giving me the chair, I’ll sleep on the floor.”
Zoro let out a long sigh, closing both his eyes as if he was contemplating all his life decisions. “I’m not sleeping in the bed, you know,” he said.
“Okay, so neither of us do.”
Zoro’s brows creased, and he opened his eyes to glare down at you. “Seriously? At least take the chair, then. I’ll sleep on the flo—”
You gave him a sharp look. “Zoro.”
“This conversation isn’t getting anywhere,” Zoro muttered, and finally got up from his chair. You glanced up at him expectantly. “What can I do to convince you to take the bed?”
“Uh, nothing.”
“We can work out a compromise,” Zoro said with a sigh. “I want you on it, and you want me on it, and neither of us are willing to take it ourselves.” He paused, brow creasing as an idea seemed to form in his head—one he didn’t seem to be a giant fan of, but an idea nonetheless. “How about.” His lips pursed, before he parted them again to finish his sentence. “How about we both take it?”
It felt like someone had hit you square in the chest, air kicking out of your lungs and leaving you gasping for breath. Your windpipe was all raw, and you had to fight to tear any words out from your throat. “Ex—excuse me?”
“It’s big enough,” Zoro said stiffly, though his hands were clenched at his sides. “I can take one side and you can take the other. Since you’re so dead-set on me sleeping on it.”
“I—” You cut yourself off, suddenly far too aware of Zoro’s eyes fixed on you. Watching your every move. Oh, Nami was in for it now. How were you supposed to survive sleeping in the same bed as—you didn’t even want to think about it.
“Well?” Zoro prompted.
“Fine,” you agreed hastily, ducking your head lest Zoro catch any of the flush that was undoubtedly rising steadily up your cheeks. It was bad enough you were stuck in his bedroom and wearing his clothes—but this had quickly become your own personal circle of hell. “Good enough for me.”
“Finally.” With that, Zoro climbed into bed, settling himself on the very edge of its side. Your throat had gone dry, and you stared at him for another second before hurriedly turning away to flick the lights off. You approached the other side of the bed with an extreme lack of enthusiasm, staring at the empty sheets like they were cackling up at you. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Eventually you slid into the bed, busying yourself with arranging the blankets around your figure. Zoro’s breaths were steady and deep from beside you. You didn’t know what to do for a second, but then Zoro’s voice was cutting through the darkness. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
You jolted, then suppressed your sigh. “Have not.”
“Yes, you have, and everyone knows it, and you’re not very subtle,” Zoro said, sounding almost bored as he rattled off the words. “Why.”
“I haven’t—”
“Don’t.”
You ran your tongue along your teeth, sucking at the valleys between them in annoyance. “It’s not important.”
Zoro paused before speaking, like he was mulling over asking the question. “Did I do something?”
“What? No.” You shook your head, despite knowing he wouldn’t be able to see. The sound did well enough to indicate the action to him, though—he scoffed, a low murmur from his chest that buzzed through your nerves. “I don’t want to talk about this. You’re giving the rest of the crew what they want.”
“They definitely did not lock you in here to talk about why you’re avoiding me,” Zoro muttered. Now it was your turn to scoff, because if only he knew. “Are you sure I didn’t do anything?"
“Positive. It’s all me.”
“Okay, so why?” Zoro prompted. You swallowed hard, trying to dodge around the subject. “Are you sure—”
“Please just stop talking,” you said, one hand reaching out to grip his arm as if the physical contact would make him shut up. There was a stagnant moment of silence, your breath catching as your brain caught up to your body. Your hand was on Zoro’s arm. Your hand was on Zoro’s bicep, and you were in his bed.
You cleared your throat, a panicked choke bursting from your lungs. “Um.” Your eyes skittered sideways, and then you finally turned on your side to stare at him. To stare at where your hand was still clutched around his arm.
You could just barely make out the angle of his jaw in the darkness, but you could see it was clenched, the vein along his neck protruding just slightly. Hastily, you removed your hand, the skin of your fingers tingling like you could still feel him underneath the tips. “Sorry. Why—why are you so certain that you did something for me to avoid you?”
There were a few moments of silence that ticked by, nothing but the rock of the ship interrupting it. Finally, Zoro spoke. “Because the reason they locked you in my room is because—”
“What? The reason they locked me in your room is because of me,” you said. Zoro finally moved from his position, head tilting to face yours so you were eye-to-eye. You swallowed. “Nami, um—Nami specifically forced me in here so I would… talk to you.”
There was a question evident in Zoro’s voice. “About?”
Your lips parted, and then closed again. “Um.”
“We can just sleep, if you want,” Zoro muttered.
“What if they don’t let us out in the morning because we haven’t talked, though?” you hissed. Zoro let out a low laugh.
“You realize you’re giving them exactly what they want.”
“So you’d be more comfortable if we just… fell asleep?” you asked. Zoro shrugged. Since you weren’t exactly averse to the idea of not confessing, you nodded in agreement, heart beating a million miles a second. “Okay. Fine by me.”
You settled back into your pillow, but soon came to realize that, due to the fluttering butterflies in your stomach and the fact you were very aware of the man of your affections being barely a foot to your right, you could not sleep. Evidently Zoro felt the same way, because he kept shifting around under the blankets—your hands brushed against each other a few times before he jolted away like you’d burnt him.
“Sorry,” you muttered. Zoro didn’t say anything in response. Somewhere in the back of your head, you could hear Nami hissing at you—I didn’t shove you in a room with Mr. Prince Charming just for you to not take advantage of the opportunity. You tried to get her out of your brain—it was a bad idea all around—but the words kept reverberating around in your mind until you found yourself suddenly speaking. “Zoro?”
“Hm?”
“Nami stuck me in here so I would tell you that, um—”
“You don’t have to say it,” Zoro murmured, and you shivered, his voice sounding suddenly closer. You squirmed, your hand brushing against Zoro’s again, except this time it took him a delayed moment to drift away. He had gotten closer—or maybe that was you, instinctually leaning towards the dip in the middle of the bed when you’d been lost in thought.
“The reason they locked me in here with you is so I would tell you about my feelings towards you,” you blurted, the words slurring together, consonants and syllables all in one rush. “Because I have them. Feelings, I mean.”
Zoro’s voice was very low when he spoke. “Excuse me?”
You sat straight up, the blankets previously nestled around your chin falling to your waist. “I have feelings for you and that’s why everyone locked me in here.”
“I—” Zoro coughed, and then coughed again, ridding his throat of whatever was preventing him from making full sentences. He slowly sat up, and you stared down at the blankets in your lap as you saw him rise to his full height beside you. And oh, this was it. He was about to reject you in the most excruciating, offhand manner that would probably leave you at the bottom of a barrel of rum. “That’s not possible.”
“Why is that—” you decided to shut up instead of finishing your sentence, allowing him to speak instead. There was a soft burning starting at your skin, all red hot, and your brain buzzed, regret filling up your lungs and making it hard to breathe.
Zoro didn’t say anything, but you heard his hand before you felt it. It slid across the bedsheets before finally resting beside yours, fingertips grazing against your knuckles. “Zoro?” you whispered.
“The reason they locked you in here with me is so I would tell you about my feelings towards you,” Zoro said blankly. You blinked. It took you a moment to realize that he wasn’t just quoting you—that he hadn’t switched the pronouns accordingly. Your heart dropped.
Your voice was very faint when you spoke. “What?”
“I like you,” Zoro said carefully. Languidly, the words dripping off his tongue all saccharine-sweet like molasses, or honey. You shivered, your hand accidentally knocking against his, and he took the opportunity to draw it in closer, fingers pushing up your palm, just a hair’s breadth away from interlacing with yours. “Luffy unfortunately found out. He doesn’t know how to keep a secret and told the rest of the crew.”
You gaped at him. “I like you,” you said, dumbfounded. You could feel yourself trembling, fingers sliding against Zoro’s hand with every shake. “Nami yanked it out of me. Which is why I’ve been avoiding you for the past week.”
“I thought you were avoiding me because you found out I liked you,” Zoro muttered. His fingertips brushed against the pads of your hand, and you swallowed, mouth all dry. “So.”
You tentatively lifted your gaze, finding Zoro’s eyes even amidst the darkness. They were shining, a slight glint from the moon coming in through the window reflecting along the shadows of his face. Carefully, his hand slid fully into yours, fingers lacing together, and it was like the final piece of a puzzle clicking into place.
Zoro slid back down onto his back, tugging you along with him. You settled back on your pillow, using your other hand to pull the blankets back over your chest. For a full stagnant minute the two of you lay there, hands intertwined in the space between.
You were the one who made the first move, then, thumb running up and down the length of his index finger. Zoro ran with the action, tugging your hand just slightly until you were leaning into the dip of the mattress, gravity pulling you closer to his body.
He lifted your entwined hands, tugging you towards him until your back was pressed right to his chest. Then he settled your arms back down again, the back of his palm resting against your belly.
You swallowed hard, able to hear the sound of your throat in the utter silence. Zoro exhaled, his breath softly brushing against your neck. “Good night,” you whispered.
Zoro pressed a soft kiss to the nape of your neck, a ghost of something that left tingles fluttering down your spine, the drunken butterflies in your stomach swaying at the action. “Good night,” he murmured, and your breath caught.
He was warm, oh so warm, like a campfire with licks of flame that softened your hands in the dead of night. And even though you wanted to speak up, question when he’d started liking you, if he was lying or not—you were content to stay here in his arms and drift off to sleep.
So you did, settling back into his embrace with your head spinning and senses murmuring, all dizzy like you were caught in a dream. Eventually, your tiredness got the better of you, and you felt your senses fading as the world around you darkened to black.
The two of you jolted awake to the knocking and the very unpleasant hum of Nami’s voice. “Rise and shine!” she called through the door, and you blinked, bleary eyes adjusting to the light as you suppressed your yawn.
Zoro jolted up beside you, practically giving you whiplash as his arm was still comfortably around your waist. Your fingers tingled, and you realized that you’d fallen asleep with your hands laced together.
“Nami,” you grumbled, about to rise out of bed before Zoro stopped you. You turned towards him in question, only to stop short as you registered the look in his eyes. His gaze was deep, piercing; those butterflies rose up again in your stomach, apparently awake after they’d passed out from their drunken stupor. You swallowed. “Hi?”
“Hey,” he murmured. “They locked you in my room.”
“I’m going to knock Nami over the head with a rowboat oar,” you said blandly, eyes flickering towards the door, which Nami was still pounding on. You vaguely heard shuffling sounds, like the crew were working to move the barrels they’d stuck in front of the door to free you from your prison. “You can have the rest of them, if you want.”
“I’ll take you up on that offer,” Zoro agreed. “But first…”
“First?” you prompted.
Zoro brought your hands—still intertwined—to his mouth, pressing a gentle kiss along your knuckles. “Good morning,” he said, voice low and awkward, like he wasn’t used to letting the words out of his mouth. He let your hands drift to his lap, leaning forward until his forehead brushed against yours.
A faint sigh escaped your lips when he finally kissed you. It wasn’t rough or hard; it was a soft press, like your hands had been just a few hours ago. There was a degree of finality to it; a held-in breath that’d exhaled from your lungs, one you hadn’t realized was building up that much pressure until you finally let it all go.
The door flung open, and you jolted away, but Zoro tilted your head back towards him before you could. At the mouth of the room, Luffy had started screaming. “Aww,” Nami cooed. Behind her, Usopp and Sanji were gripping onto each other like they were watching a particularly engaging fight.
A steady blush rose along your cheeks, but Zoro was absolutely shameless, the hand not held in yours raising up to give them the finger. “Get out of my room.”
“Told you it’d be okay,” Nami sing-songed, and then you really did break away from Zoro, picking up the object nearest to you and barrelling towards her. She shrieked, dodging out of the doorway as Zoro laughed from behind you.
“Wait!” she stopped you from whacking your pillow against her head, raising up her arms in defense. “I was right. I saw you two—”
“Nami,” you started, dangerously low. “You locked me in his room.”
“Yeah, to help you!” she cried defensively, slowly taking backwards steps as you gained on her. “Come on. We can talk about this.”
“Good luck,” Zoro called out from behind you—you turned around, catching his gaze. He had gotten up, leaning against the doorway and watching you with a sparkle of fondness in his eye. “You’ll need it.”
You blew him a kiss, ignoring the long groan it pulled out of Luffy from beside Zoro in the hallway. And then you turned around. Nami had darted off, taking the time you’d been distracted to run off. “Oh no you don’t!” you yelled, and then lunged after her with Zoro laughing all the while.
Maybe it hadn’t been such a bad thing, you thought. But you were still going to beat Nami’s ass.
© halfvalid 2023
#opla zoro#opla roronoa zoro#roronoa zoro#roronoa zoro x reader#roronoa zoro x you#reader insert#x reader#one piece live action#one piece netflix#opla#opla zoro x reader#opla fanfiction#opla fanfic#kiki writes!
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Queer Experience Watching Barbie - AFAB Masculinity
I started to go into this in tags on another post but I wanted to type this up separately and try to develop my thoughts a little more. . .
Ryan!Ken’s arc in Barbie (2023) has been buzzing in my head for days.
I got fixated on it for a couple of major reasons:
1) We rarely have seen a feminist movie take time to address men with compassion in how patriarchy harms them too.
2) As a trans masc person, I think it hits a specific part of my identity that I don’t consciously let myself think about for too long. Something about being raised in a female world with sisterhood and community. Then being isolated in adult manhood without the tools to prepare you for that. Conscientious of respecting women and being unbothered by feminimity around you, but not knowing your place in the world.
How do I put it?
I know it’s not the direct intention of the film itself, but I’ve seen other trans folks (especially transmasc), reacting similarly to the feeling we get from it.
Ken’s arc feels pretty reminicent of the struggle afab lgbt folks go through when considering masculinity in their identity (butch lesbians, afab nbs, trans men, etc.)
How to make peace with masculine aspects of yourself without losing the women in your life? (One can argue Kate McKinnon’s Weird Barbie has aspects of this as well.)
Of course, then Ken goes off on the adopting patriarchy ride, which IS the point of the movie, and may skew a bit from the transmasc read on it--though I have known a trans guy here and there who avoids being misgendered so hard that they can become somewhat sexist. To which I say: “You don’t need to have a dick to be a man, and you don’t need to BE a dick to be a man.” But I digress.
Something about Ken being comfortable in a woman’s world but not understanding why he’s being shut out from socially bonding with them (in any sense! Romantic, Familial, Platonic Friendship. . .)
The overall theme of the movie for both Barbie and Ken--in an allegory of heavy gender roles harming all--leading them each to have to figure out who they are in themselves, regardless of others. . .
Trans masc folx can relate to both Barbie and Ken’s arcs.
I don’t want to detract from Barbie’s arc being the main point of the movie.
I think the reason why we get hung up on Ryan!Ken’s character is because. . . we’ve related to the Barbie plot in other movies and shows before, thinking back to our “girlhoods” as children.
I have never seen the arc Ken has in this in any other story!!!!
There are some Man Movies that have attempted to discuss the struggle of Being a Man--but they often come off as too dismissive of feminine experiences, and are therefore as offputting to transmasc people as women.
Because of the nature of the two worlds exhibited in this movie, and Ken’s backround in his setting, personality, and purpose in relation to the Barbies, he’s a Man living with Female Socialization, in a Woman’s World; he’s a male character that inherently admires and respects women in his nature (until the real world influence distorts it).
This isn’t a perfect example of a transmasc experience either, but it’s a lot closer than most of us generally get to see! That’s why so many of us are getting caught up in this.
Please, other trans folx (transfems, too!), I really need us to have a discussion about this. What were your experiences and thoughts around this movie?
P.S. Yeah, we kinda get that nonbinary allegory from Allan (not a Ken, not a Barbie, siding with Feminism in the Gender War), but he wasn’t in significant focus of the plot the way Ryan!Ken was. If I try to read into Allan, I don’t have much to work with.
#barbie#barbie movie#barbie 2023#ryan gosling ken#ken#queer#ftm#afab#transmasc#transgender#trans man#agender#nonbinary#enby#nb#gender#gender roles#text post#lgbt#lgbtq#lgbtqia#gender studies
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Update post:
The biggest thing everyone's talking about on the news in Israel right now is the finding of a MASSIVE Hamas compound underneath UNRWA's main headquarters in Gaza, and finding proof that UNRWA were supplying the compound with electricity and internet services, supply which allowed Hamas to develop their intelligence, used during the Hamas massacre among other things. When Israel published the finding of the compound, the head of UNRWA claimed they found nothing up until October, and weren't able to check anything since. Israel responded by pointing out that a compound so developed most likely took no less than ten years to dig and build, and that UNRWA was repeatedly told that Hamas is operating under its headquarters, but chose to ignore this. What I think is most telling is a tour taken by an Israeli journalist in the compound, where they showed him that the server farm in the Hamas compound is found directly under the server farm of UNRWA, and that cables from the latter were running down into the terror tunnel compound directly beneath it (source in Hebrew, here's a vid in English giving viewers a tour of the compound, I'll attach the vid itself below, too). Something like that doesn't happen by coincidence, and without the knowledge of those in the server farm above groud. Some of the cables were also cut in the UNRWA server farm, like someone realized the IDF was coming, and tried to hide the link between the two server farms. As one officer pointed out, if you're an innoncent, interenational humanitarian aid organization, you have no reason to cut the cables of your own server farm, or remove the name tags from the doors of the rooms inside your headquarters. You only do that if you have something to hide.
youtube
Israel's army has been fighting Hamas in all of Gaza, except the southern city of Rafiach (Rafah in English). There are a lot of Gazans there, who have been evacuated from other zones. There's also 4 Hamas regiments there, which means Israel will have no choice but to fight there. So the only question is how to fight in that city, in order to minimize the harm to the civilian population. There are reports that Israel's Prime Minister has asked the IDF to present plans both on how to fight Hamas in Rafah, and how to evacuate the civilians.
In that context, I got to hear a radio interview with an Israeli minister, who used to be the head of Shabak (Israel's equivalent of the FBI). When asked about the US warning for Israel not to fight in Rafah during the upcoming month of Ramadan, Avi Dichter said that it has never been a month during which Muslims have not fought in wars. In fact, in 1973 the Egyptians and Syrians (with soldiers from even more Arab countries fighting alongside them) chose to attack Israel on Oct 6, despite Ramadan that year starting on Oct 4, causing the war to be known in the Arab world as "The Ramadan War." More than that, in Israel Ramadan is always a time of peak alert, because so many terrorist attacks are carried out during it (here's an example from Mar 2023, when Hamas was encouraging individuals to carry out terrorist attacks during Ramadan, and here's another from 2022). Dichter suggested that if Muslims can carry out terrorist attacks during Ramadan (and it has happened outside Israel, too), the war in Gaza which was started by Hamas can continue during it.
On an Israeli TV news panel, someone shared the estimate that over 100,000,000 dollars (one hundred million dollars!) is the sum of money that Hamas made just since the start of the war from selling to the civilian population the humanitarian aid that was allowed into Gaza, and which Hamas stole from the Gazans (more than once, by using violence).
This is Chagit Rein.
She lost her son Benaya in the Second Lebanon War, back in 2006. I got to hear an interview with her following the fact that during this war, she decided she would try to visit the shiva (the mourning week following a burial) of every fallen soldier. According to her, she has so far visited the families of 400 soldiers killed on Oct 7 or since. "If they see me, then it's living proof that there can be a life alongside the loss. That was our kids' last will and testament. They died so we could live. So we have to live." When asked what she's asked most often when she visits the families, she said it was what she did first after her son's shiva. "My other son was being drafted into the army, so the first thing I did was to accompany him in that." She was asked whether there were moments when she was overwhelmed herself. She replied that she's seen wounded soldiers making incredible effortrs to come to the shiva of others who were killed, to offer their families some comfort. In one case, an injured soldier recognized her, and told her that it was thanks to her son Benaya that he was an officer in the armored forced. He tried to hug her, but was at first unable to get up or reach her from the stretcher he was on. Chagit recounted that she tries to make sure her visits would be about the families she's conmforting, not about herself, but that's when she broke down and cried.
This is Doctor Elai Chogeg-Golan with her husband Ariel and their baby daughter, Yael. On the right, their house in kibbutz Kfar Azza.
On Oct 7, due to Hamas' massive rocket attack, Elai was inside the bomb shelter in her home with her family from 6:30 in the morning, when Gazan civilians got in at around 1 in the afternoon. The Gazans tried to get the family to come out, but it wouldn't. Then, those invaders set the house on fire, probably thinking that would force the family out. Instead, Elai and the family tried to keep themselves safe using water. At some point, she recounts they even fought face to face with the Gazans, who tried to beat them with sticks from the outside. She said she managed to grab a stick, and beat them back. These Gazans then threw in two gas balloons into the burning house. Elai says that most of the burns she sustained were from the fire ball that that created. At some point, the Gazans moved on, and that's when the family got out, because the whole place was on fire, they were choking from the smoke, and even the roof collapsed. They hid nearby, but then baby Yael lost consciousness, and the parents decided to try and get out of the kibbutz. At the entrance, they met soldiers who helped get them to a hospital. Elai had severe burns on over 60% of her body. She was in a coma for 53 days, but incredibly, they all survived.
(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)
#israel#antisemitism#israeli#israel news#israel under attack#israel under fire#terrorism#anti terrorism#hamas#antisemitic#antisemites#jews#jew#judaism#jumblr#frumblr#jewish#israelunderattack
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Hard Light | Chapter 1
summary: when a new english professor begins teaching your class for the duration of your semester, you can’t help but develop an innocent crush on him. he’s as off-limits as he can be, but that doesn’t deter you in the slightest. after a drunk night, you accidentally email him something that wasn’t intended to ever be seen by anyone. but that doesn’t matter. it triggers a misunderstanding that manifests into an affair with your professor who is twenty years your senior. nothing good could come of this, right?
pairings: professor!joel x college student!reader
word count: 2.2K
series or one-shot
warnings: 18+ explicit, minors DNI, no mention of Y/N, alternate universe, professor/student relationship, eventual smut, self-esteem issues, workaholic, joel x female!reader, infatuation bordering on obsession (stay delulu friends), some sexual thoughts, masturbation (f), joel being a huge tease lol, (will add more tags as i write)
AN: i am so excited by the response that my joel one-shot got a few days ago and i’ve been itching to get something else out to you all. big, giant forehead kisses for those who want one, i love you all. so, anyway, a mini-series about professor joel is coming at you fast. i’ve written the first few chapters, so expect those in the near future. i’m thinking once a week? this fic is going to be something else and i’m so excited to share it with ya’ll. enjoy, and let me know what you think. find my ao3 here for more content and other fandoms.
You were running late for your shift at the coffee shop on campus, rummaging around your dresser, trying to find the low-cut black top you always wore when you had a shift. You weren’t usually one to feed into the peer pressure of those around you, but push came to shove when you found it nearly impossible to keep yourself afloat as a twenty-something student without the added extra tips from your part-time job.
So what if you had to show a little bit of cleavage? Right? There was no harm. Student loans were a bitch and on top of rent and food costs, you had to get a job at the coffee shop and balance a full course load just to make ends meet.
A thought popped into your head and you rushed to your laptop, throwing it open as you checked the time; 5:45 AM. If you busted out your lightning-fast typing skills, you would have enough time to catch the next bus and make it to campus with five minutes to spare. If only your crappy second-hand computer would work.
The thing honestly sounded like a chopper engine, getting ready for lift-off. You were surprised you’d gotten this far with it. Not that you weren’t appreciative, your older brother had passed it down and it had relieved a huge weight— and expense off of your shoulders.
You tabbed into your school portal, typing in your credentials and selecting your English course. You sighed heavily, as you skimmed over the assignment for this week, something to do with a sonnet that you couldn’t care less about. You loved school but ever since becoming an English major, the spark that you once had for literature sort of just evaporated.
You couldn’t tell if it was because of how busy you were with everything else that you just couldn’t find the time to enjoy it, or the thought that really scared you, you had fallen out of love with it.
It had been two years of go, go, go and you were, for lack of a better word, burnt out. You’d tried dropping courses last semester, thinking that you just needed a little bit of ease when it came to your course load, but when that didn’t solve the problem and only made things worse for you, you spent the last two semesters trying to catch up and get yourself to a place where you could finally breathe.
But it wasn’t easy. You were only now caught up to where you had been, the illusion that you were someone who could afford to take time off and slow down was a distant memory.
In bold letters, the words Paid Internship jumped off of the screen. You smiled as you leaned in closer to the screen, making sure you read through everything correctly. This was the break above the surface that you needed, the reprieve that you had been chasing. A paid internship was exactly how you’d be able to make more money and maybe have a little breathing room before you worked yourself into an early grave.
You clicked the mail icon at the top and clicked into a new email, deciding that the worst-case scenario was that you wouldn’t get the internship. All you were doing was inquiring about the application process. Best-case scenario; you’d get it and make some extra pocket money.
You saw the time, cursing under your breath as you slammed the laptop closed, grabbed your phone out of the charger and ran out of the door. You couldn’t be late, not again. You texted your co-worker Jeremy to open the shop without you and explained to him that you were running a few minutes late, as you barely made it to the bus. You climbed on board, scanned your student pass and found a seat near the back. Your chest was burning from the rush of trying to make it on time, but you could breathe easy now.
You checked your messages mindlessly, scrolling through a bunch of unread ones that you didn’t have the heart to answer.
Before you knew it, the familiar monuments and buildings of UT Austin came into view, and the subtle change of scenery from downtown to a more densely packed area made your heart skip a beat. It was the same each time you were back on campus. Which, these days, was often. Sliding out of the seat, you made your way to the front, thanking the driver as the bus came to a complete stop.
The coffee shop was only a short walk from the bus stop but even still you quickened your pace. You didn't want to leave Jeremy alone for long, you already felt bad enough about letting him open by himself. You stifled a yawn as you pushed open the door to the small cafe, leaning your body into the door, slightly cringing at the shrill sound of the bell.
"There you are", a male voice called, making your head snap up. You wiggled your nose, the familiar timbre of your ex-boyfriend's voice ringing in your ears. "It's about time you got your ass down here".
You snickered, shrugging your heavy bag off of your shoulder, and dropping it behind the counter, turning around and greeting him with an unamused smirk.
Jeremy and you had gone out for a few months last year, it was your first and, as of right now, the only short-term relationship that you'd had in college.
Dating your co-worker, even in a relatively small place like the coffee shop on campus, almost always spelled trouble, but Jeremy was not the type to hold something like a failed relationship over your head. He understood that school was a priority for you and making a living for yourself came first, even above something like a relationship. It might not be the healthiest way to live, but it was how it always was.
Jeremy and you had developed a fast friendship, one that went beyond the romantic relationship that you'd had last year. You parted amicably and now, you had someone you could confide in, someone you could trust.
"Why don't you say that to my face?", you teased, raising a brow at him over the milk frother you were setting up.
Jeremy threw his rag down and stalked over to you. "You're snippy this morning", he chided.
You banged into his shoulder playfully, "Doesn't help that I have to see your ugly mug first thing in the morning".
You snorted out a laugh and Jeremy looked at you, feigning defensiveness, "Ouch", he paused, returning back to his post near the coffee machine, "Remind me how we ever went out?".
You scrunched your nose and threw your rag at Jeremy, hitting him square in the face with it, "That was rude".
He shrugged his shoulder, "You started it".
You both devolved into a fit of giggles and fell into a comfortable silence, setting up and getting the coffee shop ready for the day. You had a half-day shift to look forward to and then you had class until the late afternoon. The days were long and the nights were longer.
You usually found yourself nose-deep in your textbooks, more often than not, or some classic novel that was required for class, not moving from the couch until your eyes were red and you were seeing double.
Only then did you retire to sleep, crashing hard until you had to wake up and do it all again the next day.
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
The coffee shop had been bustling with people since six in the morning, and at one in the afternoon, it hadn't let up, only now you had to go to class. Waving Jeremy goodbye, you sidestepped Tara, the fourth-year who was covering the rest of the afternoon and closing shift.
You'd crossed the far side of campus, passing by the science building and one of the massive libraries that had acted like a second home to you back when you’d been studying for exams when you were a freshman. You could thank your obnoxious roommates for that one.
Entering the lecture hall, bodies pressed into you as you weaved through the growing crowd, trying to find a spot in the middle where you could see and hear your English professor. But also blend in with the masses. As if the universe had other plans in mind, and everyone suddenly showed up to the Tuesday lecture all at the same time, you found yourself picking a seat near the front, an exasperated groan leaving you.
You hated sitting at the front, not because you didn't want to get called on to answer something or because you didn't know the answers, but because you did. You wanted to get through your four years as quickly and unscathed as possible and if people knew, mainly professors, that you knew more about the subject matter than you needed to, you'd surely get called on more often, making you stick out in ways you didn't want.
It was a terrible curse, going through life with the self-esteem that you did. But it was how you were raised. Blend in. Don't be too loud. Be quiet and only observe. Nerves rapped at your insides when you thought about getting called on when class started. Your heart rate ticked up and you found that your hands were beginning to get clammy, your throat constricting with each breath.
You rubbed your hands up and down your thighs, grounding yourself with the sensation of the material.
With a jump, you sat up straighter in your seat, being jostled from your thoughts by a loud slam. You snapped your head toward the entrance, eying the person who had startled everyone. It was a man carrying a briefcase.
Your lips tilted up at the edges, amusement tickling you when you thought of anyone using a briefcase nowadays. But here this man was, head down as he made his way to the front of the room, toward the desk.
You couldn't help keeping your eyes trained on him. On how his slacks tightened around his butt, moulding to the shape and curve of it. You bit your bottom lip out of reflex, your eyes dragging down the length of the mystery man who had crashed your lecture. Maybe he was a TA? Your brows furrowed when you thought about how your professor was nowhere in sight.
The man with the briefcase placed his case on the desk, turning to face the audience of students who blinked back at him, who now settled down enough to hear him speak. Air caught in your throat when his eyes flicked momentarily to you, and lingered on you for half a second longer than you'd expected. He had massive, warm brown eyes, and soft wrinkles that danced at the edges of his eyes when he smiled, making him seem more boyish than he appeared.
He looked older than a TA would but then again, who were you to judge someone's position in life? You thought that his age did nothing to undermine just how attractive he was, if anything it added to it.
The man, who may or may not have been moonlighting as your English TA cleared his throat, nodding his head, "My name is Joel, well, Professor Miller to most, but 've always been a little bit more informal than my peers".
He began to circle the wooden desk nervously, his large hand finding the edge of it and stroking it far more sensually than necessary. You flexed your fingers, gripping the arm of your seat to stabilize yourself. "So, you can call me Joel from here on out... since we'll be seeing more of each other from now on".
Murmurs began to break out around the lecture hall, and confused and hushed whispers followed.
Professor Miller— Joel, mumbled something incoherent, and you were unable to hear it from where you sat. He cleared his throat again, "Professor McCarthy has taken a leave of absence, so I'll be filling in for him for the remainder of the semester".
You crossed your legs, feeling heat rise and a furious blush break out across your face, and shuffled in your seat, a loud creak emitted from it and you stilled, praying that the loud sound had only been heard by you and no one else. But when you lifted your gaze, Joel's eyes were already locked on you, blown and brimming with cautious inquiry. A touch of a smirk graced his lips.
"And I look forward to getting to know each and every one of you, personally". His eyes were still on you, not ready to release you from their hold.
His tongue darted out to wet his lips and you couldn't help but stare. You had every reason to look away from him, he was your professor and given the clear age difference, he was someone who was off limits. But when he didn't look away from you either, trapping you with his gaze, your face heated up, suddenly aware that he was purposely staring at you.
You swallowed thickly, heart hammering as Joel's eyes finally drifted away from you and back to the faces of your classmates. He continued on with addressing the class, and you noticed that he avoided your eyes for the rest of the lecture.
Only one thought rang through your mind as you tried and failed to focus back on the lecture. This was going to be one long semester.
#teacher x student#teacher attachment#pedro pascal#joel miller#the last of us#joel tlou#joel the last of us#pedropascaledit#college au#joel miller imagine#joel miller fic#joel miller fanfic#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#joel miller fanfiction#tlou hbo#tlou2#the last of us fic#the last of us fanfic#writeblr#fanfiction writer#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedropascal#pedro is daddy#i love pedro pascal#pedro pascal smut#pedro pascal fanfic#my fic#joel miller x you
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what is war of faith about? is it worth a watch apart from just wang yibo(being gay?)? and where should i watch it?
you were all expecting me to do this so okay let's see how many others i can drag down this shenlai (i think this is the ship name we've settled on?? i have seen many 沈来之笔 tags on ao3 so i'm assuming that's what the chinese fandom has settled on) hole.
what: republican era communist spy drama (finance bros edition) // completed // 38 eps, roughly 40 mins each
where: iqiyi (standard disclaimer that i don’t watch with subs so i don’t speak to the quality of eng subs)
why: *chanting* yibo yibo yibo yibo yib- wang yang?? xiansheng???? i'll preface by saying i don't watch many republican era shows - it's really just not my thing, like even zhu yilong couldn't make me watch one and that's saying a lot, but i did finish and quite enjoy this one!! extremely strong cast on this show, and the story moved fast enough and had enough action in it that it kept my attention.
meet my boy wei ruolai:
ruolai is from a v humble family, worked hard to put himself through night school but is having trouble stepping foot into the finance world because he has no money, no connections, no diploma (the school is holding off on issuing him one because he's from a communist-stronghold province 😪). he's working several jobs to make ends meet in shanghai when he decides to interview for a job at the central bank.
he aces his entrance test! ofc he does! ruolai is a bit of a whiz with numbers, and is very very very determined to get the job - the place could be on goddamn fire for all he cares, he'll finish his goddamn test and get this goddamn job even if it kills him.
his performance gains him the attention of shen tunan:
xiansheng!! 😍💖💕
chief of the central bank, The Guy™ of the finance and banking industry in shanghai. extremely attractive in a suit. 100% dilf certified.
xiansheng takes a shine on ruolai, but ends up not being able to hire ruolai despite his excellence because, again, ruolai is from a communist-stronghold province, and they don't want to take any chances with him possibly having communist ties.
does that set ruolai back?? no. my boy sneaks into a party that shen tunan is holding at his mansion, and convinces shen tunan to hire him by essentially picking apart shen tunan's ~secret strategies~ that he's uncovered just by following the finance news and making smart deductions 🥺💚
shen tunan caves and personally hires ruolai as his PA, and begins mentoring him and teaching him the ways of the banking industry.
the show is mostly about ruolai's growth in the central bank and the shift of his political beliefs, centred around the kmt and communist party's conflict in that era. the premise of the show is fairly simple - most republican era dramas move in the same direction. this one was well-written, had a solid cast, and beautifully shot.
the development of stn and wrl's relationship in this show was good! it's v shippable, if that's something that is important to you. ngl, i did stay through till the end because these two were so interesting.
we have proud teacher shen tunan who is so so proud of his boy and takes ruolai suit-shopping and tells him how special he is :
starry-eyed disciple wei ruolai who would literally do anything for shen tunan:
he really does mean it when he says that. he gets tortured and thrown in goddamn jail for shen tunan, and he just bears it all and doesn't let himself react in any manner that could harm shen tunan.
i started this strictly for yibo, and had no expectations that i would enjoy it, but guys...........wang yang is 🥵🔥 in this as shen tunan, and this ship just.......sails itself. what else was i supposed to do except go three hundred different levels of ahhhhhhhhh over them.
ANYWAY. strong rec. like at least 8.5/10. even if you're just in it for yibo (who is EXCELLENT in this, the whump scenes are incredible), or if you just want to ship shenlai, the payoff is strong in this.
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take the pain away - mason mount
summary: Y/N gets hurt, and Mason is immediately at her side, doing anything he can to take the pain away
pairing: Mason Mount x reader
word count: 3.1k
warning/tags: hurt/comfort, mentions of an injury, sickeningly sweet, tooth-rotting fluff, established relationships, also I wrote this in an airport and it all feels like a fever dream, so tbh I have no idea what any of this says... enjoy!
requested: yes!!
notes: here is another request! so sorry it took so long to get out - nursing school has been kicking my butt these last couple of weeks. thank you so so much for requesting! (and I'm already working on your other one :) )
It was a beautiful day at Cobham as you stood pitch-side, a rare warm March day in London. Your camera was raised to your face as you watched the Chelsea boys practice through its lens, snapping a few photos. Due to the nicer weather, both the men’s team and the Academy players were outside training in the afternoon, and you had jumped at the opportunity to get a few photos that could be used later on Chelsea’s Instagram.
These were your favorite days, when you got to spend time around the teams, watching them interact and doing your best to capture the chemistry between them with your camera. It surely beat the alternative: spending the day indoors, in a corner office, your time consumed by editing photos and sending various emails.
Plus, you would never turn down getting to watch your athletic boyfriend work his magic.
You panned your camera to the left, catching a few of the boys standing in line to wait their turn for a shooting drill that Potter was having them run. Your lens found Mason standing in the back of the line, and your heart fluttered as he looked straight at you, pulling a silly face to try to make you laugh.
You dropped the camera from your face, giggling slightly as you pressed a couple buttons to look at the pictures you had taken. Maybe you would keep those for yourself.
You looked back up at him, shaking your head slightly at his antics. Mason, with a satisfied grin on his face at succeeding to make you laugh, turned back to the line of boys in front of him, bouncing on his toes to prepare to run the drill.
After a few more minutes, Potter divided the boys into three groups, running a new drill with only a couple of the groups at a time. This left one of the groups to take a short rest, and Ben and Kai approached you, after grabbing their water bottles, to greet you.
One of the things that you loved about both working for Chelsea and dating Mason was that you had developed a close friendship with many of the players, having been able to hang out with them outside of work more and more as time went on.
Ben greeted you with a short pat on the back, refraining from hugging you so he didn’t get his sweat on you (which you greatly appreciated). Kai placed his hand on top of your head, ruffling your hair as he laughed mischievously. You scowled at him playfully, attempting to fix your hair as they began asking how you had been recently. You quickly got lost in conversation with them, raising the camera to your face intermittently to get a few photos of the boys still on the pitch.
Behind you, the Academy boys were practicing, running a scrimmage before they concluded for the afternoon. With your back to the group, you hadn’t seen the Academy player dropping to the ground in a slide in order to keep the ball in-bounds. You hadn’t seen the way that he misjudged his speed, sliding far beyond the ball and the sideline of the pitch, right toward where you were standing.
Ben and Kai saw it, though, as if it was happening in slow motion, but still too quickly for them to do anything about it. The only warning you had was a split second where the their eyes both went wide, reaching their arms up to try to pull you out of harm’s way. They tried to shout a warning to you, but it was too late.
The young boy slid into your ankles and you heard a sickening crunch as he knocked you to the grass.
Mason’s head whipped around quickly as he heard you cry out, a chill rushing down his spine as he immediately recognized it as your voice. He saw you on the ground, along with the Academy player as Ben and Kai rushed to your side.
You were confused—disoriented to say the least. Your back had hit the ground abruptly, knocking the wind out of you and leaving you gasping for air. You saw the boy getting up to his knees next to you, rushing out some apology you couldn’t focus on. You saw Ben drop to his knees at your side, and it felt like your head was spinning. You tried desperately to regain your breath, draping your arms over your face as you lay on the ground.
It was then that the brief rush of adrenaline wore off, and the pain set in quickly. A shooting pain tore through your right ankle, causing you to cry out again. In the frenzy of the whole thing, you could hear people trying to speak to you, but they seemed distant, and you couldn’t make out anything that they were saying. You grit your teeth, hating that there were so many people here to see your vulnerable state.
A pair of hands on your sides grounded you back to reality, and you moved your arm, squinting against the sunlight to see that Mason was at your side, kneeling next to your face. His eyes were wide with concern, and his voice started to pierce through the ringing in your ears.
“You’re okay, baby. You’re okay.”
You tried desperately to blink back the tears you could feel springing to your eyes. In most any circumstance you refused to let anyone see you cry, determined to maintain a tough exterior, but the throbbing in your ankle proved to be more than you could handle.
The Academy player that had tackled you was now on his feet, still desperately trying to apologize for his actions. Mason turned and shoved him away from you, shouting something about backing away from you. You saw Reece grab the boy by the shoulders and talking quietly to him, no doubt trying to defuse the situation while also reversing any damage done by Mason’s shouting. He was, after all, just a kid, and he hadn’t intended to hurt anyone.
“Mase, please.” You grabbed a fistful of his training shirt, bringing his attention away from the young player and back to you. He looked back at you, his eyes softening as he heard you whimpering in pain. He helped you sit up halfway, pulling you into his chest. You buried your face in his neck so that no one could see the tears that slid down your cheeks, still holding his shirt tightly in your fist.
Mason slowly stroked his fingers up and down your arm in an attempt to soothe you as Ben explained what had happened. Your leg was still throbbing, leaving you unable to focus on anything that was happening around you. Mason pressed a kiss to the top of your head, whispering soothing words in your ear. He desperately wanted to take the pain away from you, but he didn’t know how.
You felt Mason’s muscles tense up, as he suddenly felt that there were too many people crowding around you. “Everyone back up!” he shouted, startling you. “Back up! Give her some space!”
Several people took a couple steps back at his sudden outburst, but Kai rested a hand on Mason’s shoulder to calm him. “They’re the physios, mate. They’re trying to help.”
When Mason lifted his eyes, getting a better look at the two individuals who were now coming to your side, he realized that Kai was right, recognizing the physios from times that he had spent in recovery after being injured.
One of the physios, a middle-aged woman with a reassuring, gentle look in her eyes, told you she was going to take your shoe off and waited for your short nod before she began undoing the laces.
Mason’s heart clenched in his chest when you gazed up at him with red-rimmed eyes. He did his best to give you a comforting smile, despite the sickening feeling in his gut at seeing you in so much pain.
The physio did her best to removed your shoe without causing you any more pain, but the slight movement of your foot still caused you to whimper out in pain. You grasped Mason’s bicep, and he hissed slightly as your nails dug painfully into his arm, but he didn’t dare to let on that you had hurt him.
When your sock and shoe were both removed, Mason could see that your ankle had already become swollen, beginning to flush a deep shade of purple.
“We’ll need to bring her up to the facility and wrap this,” the physio spoke, more to Mason than to you. She placed a hand gently on your knee, trying to bring your attention to her. “Do you think you can try to walk on it? I don’t think it’s broken.”
You nodded, trying your best to be tough. You let go of Mason’s arms, and he untangled his arms from around you, moving to stand in front of where you were sitting. You took his hands, letting him pull you to your feet as you kept all of your weight on your left leg. The breeze chilled the thin layer of sweat that had formed on your neck.
Mason still held tightly to your arms, standing in front of you and intensely watching your eyes as you tried to settled your foot to the ground, putting some weight on it. Your face contorted in pain immediately as a shooting pain radiated from your ankle up your leg, and your knee gave out. Mason was quick to catch you before you fell. You shook your head vigorously, letting out a quite “I can’t”.
Mason swept you up in his arms, carrying you bridal style as he followed behind the physios and walking as gently as he could so he didn’t cause you any unnecessary pain. With your arms wrapped around his neck, you instinctively buried your face in his shoulder again, finding comfort there.
When you finally made it into the training facility, Mason followed the physios into the treatment room, setting you down on a cushioned table so they could wrap your foot. You noticed then that Ben had followed you all inside, carrying your shoe and camera, which had, remarkably, remained unharmed in the clash. You smiled at him in thanks, and he walked over to you on the side that Mason wasn’t standing to give you a short hug and a kiss on top of your head before he went back out to rejoin training.
The whole ordeal had drained you of any energy, and you let out a sigh as you dropped your head onto Mason’s shoulder. The pain had faded slightly, into a dull throbbing, and his fingers rubbing gentle circles into your back was helping to calm you.
“You doing okay?” he whispered, checking in. Your eyes slipped shut and you nodded into his neck, too tired to say anything in reply.
The physios looked over your ankle, deciding it wasn’t a break, but rather a very bad sprain. They gave you some pain medication, put your foot in a boot, and instructed you to take it easy for a couple of days before you returned to your normal routine.
Mason took you home, waiting hand and foot on you for the rest of the day. He even took the next day off of training to look after you, despite your insistence that he didn’t need to. Though the pain had been miserable, you couldn’t pretend you didn’t enjoy the extra attention that Mason gave you as a result of your injury. He was already a very touchy and affectionate person, but it had been dialed up to 10 ever since that day at Cobham.
That Friday, several days after your injury, Kai and Sophia were hosting a game night at their place. The boys didn’t have a game that weekend, and they wanted to use it as an opportunity to get together and just spend a chill night hanging out.
After reassuring Mason numerous times that you were still up for going, the two of you walked into the house, you wobbling slightly as you were still getting used to walking in the boot. The room erupted with noise as everyone shouted greetings as you entered. Several of the boys came over, patting you on the back or pulling you into a hug, saying how they had missed seeing you at Cobham since your injury. Your heart swelled with affection as you returned their hugs. Sophia came over, pulling you to the couch so that the two could catch up while the boys were talking to Mason.
The night went on, and you learned several new card games and board games. Being with everyone did wonders to lift your mood after a fairly dull week following your injury. Mason was still attentive, constantly touching you in some way at all times, whether than was an innocent hand on your thigh, or an arm wrapping securely around your shoulders and placing a kiss to your forehead every couple of minutes. But you could tell that he was glad to be out with his group of friends.
The rest of the group didn’t miss the extra protective air surrounding Mason as he kept an eye out for you the whole night. It was endearing to see how much he cared about you and the comfort that seemed to wash over him at being able to have you around with the rest of the team again. None of them had ever seen Mason be this way with any other girl—you all definitely had something special. But although they were happy for him, it didn’t stop the boys from poking fun at him periodically for it anyway.
The evening continued, and you began to grow more tired, but you refused to say anything to Mason because you truly didn’t want to leave.
Sophia brought out a new game as the time passed 11 pm, and the game night was showing no signs of slowing down. You opted to sit this game out, waving it off when Ben asked if you were alright.
Despite your best efforts to hide your exhaustion, Mason still noticed, ever the attentive boyfriend. He leaned back on the couch, wrapping his arm gently around your shoulders as Kai and Sophia set the game up on the table in front of you. You sighed in content, resting your head on his shoulder.
You closed your eyes as Mason pressed a kiss to your forehead and mumbled a short, “you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m good,” you nodded, turning so you could look him in the eye.
“Are you sure? Do you want to go home?” you could still see the concern in his eyes as he searched your face.
“No, no, I’m okay, really,” you smiling to try and reassure him. “I promise.”
Mason searched your face for a moment more, seeming to finally accept your answer as you laid your head back on his chest. He turned and continued talking with Ben, and as you looked back toward the table, Sophia held your gaze with a knowing look. She grinned at you, and you felt the blush rushing into your cheeks. You hid your face in Mason’s chest and suppressed a giggle.
Despite having been in a relationship with Mason for several months, he never ceased to make you giggly and giddy with his affectionate gestures. Sophia was always the first one to tease you about how flustered he made you.
The game night resumed as soon as everyone understood the rules, and you untucked yourself from Mason’s side so he could lean forward to play the game. You sat quietly, content to watch as everyone else played and joked with one another. But the longer you watched, the more your eyes began to droop. Like there was a magnet pulling you, you felt drawn toward Mason as you began to slump over from exhaustion, and you laid your head on his shoulder blade. Without turning from the game, he reached behind him, pulling your arms so that they were wrapped around his waist.
You held to him tightly, soothed by his breathing and the sound of his soft laughter every now and then. Mason kept one hand on your arms, where they met in his lap, stroking his thumb softly over the back of one of your hands.
After several minutes of silence from you, he grew suspicious of the fact that he hadn’t felt you move in a while – not even a slight shift.
“You doing okay back there, Y/N?” he asked softly.
He was met with no answer. He furrowed his brow, turning his head to look at you, but he couldn’t move far enough to see your face without shifting you.
“Y/N?” he repeated.
“I think she’s asleep, mate,” Ben commented, sitting on your other side, where he had a clear view of your face. Your cheek was slightly squished from where it was pressed against Mason’s shoulders, lips parted as the muscles in your face relaxed completely.
Mason couldn’t help the warmth that flooded his face as he unwrapped your arms from his waist, pulling your legs so that they draped across his lap and he could hold you in his arms. He kissed the top of your head as you stirred before settling into his side.
“You lovebirds can’t keep your hands off of each other, can you?” Kai teased, grinning at the smitten look on his friend’s face.
“Oh, give it a couple years,” Ben chuckled from the other side of the couch, jumping at the opportunity to get under Mason’s skin. “They’ll be sick of each other soon enough.”
Some of the guys laughed at his remark, knowing he didn’t mean it at all. Mason just kept looking down at you as you laid on his chest, a loving look in his eyes.
“Nah, a couple years from now, I’m gonna marry her,” he replied matter-of-factly, not an ounce of hesitation in his voice. The rest of the group smiled, silently coming to the decision to let you all be and continue playing their game.
With your face tucked into Mason’s chest, he couldn’t see the smile that curled your lips as you heard his words just before you fell back to sleep.
#mason mount#mason mount x reader#mason mount imagine#mason mount imagines#mason mount fics#footballer fics#footballer imagine#footballer imagines#football imagine#football fics#mason mount fluff#mason mount fanfic#mason mount one shot#mason mount blurb#chelsea fc
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Oh then! Can I request a scenario where Toji eavesdrops on a convo between Reader and Gojo (or whoever) where Reader confesses to having a crush on Toji?
Thank you so much!
Confessions of a Confection Thief (Toji x Teacher!Fem!Reader)
Plot: On a warm summer day, you confess your love for the man once known as the Sorcerer Killer to the man who, twelve years ago, spared his life. What you don't count on is the man in question listening in, nor the consequences of a mere lunch invitation.
Tags: au in which Gojo heals Toji's ass with reverse jujutsu and makes him his bitch, reader is megumi's teacher, parent/teacher relationship, age gap (reader early 30s, toji early 40s), character development!toji, soft!toji, confession, unprotected sex, oral sex (m. receiving), facial, doggy style, petnames (teach', sweetheart, baby, doll), MDNI (obviously)
A/N: You can tell I got inspired since this took me 9k words to develop that feature not only the confession, but the date and the "happy ever after" ehe. Hopefully this was worth the wait!
“Damn machine!” You grunt as you kick at the vending machine’s side, lamenting over the 1,000 yen bill you were just robbed of.
“Let me give it a try.” The man beside you suggests and you clear the stage for him to work his magic. His right hand lifts from his pocket, open fingers coaxing an entire bundle of sodas out without even making contact. What a show-off.
He gathers the cans off the ground and hands you the one that is your favorite, making you wait while he places the rest on top of the vendor for a lucky student to find.
“Isn’t that considered damaging school property?” You raise a brow, yanking the ring close to the tab with a pop.
“Is it?” He chuckles, bringing his refreshment to his lips. “It was already damaged when we got here. Ijichi’s gonna get an earful later.”
“I don’t think that falls under Ijichi’s responsibilities, Satoru. Cut him some slack already.”
“No harm in harassing your cute underclassmen from time to time, Y/N.” He smiles. “You should try it too.”
Right, you mutter under your breath, already regretting your decision to spill your heart’s contents on someone with such little regard for others. Shoko would’ve been a better choice. Utahime, too. You could wait until the weekend, get on the first bullet train to Kyoto, and have a girls’ night out like you used to before life and work got in the way. They’d surely talk you out of the horrible mistake you’re about to commit. Maybe that’s why you chose Satoru. He’s the only one who’d give you the final push down the cliff, and you don’t mind the fall.
“So what is it that you wanted to talk about?” He brings you back to the parching reality of Jujutsu Tech’s grounds, with the sun glinting across every metallic surface and body of water in the perimeter. The heatwave has only begun, and thankfully, the outburst of curses has finally simmered down, or else you’ve no idea how you’d survive abandoned building-hopping with those three rascals.
You take a sip from your soda, the taste of honeydew melon cooling your throat like the sweetest form of redemption. You struggle not to gulp it all down in one go, eyeing the remainder of drinks that have vanished in the horizon—or rather, you have, your steps leading you toward a path of tori gates that itself leads to the school’s Inari shrine. This should be safe. No one comes around these places.
“I have a confession to make.”
Satoru stops in his tracks, awaiting a follow-up that doesn’t come. His sunglasses come off, and a knowing smile slowly creeps up his lips. “I know.”
“Y-You do?” You blink in surprise. What does he know? How does he know? Since when does he know? “Satoru—”
“You’re the one who ate the last Manzu.”
And he couldn’t be any more off the mark.
You sigh. “That’s not it.”
“It’s not? Huh.” He wipes his mouth with the back of his palm after chugging his strawberry-flavored soda. “Guess I’ll have to ask Ijichi about that too.”
“Please don’t torment him for useless things.” You cast your gaze to your feet, kicking a pebble as you speak. “What I want to confess is… my feelings.”
The cicadas come to a stop, leaving space for your words to take root. You are hesitant to move forward, cautiously treading on the shells of emotions you recently began to accept. Almost there, you encourage yourself as Satoru invades your personal space, cornering you against the red gate’s pillar.
“Finally decided to profess your love for me?”
You shove his smug face away and roll your eyes at the notion. “Dream on, Shit-toru.”
He takes a step back, acting as if you just delivered a fatal blow to his heart. You chuckle at his childish antics while shaking your head in disapproval. To think the future of the entire Jujutsu world rests on the shoulders of a conceited guy who makes everything about him.
“Then who’s the lucky guy?”
Your anxiety resumes before it has the chance to fully dissipate. You close your eyes and lean back against the pillar, the familiar name on your tongue feeling foreign. “It’s… Fushiguro.”
“Fushiguro?” You nod. You understand it’s a lot to take in and give him a moment to process it, yet the longer he takes to answer, the more tempted you are to say this was a joke and call things off. “Don’t you think there’s a bit of an age gap?”
“I mean… I suppose there is.” You sound defeated. If even Satoru saw this as an issue, then there’s no reason he wouldn’t. “You think it’s that bad?”
“Bad?” His lips twitch. “The heart wants what it wants, Y/N. Give it a few years, and the difference won’t matter.”
“You think I have a chance?”
“Oh, definitely! I saw Yuji move some of his American-star posters into his room last week, and he didn’t throw any away. Jennifer Lawrence ‘s your age, right?”
Your memory is put to the test as you go through various Jennifers. Is she the one from Friends or the one married to Ben Affleck?
“I think she’s older by a few years.”
“Older?” He snorts. “Well, if it makes you feel younger, then who am I to argue?”
You decide to let his comment slide for the sake of picking on the dissonance in his words. “But what does a Hollywood actress have to do with this? And Itadori—what are you talking about?”
“Y/N, you should get to know him a bit better before confessing, don’t you think?” Satoru says, as he finds your beloved pebble and tosses it in your direction. You catch it with your heel. “The kind of woman he likes; his best friend; the ages of top-paid actors. These things shape up a guy’s adolescence. They’re as crucial.”
By the time he finishes talking, all the puzzle pieces fall into place, and you have to mentally control every joint in your body to prevent it from lashing at him with fury second only to the Curse King’s. Even by Satoru’s dubious standards, this is plain outrageous.
“Are you outta your mind?” You yell, pushing your hair off your sweaty forehead with both palms. “How could you—why would you—what do you take me for?” You fail to put your thoughts in order until you suck in a deep breath. “I would never crush on any of my students, or any other minor, for that matter!” You declare.
Thin white eyebrows furrow in genuine confusion. “But you said—”
“Fushiguro! The man I’m in love with is Fushiguro Toji!”
And not a single soul is left on campus who hasn’t heard your confession, no matter how far and wide or close you think they are scattered.
Toji’s never set foot on these damned grounds without cursing to himself as if the paths his shoes traverse are paved with nothing but shit. Even after all these years, something about marching through the front door just doesn’t feel right. It’s not hatred, that’s for sure. He’s spent more than two-thirds of his life cultivating his loathing for sorcerers to the point where he can tell it apart by taste alone.
No, what’s tainting his palate right now and will continue doing so in the days to come is more akin to chagrin than resentment. It’s failure. A failure that’s branded onto the bare skin of his torso and that he can’t pawn off for as long as he stands, because if a fate worse than death exists, then that’s surviving on a snotty brat’s pity.
Wiping some of his sweat and plenty of his regrets against his pants, Toji remembers his reason for being here has nothing to do with Six-Eyes or his past shortcomings, as he’s here to share the news of his divorce papers finalization with the only person he’s keen on letting know: you.
A decade has passed since he last heard from his wife—his ex-wife who had no qualms about leaving everything behind (her daughter included) and ran back to her parents, never to be seen or heard from again until a hotshot big firm lawyer showed up at his doorstep with a bunch of papers and a platinum-coated Montblanc in hand.
And with that, another overdue chapter was closed, the rest of the pages flipping through the wind. By the end of summer, the goalkeeper in his relationship with his son will be heading off to college, and with Tsumiki gone, Megumi decided he’d grown old enough to slam the door on his face and choose that faux albino sorcerer over his own blood.
It was that very rebellion that roused Toji to reevaluate his lifestyle. He stopped counting the years after the candle with the number 4 became prominent in each birthday cake, but that didn’t stop time from moving forward. He was aging. And while one-night stands do a decent enough job to distract him from searching his scalp for graying hair, the nights he catches himself wishing his bed could stay warm the morning after add up.
None of the silly little girls he fools around with are capable of that, not the way you are. Since that first PT meeting he begrudgingly attended two months ago, a rusty cog in his heart began turning again.
You don’t match any of his previous criteria. You don’t come from a wealthy family and aren’t an airhead either. You live in the dorms because you can’t afford rent in the city, and you are smart enough to have graduated from a big university. You are one of them, but you’re also proof that not all beauty was lost with her.
Toji doesn’t want to screw this up. Just once, he wants to do things right. He waited until he was a free man in the eyes of the law, wore his good jeans on a day when wearing jeans should be considered a criminal offense, and kept enough cash to afford however many side dishes you ordered—assuming you accepted his lunch invitation in the first place.
The jittery, four-eyed guy he ran into on his way to your class pointed him in the direction of the school’s shrine. After a while of wandering around, Toji spots two sets of imprints in the soil, the smaller ones belonging to your heels and the larger ones undoubtedly being that brat’s. Luck isn’t on his side today. His stride overlaps with Gojo’s as he childishly covers the younger man’s tracks, leaving yours intact, and eventually, the sound of clamor confirms his lead.
He strays off the pebbled path and mingles with the shadows of the dense forest, scoffing as Gojo’s shit-eating grin becomes apparent. That beanpole’s standing way too close to you. Toji almost intervenes when you finally push him. A kick to the nuts would do him better, but that’s enough for a tiny smile to rise on his scar. That’s my girl.
There’s no reason to stay hidden anymore. After all, that brat is already aware of his presence. He takes a few steps forward, turning into a pillar of salt at your sudden outburst.
“The man I’m in love with is Fushiguro Toji!”
His hand nearly reaches inside his back pocket to double-check the name on his ID. Looks like some of his luck returned to him. Asking you out just got a whole lot easier.
“Fushiguro Toji?” Gojo twists a finger in his ear. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”
Toji hisses, his fist itching to knock some teeth off his face. That ought to jog his memory, but he holds back, realizing that’s all part of Six-Eyes’ plan. To egg him on into a brawl he can’t win.
“He wiped the floor with your face only a few years back, Satoru.” You sound as irritated as he is. “How could you possibly forget?”
The man folds his arms over his chest, sparing a glare in Toji’s direction as he reclines against the tori gate. “Was it at the arcades? Man, no need to rub it in.”
Your lips part, but no sound comes out. You sigh, hogging the unoccupied pillar with no intention to play his game.
“What about Megumi’s old man won you over?” Gojo gives in. “His kart skills?”
“So you do remember, after all.” You murmur in a low voice. “I don’t know. He’s just… nice.”
“Nice?” Gojo asks with utter disgust painted on his face.
Nice?
You nod, fumbling with the hem of your navy-blue dress. “Hey, Satoru. You know what makes for a good parent?” You don’t let either of them consider their answers. “It’s effort. Not success, but effort. Mister Fushiguro hasn’t missed any of his son’s PT meetings, even when the two of them are clearly at odds.”
Toji feels too guilty to step in and correct you that his priority is to see you. Not that Megumi doesn’t matter, but what’s the point of hearing his son excels in everything he never could for the nth time in a month?
“And?”
You glance at the clear sky. “And you remember those forms Yaga gave us for the kids to fill out? Nobara said her dream was to buy out Daikanyama. You can guess what Yuji’s was. As for Megumi, he left his blank, and when I asked him later, he said that he doesn’t have time for dreams; that his goal is to repay his dad the money he lost from the Naobito deal, so he owes him nothing.”
The two men blink in surprise. “Didn’t think he knew about that.”
“You aren’t exactly a quiet speaker, Satoru.” You shrug. “Point is, he doesn’t know. Neither of them do. Megumi doesn’t know his father attends his PT meetings, and Mister Fushiguro doesn’t know about his son’s dream. Isn’t it funny? They both care about each other but are too awkward to admit it.”
“And you call me twisted.” Gojo yawns. “You wanna act like a bridge between them? Is that it?”
You shake your head. “I wouldn’t want to interfere. Megumi placed his trust in me as his teacher when he disclosed that, and Mister Fushiguro… We are nothing to each other.”
Yet, Toji mentally added.
“You might think it’s crazy, but I think Mister Fushiguro’s heart is full of raw emotion he can’t put in order on his own. He’s not taught how to, and I… I think I could help him out with that; be someone he can direct those feelings to. No, I—” You shake your head again, except this time you do so with a little smile of conviction tugging at your lips. “I want to be that person. I want to be his person.”
Gojo doesn’t say anything for a good while, and you end up nearly as flustered as Toji himself. “Of course there are plenty of other things I like about him! He is funny, charming, has his own house,” your voice drops in volume, “he is very attractive, and we have the same taste in seafood.”
“Sounds to me like you’ve got it all figured out.” Gojo let his hand drop after fixing his sunglasses over his nose bridge. “But you should know, Fushiguro, or rather Zen’in Toji, is a lot more than that. He’s killed more sorcerers in his prime than most curses combined. Not sayin’ that to be a buzz kill, but you should be careful around him, or else,” his tone drops a menacing octave as he peers over his shades, “I’ll have to terminate that relationship myself.
“You get it, right?” He switched back to his usual voice with a lighthearted chuckle. “Wouldn’t want to lose another precious friend.”
Silence reigns between you, and that’s Toji’s cue to walk up. He’s heard enough. The few fallen leaves rustle under his weight, caution thrown to the wind as tiny twigs crunch below his sandals. He’s close enough for you to tell someone’s coming, but not close enough to tell that someone is him.
“Got nothin’ better to do than gossip about others, Six-Eyes?” Toji paces in the middle of you two, his eyes flickering in your direction. He has to brace himself not to smile at how red your face has gotten, his resolve giving way to a suggestive smirk. “Teach’.”
“Mister Fushiguro.” Your smile is shaky, but there. Always there for him.
“Yo, it’s been a long time!” Gojo springs forward. “Came for a rematch?” His hand travels up his neck, rolling his shoulder blades one at a time. “Could use the exercise.”
“I’m done fighting kids.” Toji deadpans.
“Is that so?” Gojo scratches the back of his head. “Your hands must be full with all that jell-o they feed you at retirement house,” he chuckled at his own joke. “What then? Remembered to pay the med bills twelve years later?”
“Satoru!” You object.
“Only if you remembered to hand the Star Vessel cash back.”
“Mister Fushiguro!”
“Money belongs to Amanai,” Gojo raises his volume. “I don’t think she’d want you to have it.”
“Really? ‘Cause last time I checked, corpses don’t talk.” Toji grits his teeth and unwillingly finds himself at the end of your right palm, the other one prompting Gojo to maintain his distance.
Your eyes are round, but the look behind them firm. The same look you assume when you reprimand your students, he bets. His gaze is drawn to your fingers, small and slender as they graze his shirt. You’ve never been so close to him before. If it weren’t for the walking parasite to his left, he might’ve been enjoying the proximity.
Perhaps for the first time in his life, Toji is the one to back away first, clearing his throat with a soundless cough. His eyes remain on Gojo’s while he speaks. “I’m here to take her out.” He stops and considers adding “to lunch”, previous occupation and all, but deems that should be obvious enough.
“You got time?” His tone softens, still bearing hints of the annoyance he failed to submerge.
A single finger pad skims over his chest as you withdraw your hand, slower than you did the other. So cute. He promises to give you plenty of opportunities to touch him later.
“I have an afternoon class, but Satoru can cover for me.” You smile sweetly at Toji and click your heel down on Gojo’s foot. “Right, Satoru?”
He’s inclined to agree, his face lightening up behind his shades. “As long as you agree to grade my papers for the next three months.”
“I’m already stuck grading the papers from when you went to Hiroshima,” you mumble under your breath, your nose scrunching in an expression that’s new to Toji. “Fine.”
“Mister Fushiguro?” You turn to him.
Toji shoots Gojo a stunted glare before his large palm finds its place in the small of your back, prodding you to move forward.
On the way to the car you find yourself making small talk about the weather, and on the way to the restaurant, your getaway is Megumi’s recent success in domain creation. This isn’t the first time you’re alone with him, but with every mile you count away from school grounds, you shrink into an ever-growing bundle of nerves that threatens to unravel on his passenger seat.
You’re in the middle of your third recounting of the kids’ excursion in Saitama when a hand moves to your lap and muzzles your every thought.
“Don’t tell me you’re nervous, Teach’.” Toji says once you’re stopped at a red light.
He’s careful to keep his fingers over your dress, only his thumb looming over the bare skin of your knee. Your glance loses momentum as it travels from his knuckles to his wrist and then his elbow, reveling at the sight of muscles bulging underneath his rolled-up white shirt. You’re glad half of his attention remains on the steering wheel, because if you got to see the other side of his lopsided smile, then you might say something that’s unbecoming of an educator—and you almost do, after his hand drops to the gear stick.
“I don’t normally do these things, Mister Fushiguro.” You admit, preserving some of his leftover warmth with your own palm.
“Hmm? What things?”
“Going on dates with parents—it’s a first for me.”
“Oh? So that’s what this is?” He chuckles lowly, as if the notion were new to him. Other than the few visible wrinkles around his eyes, you wouldn’t guess this man was roughly ten years your senior. “You can relax. Got a long way before the main course, sweetheart.”
Embarrassment flares up in your cheeks at the pet name. You can’t remember the last time you were asked out, let alone called something of that volume. You don’t mind it. If anything, you like the ring.
“Ah, and do me a favor, won’t ya?” His head cocks to the side, tousled black strands falling forward. “Quit callin’ me that.”
“Calling you what?”
“Mister Fushiguro.” He grimaces. “It’s ex mister Fushiguro now.”
“What?” You exclaim with more excitement than you’re entitled to.
It doesn’t go unnoticed. “Check the compartment glove.”
You do as you’re told, discovering a bitten-off subway that’s wrapped around at least four layers of napkins. His sloppy eating habits mustn’t be what he’s so eager for you to see. You nudge it to the side and dig out a few crane toys that are too adorable to be his, and then finally, a stack of creased official documents that you have to separate from the massage parlor flyers stuck between the pages.
You quickly go over the lines, the most notable by far being the words “Divorce Agreement” written in all capitals on the front page. “Is this…?”
He nods. “Got ‘em this morning. Thought you’d take proof over my word.”
“That’s amazing, Mister Fushig—” You bite your tongue. “Looks like you got to keep all your assets, too.”
“All, except that name.”
You remember pondering why, even though Toji was born into the main family, both he and his son left the Zen’in surname behind. Others would kill for a chance to be written in their family registry—but then again, it was just like the Zen’ins to keep clan matters private.
“You can call me Toji until I take on a new surname.” He continues, his voice reflecting his lax smile. “Am open to suggestions.”
You return it, piecing a non-existent strand of hair behind your ear. “Already proposing that I should marry you?”
“Better strike while the iron’s hot,” quietly adding, “figured that should give ya enough time to sort my shit out.”
“What was that?”
He grins as he cups your hand with his own. “We’re here.”
Toji’s restaurant of choice turns out to be a cozy little family restaurant by the park in Nerima. He asks if you’ve been there before, but you shake your head. Having no car means you rarely get to go around Tokyo without Ijichi, the kids, or Utahime whenever she decides to pull a surprise visit. You’re a tourist in your own town.
At this time of the day—neither appropriate for lunch nor for dinner—the tables are mostly empty, and you’re free to choose your own seats. He points at the bar, and you point at the window. He pulls your chair and then plops down on his own, chin quick to balance atop his wrist while he stares off at the greenery on the horizon.
You thought sitting closer to the window would be cooler, but the heat is reflected through the glass. You should have listened to him.
A waiter drops off your menus with a tired smile, patting some of the perspiration off his forehead with a napkin. “Sure is hot today, isn’t it?”
You nod politely and start browsing the list of appetizers. All those nights you spent bent over your tiny desk lamp pile up against you as your stomach lets out a low grumble—overjoyed to be presented with something that doesn’t require a microwave.
“You drink?” Toji waves the wine menu in your face.
“If the occasion calls for it.” Your reply paves the way for his next question. “I’d say a glass of champagne is due to celebrate your freedom.”
He flings the menu at the next table. “Don’t have that here. Maybe next time,” he says, and you almost stand in ovation at the prospect of there being a next time.
“You don’t want anything?”
“Not a drinker.” He doesn’t care to elaborate. You go back to scanning the pages, and you must’ve taken long enough for him to grab onto your menu. “I can recommend you some.”
Your stomach gurgles again, and this time he hears it. His stare lowers over your body, and you shift in your seat, offering him the menu to distract him from your issue. His bottom lip curls in amusement.
“The stake’s good here since their stuff’s from Kobe-hmm,” Toji pauses as he zeroes in on an item that he taps with his index. “The barbecue ribs are the real deal.”
His green orbs spin like pinball in his eyes while he flips through the pages, pointing out what’s good and what sucks, as those are the two main phrases he uses to describe the specialties. This is the most you’ve heard him speak in a row, and admittedly, you miss out on most of what he says taking in his mannerisms.
His surprisingly well-trimmed nails drum on the table when they aren’t shifting to a different page, while his cheek prop up his fist. He makes a habit out of licking his slanted scar at every nasal consonant, and there’s a slight drawl whenever he stumbles upon a foreign word, his thin brows furrowing in uncertainty. However, his most distinctive quirk of all remains the unintentional frown his lips shape; a trait shared with your young protege.
Toji might be a little rough around the edges, but still carries some of that boyish charm.
“So?” He slaps the menu shut.
You suck on your teeth, unable to remember a single specialty. “I’ll have what you’re having. You sound like you come here often.”
He gestures for the waiter to come over. “The kids dragged me here all the time. There’s a park here,” he points outside the window, as if that’s self-explanatory. The image of a little Megumi and a little Tsumiki tugging at their father’s pants to play hide-and-seek makes your heart swell.
The waiter arrives approximately a minute later, and Toji places your orders. You’re apparently having the aforementioned ribs, along with a beef bowl, some chashu, and a few standard vegetable dishes that, for some reason, should not contain any red bell peppers. He chose plenty, but he chose smart. None of these break the bank.
“Why not bell peppers?” You ask once the waiter goes off to fetch your water. Toji scratches his jaw as if he’s got no idea what you’re talking about, until the realization hits him on the head.
“Fuck, Megumi’s the one who hates ‘em.” He curses and motions for the waiter again when you catch his hand in mid-air and bring it down onto the table.
“I’m not a big fan either.”
Your eyes lock with his and slowly dart to where your hands meet, watching as his fingers decisively slip between your own. He forces your wrist to prop against the wood, your knuckles hugging, while he tests out what it feels like to be holding hands. Ever since the only woman he let himself cherish passed away, he’s avoided the slightest illusion of romance, and if you could peer into his brain, you’d see him contemplating how your hands are small like hers—how they’re soft like hers.
They’re just hands; he dismisses the stupid notion that hands can be anything beyond what they appear to be, and yet yours feel special to him. He looks back at what you told that asswipe and wonders if those shards you claimed to see could ever amount to love or if you’d be cut like all the others he purposely hurt. He wonders if you are dumb enough to love him. He wonders if he’s smart enough to love you.
“Here’s the seasoned spinach and the chilled tofu—” The waiter cuts in, and the table clatters after you fail to retrieve your hand. The man makes room for the plates and the glasses, standing there with an awestruck smile until Toji harshly orders him to “Scram”.
Another man with a lousy temper.
Metallic chopsticks replace your hand as Toji transfers about half of the spinach to his plate. “Man, I’m starving.” He declares and wastes no time to dig in.
You follow his lead and quickly forget all about his rudeness as your eyes well up at the euphoric taste that floods your taste buds—your insides sincerely thanking him for each bite that makes it down your throat.
The conversation dies down while you share the appetizers unevenly, with him discreetly claiming the last bites under the guise of asking you whether you’re going to eat that. You don’t mind. After all, he is paying, and he’s ordered enough for your belly to gain that five-month pregnancy bump without your stolen share.
However, when the main dishes arrive, he does the unexpected and takes on your plate first, separating the meat from the bones without your asking. It’s a clumsy way to compensate, but you can’t help but think it’s more of a reflex than a tactic, considering all the times he must’ve had the kids slide their plates his way. You thank him by dropping an extra three chunks of meat on his plate, which he gladly accepts—no returns.
The waiter who didn’t dare approach your table after delivering the ribs comes back with the dessert menus and picks up the dishes. You don’t fuss over your choices for long—Toji decides on chocolate chiffon cake and you on coffee jelly. It is then that you realize your impromptu date is coming to an end, and you haven’t asked him one question about himself.
“So what is it that you actually do?”
No sorcerer who hasn’t heard the name “Sorcerer Killer” exists, yet only a select few know the urban legend behind it has retired—a decisive factor in his deal with Satoru.
“You mean when your little friend ain’t tasking me with his dirty business?” Toji shrugs. “Stocks, mostly.”
“Stocks?” That’s not at all what you expected.
“Takes about five minutes of your time, and if ya get lucky, you’re settled for life. Rest is knowing how to read people and the market.”
Judging by the sound his car engine emits, he must be still waiting for his big break.
“Would you say you’re good at reading others?”
“The market? It depends. The people?” Toji smiles confidently. “Yes.”
“What’s your reading on me then?” You take the bite.
“Hmm.” He rubs his chin while sizing you up. “I bet you were one of those four-eyed nerds at school.” His serious tone makes you snort out loud. “Eighty percent of your experience comes from dating shows, and the other twenty from group dates with your gals. Y’are too damn trusting and find good even in rotten apples, but don’t mind losing a shoe if someone gets on your nerves.”
“Oh, really?” You snicker into your palm and shake your head once he asks you if he’s wrong. “I’d say eighty percent right?”
“Heh, told ya I’m good.”
The waiter interrupts you as he drops your dessert in the middle of the table. He apologizes and points at a few tables away, where a little girl is devouring the last piece of chocolate cake available. Toji huffs in annoyance, attempting to bewitch the cake from the girl’s plate with his glare alone.
“We can share if you want.” You offer him a spoon, which he begrudgingly accepts.
A few spoonfuls and half a dessert later, he points the spoon at the family behind you and asks if you want one. “Kids,” he specifies. “You like ‘em?”
You tap your spoon against your lips. “Would you believe me if I said I see them as walking-talking grading papers? Don’t get me wrong, I love my job and lucked out with our first years, but this was supposed to be a co-teaching gig before Satoru offloaded even the second years on my back.”
“Want me to teach that brat a lesson?” Toji flashes a grin.
“I think his confectionery going missing before he gets to try any is enough punishment.” You smile mischievously. “I can save you some. Wagashi or castella?”
“I’m beginnin’ to like you more by the minute.” He blurts out and perhaps it’s a slip of the tongue because you catch him cocking his eyebrows upward right after.
“I like you too.” You earnestly say. “God, I sound like a teenager.”
“Nah, pretty sure you’re my dream woman.” You both scoff in unison. “Now that’s lame.”
“Yeah, it was.” You hide your blush by pretending to search for the waiter. “Shall we get the check?”
“Thanks for driving me hom—well, back.” You give a little bow, having yet to unbuckle your seat belt.
“Don’t sweat it.” Toji leans against the steering wheel. He looks even more handsome in the late-afternoon light, the shadows that contour his face bringing out his defined jawline and jade eyes. You aren’t prepared to part with the sight. Not when you were just getting accustomed to it, but every word that follows leads to a quicker parting.
“I had fun today.” He nods.
“Let’s do it again sometime.” He nods again.
“I’ll be going now.” He is reluctant to, but nods a third time.
You open the door and step out of the vehicle, your waving turning into a grip as you tug the car door back open. A perplexed look wanes into a full-blown smirk when you ask him if he’d like to come in for a bit.
“Thought you’d never ask.”
Your desk chair looks comically small wobbling beneath Toji’s weight, a long arm draped over the backrest while he gawks at your crouching form, half your body—save for your backside—swallowed by the mini fridge. He hears a lot of rattling. The dorms are quiet after sundown, and with the expulsion of the third years, the sound of empty drawers being flipped inside out (just in case a minuscule bottle of Ramune has slipped between them) echoes throughout the east wing’s desolate floors.
You should’ve grabbed those soda cans when you still had the chance. You consider running outside, but in the unlikely event no one’s gotten to them first, you doubt they’re safe for consumption after boiling under the hot sun for hours on end.
“Damn, kid screwed this one up badly, huh?”
You glance over your shoulder at Toji, who’s going through the scattered papers on your desk, finding the one test Megumi flunked in his entire four-month career at Jujutsu Tech. You close the fridge and pad toward the desk, balancing against the edge to peer at the answer sheets in Toji’s hands.
“Everyone failed that test.” You trace a finger over the bright red 48 mark. “Megumi actually did better than most; rest scored below 20.”
“Of course he did.” Toji scoffs.
He leaves the papers on the desk and quirks a brow as he takes in your image. Your dress has lifted higher up your thighs now that you’re propped on the furniture, revealing a slit that his eyes discreetly follow to where his imagination needs to fill in the blanks. He’s not here to fuck you, he reminds himself. He’s here because you were kind enough to offer him a drink for giving you a lift, but your hands are notably empty.
“What happened to the drinks?” Toji forces himself to look you in the eye, supposing that your eyes existed on the same level as your tits—perfectly delineated under your dress’ square neckline. He hasn’t even kissed you, and he’s already picturing what your nipples would look like sucked between his lips.
He shouldn’t go there. He really isn’t here to fuck you.
“I… forgot to do my shopping this week,” you answer, oblivious to his lewd thoughts. “Sorry, I brought you up here for nothing.”
“It’s fine.” Toji glances at the wall clock. Time’s the greatest excuse. “I should go. It’s getting late.”
And he really thinks he’s made the right call, until your dangling foot pushes against his chest to prevent him from getting up—slowly traveling down his lap while his eyes travel up to your actual ones, picking on a glint he previously missed.
“It’s not right for me to let you leave empty-handed.” Your voice assumes a sultry intonation that contradicts your angelic smile. The spread of your legs widens to reveal a thin white strip that clashes with the dark blue of your dress. He feels a strain in his pants; his conviction is wearing thin. It’s more of a “maybe” now, if anything.
His hand slides from your ankle to your knee, rubbing rough circles that purposely stray away from your sensitive parts. “Whatcha offering, doll?” Toji rasps.
“How’s twenty percent of what you got wrong sound?” Your toes create friction as they curl against his crotch, swaying back and forth. He doesn’t answer. He expects you to go on. “I was a big-time nerd. Got in college with a fully covered scholarship and all.”
His breath hitches as he moves closer to your thighs. “Expected that much.”
“And I did go on a lot of group dates. The girls wanted to meet guys whose names didn’t start and end with Gojo Satoru.” Your heel presses firmly onto his length. He’s big. You can’t tell exactly how big, but you know it won’t take long to have his cock plugged in one of your holes.
“And you didn’t?” Toji asks, rolling the plush flesh in his fingers like play-dough.
“I valued my precious dating shows a lot more.” You feel the stretch of his lips as they lay on your inner thigh, peppering kisses until the lower half of his face disappears past the layers of your dress.
“Seems to me I read ya like an open book,” Toji inhales deeply, growling a low “Shiiit, Y/N” when his nose nudges your dripping cunt, his jade eyes flickering shut while you shiver. You’ve never heard him use your name before—all pretense of respect in the form of his little Teach’s drops the second you start to rut your pussy into his face.
Before his hands can slip into your underwear, you prod him back onto his chair and get off the desk. His glare fades as soon as he watches you kneel in front of him and rest both your elbows on both sides of his knees.
“Skipping dates doesn’t mean I missed out on the experience.” Your smile drips with honey while you palm him on the way to unzipping his jeans.
You tug them down, and his hips wiggle to accommodate you. It’s a lot tougher than you thought, with the tight fabric stubbornly adhering to every muscle of his bulky thighs until it recedes. His boxers come down with greater ease, and your hand finally wraps around his cock, feeling his girth out in your open fist.
“I told you at the restaurant, but I really like you.” You give his length a slow stroke that has him sucking his teeth. “I’ve liked you since the moment I saw you barge into my classroom. I like you so much I think I can love you.”
Toji bends forward and pinches your chin between his thumb and his forefinger, tilting your head until his lips find yours—soft when they fumble around and rough when they part for his tongue to sneak into your mouth. Your delicate fingers insist on pumping his cock as he cups your cheek, ending the kiss with a playful bite across your bottom lip.
“I know,” he grins. “Heard ya talkin’ to that brat earlier.”
You would be shying away if it weren’t for his cock throbbing in your grasp, his swollen tip flushed with the exact same shade of feverish red as your cheeks.
“Eavesdropping isn’t so nice, Toji.”
“I’m not so nice either, but you overlook that.” Toji throws his head back, holding onto his breath, while you drool all over his cock head—clear strings of saliva streaming down the veiny shaft. “Y’know what’d be nice, hah—having that nice little mouth of yours wrapped around me.” Your hand drops to his balls, pink lips eager to fulfill his wish, with your cheeks barely hollowing around the tight fit. “So fucking nice,” he hisses.
His filthy praises are muffled out by his groans, which grow both in volume and in pitch the more inches you manage in your throat, his raspiness fading into the breathiest of moans once your nose tingles his unkempt base. You let go with a plop, air returning to your lungs through heavy pants. Your fists take over instead, appearing beyond puny as they struggle to engulf his hefty girth. Toji’s by far the biggest you’ve had; another of his assets you’re elated to discover.
You steal a lick from the precum that’s glazing his tip and purse your lips together. It’s a bit strong in flavor, but you don’t mind. It’s his.
“I meant everything I said,” you beam. “I still think of you as nice.”
“You’re bound to milk some kindness out of me if ya keep goin’ sweetheart.” Toji jokes, taking hold of his cock. He starts jerking himself to the sight of you, and you may have all your clothes on, but the way you genuinely smile at him, lips glossy from spit, almost sends him over the edge. “You’re so pretty,” he mumbles. “Even thought you were pretty in that—ugh, what was it?”
“Tunic?” You ask, recounting your first meeting.
“Yeah, right. That ridiculous grandma’s tunic you flaunted.” Raven strands flap over his forehead. “Wanted to rip that right off your body and fuck you on the spot.”
His words send pleasurable tingles throughout your body, with the pool in your panties overflowing your thighs. “What stopped you?” Your lips attach to his balls, your wet tongue lapping around until it finds a spot that has him fisting his cock at a faster pace, the tip rhythmically smacking your forehead.
Toji fails to gather his thoughts; his mind is solely focused on chasing after his incoming release. You feel his balls tighten and back away, setting your palms flat against your lap—eyes marveling at how the man who kept you tossing and turning in an empty bed for months on end is about to spill his load all over your face. A man whom you, up until a few hours ago, dreaded would reject you.
“You’re so fucking pretty,” he pants out. “Gonna make you even prettier. Gonna make you into my pretty girl—fuck, all mine.”
“All yours, Toji.” You repeat, lulling your tongue out. “Cum on my face, Toji. Please, gimme your cum.”
And it is that please that gets his cock to spurt his milky cum all over your lips and chin, with only a handful of his velvety ropes making it onto your tongue. He grunts, squeezing the final drops from the tip until it stops twitching. He wipes it clean against your lips and helps you to your feet, taking advantage of your imbalance to hold you by the waist.
“Is there something on my face?” You ask, seeing as Toji blatantly drills holes into your skull.
Heavy eyelashes flutter over his low-hooded eyes. A dark chuckle rings against your skin as his mouth presses against your jaw. “Aren’t ya cheeky?” He licks a portion of his cum off your chin and feeds it to your tongue, all nice and slow, in a heady kiss that brings your bodies closer to one another. Your cunt is still soaked, pulsing around nothing, and his cock is still rock-hard, throbbing against your stomach.
Holding turns into groping as Toji gives your ass a squeeze. “Better not fail Megumi from now on.”
Your teeth clash together as you break into a sudden cackle. “Someone might think you’re only doing this to secure his grades.”
“Among other reasons,” he states.
“Is this how you care for your son’s education?” You humor him. “By seducing his teacher?”
“Nah,” Toji pauses to tug at your dress’ strap. He’s going to have to unzip it if he wants to move things forward. “My kid’s plenty smart on his own. Besides, the teacher’s the one doin’ the seducing here.” He caresses your curves and smiles in triumph once he spots the zipper on the side. “Wouldn’t fuck ‘er if she’d let me go back to my car to jerk it like a responsible man would. Would’ve waited until the second date; buy her something good—you like flowers, right?”
You lift your arms for him to strip you. He leaves you to stand in your unmatched underwear, black lace on your tits, and white cotton around your hips. His tongue darts out, wetting his lower lip. “Is it too late to enroll?”
Your eyes perform a full circle. You almost shove his hands away from your bra when you realize it’s already off. He thumbs at your nipples with his palms cupped around your breasts, refusing to let an inch of your soft skin spill from his calloused, practiced fingers.
“I’m afraid you’re behind the rest of the class.” You go along with his game of role-play. “I’d have to give you private lessons.”
“Sign me up.”
Toji steps back to remove his shirt, undoing his buttons so quickly that you’re certain they’ll fly right off. He discards it on the floor, and you take stock of his physique, inevitably gaping at the jagged scars that span from below his left shoulder to the center of his torso. Your fingers carefully trail over them, as if the violence that caused them still lurks beneath.
So that’s what sustaining limitless leaves you with, you momentarily muse, before your sympathy dissolves into a quarter of a smile. You don’t want him to think you’re pitying him—because you aren’t. Both he and Satoru made their choices, and you refuse to be the judge of their decade-long feud.
His hands return to your waist, while yours meet behind his neck. You kiss again and again, the action of mouths stealing each other’s oxygen repeating until the edge of your desk digs into your lower back. His strong arms smother you like he’s never embraced another before; overwhelming you to the point where you’re moaning despite his cock not being in yet.
“Just so you know, this gonna be a regular thing.” Toji mutters, his green eyes confirming his sincerity in the way he pulls your thighs apart. He doesn’t think he’s never said that phrase before. It’s always the opposite.
He dips a hand into your panties, lathering his palm with your slick, and then strokes his dick. “Not ‘ere for the sex only.”
“You’re gonna stay over and buy me breakfast?” You entertain the idea.
“As long as convenience store Onigiri cuts it. A bit tight this month.” Toji leaves you some breathing space, kicking his pants off his ankles. “A’right. Turn around and arch that back for me.”
A wicked smirk rises on his scar as you face away from him. “I was hoping to fuck you on your little classroom desk, but this will do just fine. You can look back on it next time ya feel swamped with papers.”
“I won’t be able to get any work done!” You protest.
The aforementioned papers glue to your breasts when you prop yourself on your elbows. You glance over your shoulder, catching sight of Toji positioning himself between your legs. You feel him run his cock between your now-bare folds, your panties having dropped in a pool around your feet like tasteless anklets.
Toji kneads your ass with one hand, the other stroking himself along your clenching holes. “You can think of this as my confession.” He trails off as he drives his thick cock into your wet pussy, and he does it slowly enough for it not to hurt, but it’s him who ends up needing a good minute to adjust after he bottoms out.
He knows it’ll feel even better once he moves, but it already feels perfect as is. So warm; so tight; so good that he’s afraid he’ll lose composure and jackhammer into you until the desk legs break.
“Haven’t had such perfect pussy in ages.” Toji grunts, his nails digging sharp crescent moons into the fat of your ass.
He’s had his fair share of pretty girls with empty brains and tight cunts, but yours is something else. Yours, he wants it owned. He wants it to lull him to sleep every night, only to wake up the next morning to the mess you’ve made creaming around his cock all night long. He wants to make you into his personal cock warmer, and he nearly cringes at the thought, until he feels you pulse around him and realizes you probably want that too.
“Fuck me, T-Toji.” You stammer, pulling your body forward only to slam it back on his length.
That’s all he needs to get going. His hips mercilessly slap against your own while he drills his cock in and out with such vigor that he feels it kissing your cervix. The desk bangs hard against the wall, almost overpowering the sounds of your soft whimpers. He forces you to meet his tempo, using the leverage on your ass to cut down on the distance between his leaking head and your puffy cunt.
“‘member what I told ya when I first saw ya?” Toji slows down, his fingers reaching between your thighs to swipe at your clit while his hips switch to languid rolls.
“Y-You mean after you—fuck, put your shoes on my desk thinking it was Satoru’s?”
“Brings back memories, doesn’t it?” He huffs and brings your arm behind your back, pressing down on it. “Remember,” he mouths hot kisses down your nape and shoulder, his palm cupping your entire cunt while your walls flutter around him. “Remember how I said you’re too hot to be stuck ‘ere teaching brats manners?”
You fist at the table, desperately searching in your foggy mind for a memory you can’t seem to find or a place to grip, the only answer you can muster being, “You never said that.”
“I didn’t?” Toji flicks the sensitive nub upward. “Well, not every thought’s meant to be shared, mhm?”
He pops your dialogue bubble by nipping at your neck, his cock scratching an itch that has you writhing in pleasure.
“Shhh, baby.” He coos, the warm timbre in his voice soothing the shrill ringing in your head. “Promise I’ll be more vocal now on. Tell ya all about how good that sloppy pussy’s flooding me, or how gorgeous your cute face looks lighting up whenever ya see me.”
The flames in your stomach shoot up to your heart, beating so loud you swear it punctuates his every word.
“How many times was it?” He asks. “Eight PT meetings in two months? Or ten? Ya think I wouldn’t notice I was the only parent called?”
Your head droops forward. “Would’ve been eleven if you didn’t come today. Wanna see more of you, Toji. F-fuck, wanna see you all the time.”
“And you will,” he detaches from your neck and picks up his speed, keen on having you see starts with the way he thumbs your clit. “Gonna make you cum around my cock every day, sweetheart. Just call me and—ugh, I’ll come runnin’. No need for that PT crap.”
Your bitten lips do nothing to contain your unregulated cries as you tighten around him like a vice—the only coherent words among your long-drawn vowels being “I’m cumming, Toji!” that you scream at the top of your lungs.
Toji begrudgingly pulls out, letting you ride your high alone. If he stays in a second longer, he knows you’ll end up with a nine-month trouble that will escalate into a lifelong problem in the form of paychecks for him and test sheets for you.
He plops down on the chair to cool down for a moment, proudly admiring your stupefied expression, eyes blown out with sheer ecstasy, and lips gasping for air.
“Hey. Are you free tomorrow?”
Maybe you are worth the trouble.
The delightful buzzes in your head are replaced with a series of acute knocks against your door. You barely have time to locate your rug of a dress in the corner of the room and zip it up, hoping the fabric’s enough to keep the marks on your body out of your visitor’s field of view.
“Should’ve known,” you groan, wishing you'd shoved your head in the pillows and pretended you were missing—except, there's no hiding from him. You step outside and close the door with your back, folding your arms over your chest. “What brings you here, Satoru?”
“Mornin’ to you too, Y/N.” His mouth is full as he speaks, rice grains framing both sides of his lips. “How was your date?”
“It was…” you pause, focusing on the plastic convenience store bag he’s holding rather than his eyes, “good.”
“Good, huh?” He grimaces. He doesn’t have to tell you he was hoping it’d fail. “Anyway, came to drop these. Someone left them on your doorstep.”
You peer into the contents of the bag, full of onigiri in different flavors—two that are tuna mayo, two with shrimp tempura, two with salted salmon, and lastly, a spare pickled plum.
Your lips curl into a smile as you pick your favorite from the bunch. So that's your answer.
"Thanks, Satoru." He is surprised you didn't scold him, gladly taking his chance to leave before you speak again. "Wait."
"I was the one who stole your Manju."
#Toji x reader#toji smut#fushiguro toji#toji x y/n#jjk x reader#toji fushiguro#jujutsu kaisen#jjk#fushiguro toji x reader#toji fushiguro x reader#toji fanfiction#jjk fanfiction#toji <3#toji headcanons#toji fic#toji x you#jjk fanfic#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader
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♛ the princess
sfw | tags : fem!yandere x gn reader (only prn used for reader is ‘you’), yandere behavior, stalking mentions, power dynamic, manipulation
the last of my ladies for now! althea, the meanie princess <3 sorry if this is kind of a mess but yall know me by now lol. i can finally start working on my nb yans now 🥹
this one goes out to all the girl likers following me. mmmwah
“i’m gonna marry you one day! we’ll always be together!”
little althea made the claim over and over throughout your childhood, so often that it was normal for you to hear. having lived in her castle since your parents began working for hers, you were the only other person her age that she had to play with.
to say she was attached to you was an understatement. she adored you!
but little you was oblivious to all of her proclamations, assuming it to all be pretend. just a game! sure, it got a little weird when she continued to say it even when you grew into adolescents, but there was no harm in it, right?
you hadn’t the slightest clue to just how serious she was.
see, althea always, always got what she wanted. she was the princess, after all! and the sole heir to the throne. new clothes, the finest food, and the most lavish castle to live in — all of it was hers, the moment she asked for her. but none of it could ever satisfy her the way your presence did.
her adoration for you kept your family employed and her parents happy. she clung to you like a vice, always insisting you dressed up together and went to all of her classes and such. you kept her tantrums at bay in a way no one in her family had ever seen before.
and when you weren’t around, or something (or god forbid, someone) dared to take your attention away from her? she was a nightmare. a fussy, loud, violent nightmare that wouldn’t be anything but a purposeful nuisance until you were returned to her. so it was always in everyone’s best interests to ensure you were together. words of appreciation and gifts from everyone within the castle was a norm for you, incentives to convince you to stay by the young princess’s side.
it was how it had always been, even as you developed. you figured althea would grow out of her clingy behavior toward you — and to an extent, she did. as you aged and developed individual personalities, everyone was relieved when the princess grew out of her cranky attitude and into the sweet, delicate young lady that was expected of her. the ideal princess who spoke in a gentle tone and expressed love toward the people she’d rule in the future. you could ignore how she always held your hand a little too tight when you were alone together, or how she insisted on kissing you on the lips every day (“it’s normal for us,” she’d claim! neverminding how she’d always seem to ‘accidentally’ leave your face smeared with her lip gloss). she had become a better person, so you could indulge her, right?
because of the change, though… no one had any clue that althea couldn’t care less for the kingdom. no matter how much she was taught to cherish those she’d rule over, she saw them all as little more than a responsibility that she was created to care for later in her life. it irritated her to no end and her only reprieve was you. you kept her going, kept her motivated to be the good little lady she was supposed to be, kept her from shirking her duties and whisking you away like she had fantasized about doing countless times.
despite the seemingly positive impact that growing up seemed to had made, everyone was still quite surprised when althea allowed you to leave the castle to live your own life years later. you were hers, didn’t you know? but you weren’t royalty, so you saw no point in staying — besides, you wanted to see the world beyond the castle walls. so she bid you goodbye, kissed you on the lips once more, and waved you off as you left the home you had shared up until then.
however… when you tried to make a name for yourself on your own, it felt like nothing ever went your way. you never noticed how there were always a few of the palace knights lingering around every public building you went to afterwards. nor did you really pick up on why most places you applied to work at turned you away. and why did you always get kicked out of your hostels after just a few nights’ stay? it was like life was rejecting you as soon as you tried to enter it. but kind, gracious althea was always there to pick up the pieces for you, loaning you money when you needed it and lending you a space to stay when you had nowhere else to go.
she’d never directly ask you to come back full time, oh no. she was willing to play the long game. to let you learn on your own that you needed her to survive.
it got to a point where you didn’t know how long you had been away from her. months? weeks? a year? the world was just so cold and harsh when you didn’t share it with althea! you were in and out of jobs, homes, and was only known as the princess’s former friend rather than your name. you couldn’t take it. you couldn’t live like this, who could? so the day you finally stumbled back onto the palace doorstep, shaking and soaked from a storm you had gotten caught in, althea welcomed your return with open arms. she cleaned you, clothed you, and fed you the food you were used to eating.
silly you, trying to leave your future fiancee. she wished she didn’t have to let you go through all that you did, but you had to learn one way or another! and now that you had, you’d never have to do it again.
you’ll stay right by her, in the castle, till the very end.
after all, she did say you’d always be together, didn’t she?
#👑 althea chrysostomides#lovesick | ocs#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere x oc#yandere imagines#yandere girl#yandere princess#yandere lesbian#yandere wlw#yandere girls#mine | fics#yandere girlfriend#yandere oc#yandere cw#yandere nblw
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🪡how about a cute fic where astarion fixes up one of Tavs shirts and they realise they like each other or something heheee
here is my hand that will not harm you
pairing: astarion/tav
wordcount: 1,110
content warnings: none
other tags: canon compliant, introspection, character study, developing relationship, love confessions, getting together, gender neutral tav, human!tav
archiveofourown: here.
tag list: @azrielshadows1nger, @pandimoostuff, @faevi, @microskies, @foreverthemaraudersera, @queenofthespacesquids, @claryvoyantfray, @6doodlaang14, @anne-isnotokay, @itshimbotime, @yeeteth-the-raven, @sessils,@8-opossums, @worryknotdear, @abirdaboxandachippedcup, @ghosts-and-ink, @b4um3pfl4um3, @gunslingerorchid, @hypopxia
be added to the taglist here
summary: Astarion repairs your clothes, and you can no longer keep a secret.
There is something Astarion is not telling you. You can tell in the way he slouches in his chair, his hands busy with the work he took upon himself, that there is something troubling him. Learning what Cazador’s scarring says has put a damper on his mood and everyone else’s, and now you’re all caught between procrastination and pushing on to the Moonrise Towers.
The Orthon fight took a lot out of you. Your armor took quite the beating, and afterwards with the rats… You’re glad to be staying at the Last Light Inn for one more evening. Everyone is resting before the fight tomorrow, and you’re relieved. You get one more night to sleep in a bed. The darkness of the Shadow-Curse is beginning to lift thanks to Halsin and Thaniel, and the shine of Dame Aylin’s excellence has caused Isobel to bask for hours on the balcony in self-imposed giddy isolation. It’s almost normal given the circumstances.
‘What do you think Gale is going to make for supper?’ you ask absentmindedly, turning the page of your raunchy smut novel.
Astarion hums in contemplation. You rest the novel you borrowed from him on your stomach and peer over at him. He insisted you take the bed after you arrived, and now he sits next to you biting his lip and cursing as he fusses over your chainmail. It’s quaint.
‘Hopefully just wine,’ he says with a snort. ‘We’ll need all the liquid bravery we can get.’
‘Do vampires get drunk?’
‘Certainly,’ he says. ‘A willing body drinks the wine, a willing vampire drinks the blood, and then they’re both willingly shit-faced.’
The thought of Astarion stumbling around drunk off your blood makes you laugh. It almost reminds you of how silly he was after devouring a bear, and you quietly begin manifesting that Astarion is right and Gale honors the tradition. You cozy down into the sheets and pat the book over your stomach as it growls.
‘Oh, fuck it!’ Astarion snaps suddenly.
He doesn’t fling your armor down as much as he seems determined to strangle it to death. There’s thread tangled around his fingers and his feet, and he’s pushing the needle back in his mouth as he fusses with a strap. He growls like an angry kitten and rubs at his brow in frustration.
‘What’s wrong?’ you ask nervously.
‘What’s wrong?’ he echoes, annoyed. ‘What’s wrong is that your armor is shit! To send you out there wearing it is basically wishing death upon you. It’s absurd how long you’ve worn this thing.’
You frown. It’s not exactly your favorite chest piece you’ve ever had, but you’ve worn it since the Underdark and haven’t found a suitable replacement. Then again, you hadn’t really asked Dammon when you arrived… You didn’t want to bother him as he was working on Karlach’s heart, and there was so much to do…
‘You can’t — You can’t go out there and fight everyone’s battles in armor held together by twigs and prayers,’ Astarion sniffs delicately. ‘I can repair it sparingly, of course, but… I wouldn’t feel good about it. It isn’t safe enough.’
‘What would you have me wear, then?’ you ask. ‘Perhaps there’s some additional armor somewhere in storage.’
‘This leather belt here is salvageable,’ he explains, showing you the damage from too many spells. ‘The chain mail will hold another fight, but…’
Something possesses you. You lean in, too close to his face, and watch as he runs his fingers over torn edges. He cares. About you. It takes you by surprise even though it shouldn’t. But Astarion doesn’t fuss this way over his own armor, just yours.
You look over his handiwork. You’ve seen it before in his clothes, his favorite sleep shirt, some of his socks, his gloves. He even repaired Karlach’s armor when she first joined. His hands are lithe and strong, and he works without too much thought like it’s second nature for him. Something about it is so bone-crushingly domestic that you can’t help but want to touch his hand. You cling to your book instead.
‘You’re good at this,’ you say.
‘Well, I’ve had quite a bit of experience,’ Astarion confesses. He smiles faintly at your praise. ‘Back at Cazador’s, I … I had a family I took care of. Sometimes they’d fight one another, and I’d fix little rips and tears. Learning to fix armor is a bit new, but none too difficult.’
‘Did you have many siblings?’
‘I had plenty,’ Astarion says. ‘I didn’t like them all. But I like you, so bring me all your clothes and I’ll fix them right up. I won’t even make you ask.’
You give in. You reach a single, curious finger towards his hand and slide it across the back of his knuckles. You take in the rise and fall of his hand, the smoothness of his skin, and the veins. He flexes his fingers beneath your hand and then, without saying a word, he turns his hand over so that he can hold yours. He muses over the connection and presses his fingertips to your pulse.
Gandrel, The Orthon, Raphael’s Deal. It goes without saying there’s nothing you wouldn’t do for him. You want to tell him, but the thought of saying it made you nervous. You hold your tongue. But if there was to be a fight at the Moonrise Towers, you wanted him to know. It plagues you too much that you start to stretch, so much so that you’re afraid to speak lest you start rambling on and on about how beautiful his eyes are and how you can’t stop looking at him and how he takes your breath away.
There’s no one else you want to have to fight by your side, but it isn’t just that. There’s no one else you want.
Carefully, as though you are more fragile than you truly are, Astarion removes your hand from his to continue fussing over your armor. The feeling of his hand still lingers on your skin, and it makes your stomach ache.
‘I had better go looking, then,’ you say thickly, ‘for another chest piece to wear. ‘
‘No, don’t go yet,’ Astarion says softly. ‘I — There’s something I want to talk about with you.’
He doesn’t say anything else. You stare at one another, the armor forgotten between you, and like magic from the Weave, everything changes. When you lean forward, Astarion meets you halfway with the shyest kiss he has ever given you and the most honest eyes he’s ever allowed you to look upon. After tonight, nothing will be the same and you think you’re fine with that.
#astarion#astarion ancunin#astarion bg3#astarion x reader#astarion x tav#astarion x you#astarion x oc#from ，carcosa .#my fic#anonymous#* a thousand lives，and one
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Online aesthetics and the effects of social media trends
Let's talk about this.
How it can affect young teenagers
Open Tiktok or Instagram and everything on my For You Page now shows "How to achieve a Clean Girl Aesthetic"', "Old Money Aesthetic Hairstyles", "Cottagecore Hobbies", "How to be a Femme Fatale"
It never ends. Trends keep popping up left and right and it's inescapable.
As a young, impressionable teenager, I was, of course, naturally going to be influenced by these ever-changing trends. I'd constantly change my room aesthetic, buy new clothes, and I was never satisfied with my appearance. Why? Because I didn't look like the girls on screen.
News flash. You're never going to look like them. All that content they produce which gets 100k likes is done with excessive attention to detail, expensive lighting and sound equipment, and top-notch editing software. OF COURSE, you can't look like that. It's completely manufactured. It's heartbreaking to see young girls develop body image issues because of the constant bombarding of these "aesthetics" which are basically different beauty standards and stereotypes all wrapped up in a neat little package that is labelled "personality and style". I don't have anything against the concepts of aesthetics. I love how Dark and Light Academia is centred around learning, and how Cottagecore is all about relaxation and not conforming to being part of a 9-5 and just living life. I like how the Clean Girl is focused on being healthy and productive. What I don't like is how all these healthy things, which normal functioning humans should be doing are now turned into "trends" and you must "choose" between them.
Why it's so harmful
Fashion: Since aesthetics keep changing, you're going to find multiple that appeal to you. What happens when you discover you really like cottagecore, but your closet is filled with dark academia tweed? You turn to fast fashion. It's cheap and stylish. But it's horrible for the environment and that floral dress you're wearing was made by a woman in a sweatshop in Bangladesh, while fashion giants like Shein pocket the money.
Makeup: It's always there. Always. You cannot find a "how-to" post regarding aesthetics and makeup is not included. Its always how much blush to apply, why mascara is your best friend, blah blah blah. You know what I want to see? An aesthetic which promotes a clean, fresh face. I do wear makeup, not saying I'm perfect(yes, I wear lip tint and sometimes eyeliner), but it's the ridiculous notion that there's a specific makeup look for each aesthetic, and they say it's not very heavy, but really is concealer, foundation, blush, mascara and lipgloss light makeup?
Other: Then comes the things you should own, the bags, the shoes, the jewellery, the house decor. Did you notice to achieve the look, we're spending money bit by bit? Then you don't even realise it's made a dent in your savings.
Mentality: I hate this part about aesthetics so much. A while ago, I was really interested in Dark Academia and how it was centred around learning and studying. But everything was gloomy and dark and said I should be tired and bitter to achieve this. I'm not a serious person by nature in the first place, but here were blogs telling me to be "mysterious" and how I should be getting only 4 hours of sleep to be true Dark Academia? What is this dystopia? There's this weird obsession with how someone should behave if they like an aesthetic.
Online trends are all consumerism based. It's all to get you to blow your money on things that don't even benefit you.
There's a reason I never include and never will include tags like #clean girl or #pink pilates princess in my posts because it sort of reduces you to a certain aspect. Why confine yourself to these barriers? Wear what you want. Read what you like. The one "aesthetic" I believe in, is "that girl" which in reality is different for everyone, but boils down to being educated, well-mannered, and considerate. I will make a post on this. Being educated and kind is such a flex, not wearing one flowy white dress and "thinking" you're in a meadow. Break out of the pattern of being influenced by algorithms. Don't restrict your identity because of FOMO and the urge to be trendy. You've got this.
<3
#self care#self improvement#self love#level up#level up journey#self love journey#glow up#college#tips and tricks#it girl#that girl#perfect#life#online aesthetics#online#social media#aesthetics
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Found a Hate Blog in The #Plural Tag. 😮💨
As I covered recently, "Plural" is an inclusive word with origins in endogenic and non-disordered systems.
If any anti-endo posts in the "#plural" tag or other inclusive tags, don't expect your DNIs to be respected.
They also are doing this knowingly. People have already tried to contact them about using the inclusive plural tag and the hate blog has stubbornly refused.
So if they're going to post in inclusive tags, I figured I might as well respond to some of their vent posts in anti-endo tags. As always, if anti-endos have a problem with this or feel boundaries are being unfairly crossed, please take it up with the hate blog I'm responding to that's invading our spaces.
Also, really weird how they just jump straight into saying "pro-endos" aren't systems either. Hate to break it to you, but there are a lot of traumagenic DID systems whose disorders and trauma are just valid as yours. And they manage to not be bigots too!
Wait... are they claiming that ALL dissociation can only be caused by trauma?
Although previous research has implicated a history of childhood trauma in the development of dissociative tendencies, insufficient cognizance (in this context) has been taken of the distinction between pathological and nonpathological dissociation. In this study, the relationship between childhood trauma and both pathological and nonpathological dissociation was investigated in a sample of 100 Australian adults. Pathological dissociation was positively predicted by dimensions of childhood trauma, but no such relationship was found for nonpathological dissociation (psychological absorption). The data are consistent with the traumagenic model of the dissociative disorders, but factors other than childhood trauma may also be pertinent.
Amazing how they compare us with anti-vaxxers while trying to claim all dissociation is traumagenic. This wasn't even hard to find. 🙄
"I don't care about any morals"
Well, at least you're up front about it.
Also, I tend to check the DID tags every now and then and you know what I don't see there? Endogenic systems!
"#Endo Safe" tags are more often than not used by pro-endo traumagenic systems.
Guess what! If you have DID, you get to post in the DID tags. Being a hateful bigot isn't a requirement! Anyone with DID has the right to post in the DID tags, and can tag their post as endo safe too!
Maybe you wouldn't get as many anons from endogenic systems if you stop posting in inclusive tags. Just a thought!
How are they harmful to the community again?
Weren't you just saying earlier that pro-endos were stealing resources? Now you're acknowledging that they're making resources for the community, but this is also bad?
LOL!
Genic labels literally only exist because of the pro-endo community. And the anti-endo community notoriously hates xeno-origins like NPD-genic. Yes, people will assume you're endo-safe when you use xeno-origins because these terms, like most resources in the plural community, were made by pro-endos.
Keep it up guys! It's working! We're spreading!
Sorry, I don't feel like rebutting anything here. I just appreciate seeing that our efforts are paying off!
The Future is Plural! 😁
Stop!
This talking point has been completely debunked.
System hopping was used by pro-endos 15 years before the earliest association with RAMCOA. The idea that it was a RAMCOA term is a total lie invented by anti-endos!
OSDD-1A and OSDD-1B are not actually official disorders. There is an OSDD. The first example, called OSDD-1 sometimes, gives two possible presentations. One with less distinct alters and amnesia, and another with no amnesia. But these aren't called OSDD-1a or OSDD-1b.
If your goal is education, this nuance is important.
Could it be because ASPEC people have dealt with a ton of exclusionism from some queer communities, and are more accepting of other people as a result? And perhaps they also recognize similarities between system exclusionists and queer exclusionists?
You're coming and posting in our tags!
That's why people keep interacting with you! "Plural" is a term coined by non-disordered systems, you've been told this, and you insist on posting in inclusive tags anyway!
You don't get to bust in someone's door, complain about them in their home, and then tell them not to interact with you! It doesn't work like that!
Funny how these are the only sources they can provide. And they exclusively deal with DID without even touching on other forms of plurality.
Anyway...
The ICD-11 says you can experience "multiple distinct personality states" without a dissociative disorder.
The creators of the theory of structural dissociation have said hypnosis and mediumship may involve self-conscious dissociative parts of the personality.
And Transgender Mental Health, written by Eric Yarbrough and published by the American Psychiatric Association (who publishes the DSM) says you can be plural without trauma or a disorder.
Sources repeatedly affirm that it's possible to be plural without trauma!
Anyone who claims it's impossible to be plural without trauma is either ignorant or lying.
And if you're going to keep spreading hate and misinformation, at least keep it out of inclusive tags!
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sequel to this post ft what I mentioned in its tags
On the surface, Yakumo and Olivine are incredibly different. Yakumo is fearful and sensitive; Olivine is soothing and composed. Dig a little deeper, and they're not so different - they're both deeply traumatized and desperate for acceptance. The difference is how exactly they were traumatized and therefore the behaviors they adopted to protect themselves.
Yakumo was shunned by other serpents because of his gemstone and attacked by humans because he was a yokai - in other words, he was harmed because others feared his power. In response to this, he developed a deep anxiety about his power and his control over it, and his behavior revolves around projecting how nonthreatening he is. "I'm not a danger, I promise. I can make myself small and timid and I won't fight back. I'm more afraid of you than you are of me. Please don't hurt me anymore." He can escape further harm, if he puts his fear on display. He's tolerable as long as he stays quiet and afraid. He might even earn something that looks a little bit like love.
Olivine, on the other hand, is pressured to be perfect, and perfection has no room for uncertainty. His parents will love him, as long as he always obeys. His parish will love him, as long as he never disappoints. His siblings will love him no matter what, but they're so little; he has to be the one to take care of them, not the other way around. He learns to take all his fears and bury them deep down, because doing anything else with them will only earn him punishment. It's a softer form of violence, but violence nonetheless. He learns to project an image of being calm and untroubled, because people love the image, and love by proxy is better than no love at all.
Fearfulness and fearlessness; it's all about how their pain has shaped their behavior. Not so different once you dig past the surface.
#my posts#nu carnival#nu carnival olivine#nu carnival yakumo#local gacha blogger has thoughts and feelings about having to earn love [fingerguns]
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Their Reaction to You Losing an Eye
Summary — Preferences for Atreus, Kratos, and Thor from God of War!
Requested by @nickeverdeen — Hey there! Can I please ask for hcs with either God Of War or Horizon Zero Dawn characters with a reader who lost their eye and is insecure about it? If for God Of War then pls hcs with: Kratos, Atreus (older or young is up to you) If Horizon Zero Dawn then pls hcs with: Aloy, Talanah (you don’t have to do Talanah if you don’t wanna) Also pls let me know if you’re uncomfortable with the request Take time and care about yourself ❤️
Warnings & Other Tags
➳ Depictions, discussions, and mentions of severe injuries (losing an eye, fainting as a result of pain); canon-typical violence; envisioned Ragnarök!Atreus for this work; I tossed Thor into this request because he’s my husband.
Notes
➳ Word Count is 433.
➳ Reader is gender neutral (they/them).
➳ I recently met T.C. Carson, who was the original voice for Kratos in the God of War series, after which I ran to write this request (even though it’s intended for Christopher Judge’s version)!
FAQ | Masterlist | Fandoms | Requests | Coming Soon | Schedule
atreus
in all honesty, he wouldn’t quite know how to act. his emotions would be all over the place, tears streaming down his face as his father and freya tried to help you. the coverings on your face are soaked in your own blood.
“don’t leave,” muttered atreus. he finds himself kneeling by your side as he pleads with you, one of your weak hands held tightly in both of his, “please don’t go.”
but his newly discovered godly abilities are still out of sorts. his sadness quickly shifts to anger at those who caused you harm. his wrath is unlike anything the world has ever seen. he won’t stop until you, his dearest companion, is properly avenged, so don’t be surprised if he returns with your attacker’s head.
kratos
this man does not hesitate. in mere seconds, kratos is lifting you into his arms and calling out for someone, anyone, who can help. he avoids looking at the blood that decorates the place where your eye should be.
“i lost faye,” he mutters. “i won’t let you go as well. stay awake!”
everything is a blur. whatever vision you have left is slowly turning to gray as a sudden wave of tiredness overtakes your body. the pain of it all is settling deep into your bones.
as kratos’s muffled voice calls out for you in a panicked tone, you allow unconsciousness to take over, and the world finally fades into darkness.
thor
he breathes heavily, staring down at heimdall with such rage that the golden-eyed god realized he was experiencing fear for possibly the first time in his life. a gentle touch on his arm, however, tears thor’s focus away from his father’s devotee.
his eyes drop to the deep scar on your face — a new habit he’d developed recently — before they drifted to meet your lone eye. heimdall scurries away at the same time thor’s fingertips graze your cheek.
“why do you keep me from tearing him apart?” whispered thor. “he needs to be punished for what he’s done to you.”
a sharp inhale came from him when your touch caressed his strong chest, exactly where his heart lay beneath his skin. he was quick to let his rough palm overlap your gentle hand.
“heimdall is a fool,” you replied in the same quiet tone he had been using. “why waste your days threatening him when you could be with me instead? his punishment will come when the time is right.”
he was only convinced when you pressed a kiss to the back of his hand. perhaps, for now, he could set revenge aside.
#2024#requested#their reaction to you losing an eye#god of war#gow#god of war x reader#gow x reader#god of war preferences#gow preferences#atreus x reader#kratos x reader#thor x reader#atreus preferences#kratos preferences#thor preferences
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in what universe is someone going to see a DNI that applies to them and think "this person is definitely someone im going to enjoy following and get along with". do you go on twitter and see nazis saying they hate trans people and decide to follow them out of spite? of course not, and literally nobody else does that either, even on the other side. hell forget DNIs, I get less conservatives in my notifs than I used to just by having they/them pronouns in my bio because they see it and go "ew, I'm not following them". people dont typically follow people theyre clearly not going to feel welcome around, a DNI is just another way to communicate that.
1 - you don't have to Get Along with someone to follow them. people can and will hate-follow or follow to annoy you, block evade, etc out of spite. some people will interact with you just because you told them, or people like them, not to.
2 - your experiences are not universal. nazis, terfs, bigots in general, they can and will follow and harass people they don't like online. this is spoken from my own experience as someone who has seen his transfem friends be followed and harassed by alt-right nut jobs online.
3 - "forget DNIs, I get less conservatives in my notifs than I used to just by having they/them pronouns in my bio" ← you're right. this is effective because the vast majority of people regardless of political stance or belief will only ever read your bio. not many people are going to jump through hyperlinks to read your DNI. if they don't like what they read in your bio, they'll just leave [or possibly harass you, if they're particularly malicious]. ergo, making a DNI is largely just for yourself and not at all a real, useful barrier people must pass through in order to follow / engage with your posts.
no one is stopping you from making a DNI. you can write a terms-of-service length novel of a Do Not Interact list, put it on its own Carrd and make it aesthetic and pretty with flair. you're completely free to do so and tell people to read it. a few will, sure.
however. the post you're referencing is specifically addressing the glaring reality that most people, regardless if they fit your DNI criteria or not, are simply not going to go out of their way to find and read it. abusive people aren't going to see "DNI abusive assholes" and be deterred because they themselves don't consider themselves abusive. this post, particularly what OP wrote, is saying how it's much more proactive to curate your own space through utilizing the block button and tag filters when you see things and people you don't want to engage with instead of trying to impose your personal boundaries on strangers online.
addendum // i don't really care if teens are making DNIs and being aggressively annoying about em. i remember the era of setting weird arbitrary rules in my developing years while i was forming Who I Was as a person. they're figuring out who they are and what their comfort levels are. i get it. it's the grownass adults that are hyper-virulent about DNIs that i worry about - and i'm not talking about when they're trying to establish an adults-only space with a stern "minors DNI".
note: what i'm talking about below, i am Not referring to literally illegal and harmful activities / content. just want to be clear.
now, i'm not saying you have to welcome and embrace the content you don't like, but it's important to challenge yourself and toe your comfort boundaries. if you over-prune yourself trying to be the bestest morally correct person, at some point you're going to start boxing yourself into this narrowed teeny tiny worldview. you may turn into the person you claim to have loathed, imposing personal beliefs and morals on others, and brandishing your DNI like it's a certificate of righteousness; not unlike how conservatives wave around religious scripture while pruning away LGBTQ+ rights because it goes against their morality. a few examples of this are topics such as: kink at pride, and the language discrepancies between the younger and older generations of the LGBTQ+ community - particularly in regards to self-identifying with words such as Queer and Dyke and Transsexual.
i probably derailed a bit here, i'm answering this before my caffeine's fully kicked in. if i vaguely worded something or yall want more elaboration on something, don't hesitate to ask
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Collector/Titan headcanons? :0
Oh heck yeh!
- The Collectors have some eldritch aspects to them; one of these being that no mortal can look directly into their eyes without risk, as the person’s mind and senses will be scrambled/overwhelmed as if the cosmic eyes were boring into their very soul.
- I saw someone (I wanna tag em but I forgor their username) bring up a headcanon of theirs that if you beat a Collector in a game, they’ll be bound to do any favor you ask of them.
- Promises between Collectors and other beings have actual weight and power behind them, which is part of why our Collector puts so much emphasis on pinky swears.
- Both Titans and Collectors have the ability to control if or not they’re affected by language barriers - especially with mortals. As a young Titan/Collector’s magic strengthens and develops, so too does their capacity to tap into an understanding of all different languages.
- Referring to the previous one, our Collector chose to keep this power closed off so they could learn English from Belos - as he knew they would need to talk to each other a lot if they were to work together, and if any Collector were to speak their cosmic god language to a mortal, the words being processed through the person’s ears and mind would overwhelm them to the point of an intense headache and feeling of dizziness.
- If a really young Titan child sees you as a potential threat, and you want to show you mean no harm, you need only to bow down below the Titan’s current stature, as being at a higher stature will trigger a sense of safety within a Titan child and dissipate any fear of you. A Titan fully grows out of this instinct in their adolescent years.
- In the days before Titans were mostly wiped out, parts like their skulls, horns and fur were believed to contain magical properties and were highly sought after by some. Nowadays, these beliefs are still somewhat prevalent among the Titan Trappers.
#the owl house#toh titan#toh collector#toh archivists#toh titans#toh titan trappers#toh belos#emperor belos#belos wittebane#toh the collector#the collector toh#the collector#toh headcanons#random headcanons#headcanons#random snippets of my day
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