#what is the point in reading all those papers
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You knooooowwww... >.>
The only difference, technically, between a school in the Zone? And on Earth? Is the American government won't recognize your Zone diploma...
Not accredited. But like..... I'm JUST SAYING? If you didn't try to pass your school off as some Big Ivy League type? Pulled the "oh yeah, you'd never have heard of it, it's local." And the COMPUTERS say it's legit?
How many people will dig deeper?
If you legitimately have the knowledge, you legitimately have the knowledge. Not YOUR fault you left out the whole "extra-dimensional" part. It makes folk nervous! And nervous folks get stabby.
So like? If you were ALREADY planning to "Move" as you euphemistically put it? Talked it over with your VERY concerned folks and friends? Who do NOT like the look of the steady but concerning rise of Anti-Ghost Powers That Be? Who finally put their foot down and reminded you that you are a TEENAGER and it's NOT your responsibility to fix the world?
Well...
Fuck those guys, I guess. You'll miss the old house, but Team "Taking our ball and going literally anywhere else" makes some good points. Why ARE you putting up with this?
And honestly, you've never SEEN your dad have so much fun. Him and the Reality Realtor just sorta... Vibe. Himbo to Himbo communications. Smatters of advanced physics. Fudge. It's great.
They move the portal. Collapse the old one in a way that makes it impossible to recover or recreate. You... kinda don't want to ask. They had that "mad scientist glint" in their eyes.
And while everyone's checking out brochures to different realities? You? Head off to the nearest College. It's the Zone, so technically you could go to any of endless billions. But you'd like your education some time this century.
Cue! Danny Fenton! Entering?
Academia's wet dream. A sprawling CITY of a college. Where the classes are on EVERYTHING and the price is FREE. People have Obsessions okay?? They NEED to teach. Debate and discuss! Study! Right papers and read them! It's been going on a while! And what happens when you find a subject that's NOT covered?
YOU COVER IT!
It's like if New York was a College. Good fucking luck find the dorms. Sleep on the floor like the rest of us, you casual.
Danny was Not Prepared ™.
He loves it though.
Classes on aeronautics next making the perfect sandwich, shoved next to historical basketry, stacked above alien slam poetry. But only on Tuesdays! Ever shifting. Breaking his Fenton Born Adhd in to a fine PASTE to be smeared upon bread. Happy mental stimulation chemicals go Brrrrrrrr
If it wasn't wildly inappropriate, he would LICK IT to claim it as his then wrap around it and gaurd like a territorial cat. He thought he HATED school! Turns out he just hated high-school. College though? College, or at least ZONE College, is fuckin AWESOME.
He's sit in SO MANY random classes just cause.
Picked up and dropped them at a whim. When they no longer sparked joy. He's been a flighty bitch and for once? No one CARES. No one says "you HAVE to commit and stick with this FOREVER once you choose this" and? It just? It's so FREEING! He's learned so MUCH!
He's probably gonna come back!
Which? Is how a deeply, DEEPLY weird aerospace engineer from supposedly bumfuck NOWHERE, end up working at Wayne Industries. He's.... a lil crazy behind the eyes. Ha ha... CONCERNING ™!
Dude sleeps on the lab floor. Has weirdly spotty knowledge. Can be an unprecedented genius one second and not know who the current president is the next. Doesn't know what DAY it is. Forgets to eat. Tried to make a fusion reactor out of the break room toaster before Sandra from accounting distracted him with pictures of her cat.
It's like he wanders through life blissfully unaware that he is both terrifying and about three seconds from killing them all. Then FUCKING TRIPS because he forgot to tie his shoelaces again.
Who hired this man?
WHY!?
I mean, we KNOW why. Probably to put him on a watch list. But? He's like a terrifying murder puppy! Built like a tank! That's stoned out of its mind half the time. And have you HEARD his college stories? That CAN'T be legal. Was this guy raised in a cult!? Aaaaaaaaaaa!!!!!????
@hdgnj @legitimatesatanspawn @babbling-babull @dcxdpdabbles @hypewinter
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"Clothing tags, travel cards, hotel room key cards, parcel labels … a whole host of components in supply chains of everything from cars to clothes. What do they have in common? RFID tags.
Every RFID (Radio Frequency Identification) tag contains a microchip and a tiny metal strip of an antenna. A cool 18bn of these are made – and disposed of – each year. And with demands for product traceability increasing, ironically in part because of concerns for the social and environmental health of the supply chain, that’s set to soar.
And guess where most of these tags end up? Yup, landfill – adding to the burgeoning volumes of e-waste polluting our soils, rivers and skies. It’s a sorry tale, but it’s one in which two young graduates of Imperial College London and Royal College of Art are putting a great big green twist. Under the name of PulpaTronics, Chloe So and Barna Soma Biro reckon they’ve hit on a beguilingly simple sounding solution: make the tags out of paper. No plastic, no chips, no metal strips. Just paper, pure and … simple … ? Well, not quite, as we shall see.
The apparent simplicity is achieved by some pretty cutting-edge technical innovation, aimed at stripping away both the metal antennae and the chips. If you can get rid of those, as Biro explains, you solve the e-waste problem at a stroke. But getting rid of things isn’t the typical approach to technical solutions, he adds. “I read a paper in Nature that set out how humans have a bias for solving problems through addition – by adding something new, rather than removing complexity, even if that’s the best approach.”
And adding stuff to a world already stuffed, as it were, can create more problems than it solves. “So that became one of the guiding principles of PulpaTronics”, he says: stripping things down “to the bare minimum, where they are still functional, but have as low an environmental impact as possible”.
...how did they achieve this magical simplification? The answer lies in lasers: these turn the paper into a conductive material, Biro explains, printing a pattern on the surface that can be ‘read’ by a scanner, rather like a QR code. It sounds like frontier technology, but it works, and PulpaTronics have patents pending to protect it.
The resulting tag comes in two forms: in one, there is still a microchip, so that it can be read by existing scanners of the sort common within retailers, for example. The more advanced version does away with the chip altogether. This will need a different kind of scanner, currently in development, which PulpaTronics envisages issuing licences for others to manufacture.
Crucially, the cost of both versions is significantly cheaper than existing RFID kit – making this a highly viable proposition. Then there are the carbon savings: up to 70% for the chipless version – so a no-brainer from a sustainability viewpoint too. All the same, industry interest was slow to start with but when PulpaTronics won a coveted Dezeen magazine award in late 2023, it snowballed, says So. Big brands such as UPS, DHL, Marks & Spencer and Decathlon came calling. “We were just bombarded.” Brands were fascinated by the innovation, she says, but even more by the price point, “because, like any business, they knew that green products can’t come with a premium”."
-via Positive.News, April 29, 2024
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Note: I know it's still in the very early stages, but this is such a relief to see in the context of the environmental and human rights catastrophes associated with lithium mining and mining for rare earth metals, and the way that EVs and other green infrastructure are massively increasing the demand for those materials.
I'll take a future with paper-based, more humane alternatives for sure! Fingers crossed this keeps developing and develops well (and quickly).
#I do really wish it could be read by regular scanners already though#that's what I thought at first#and that would've been fucking amazing#but this is still pretty cool#electronics#science and technology#green technology#ewaste#landfill#lithium#lithium mining#human rights#environment#climate action#climate hope#rfid#rfid technology#rfid tags#good news#hope
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the splendours of waterdeep
Gale: I hail from Waterdeep, the City of Splendours.
we've all heard gale introduce himself and there's a certain pride that colours his voice. but what exactly are waterdeep's splendours?
1. general noteworthy things about waterdeep
i) waterdeep is one of the cleanest cities in the realms
this is not only achieved by having many of waterdeep's buildings and facilities connected to a sewer system, but also through waterdeep's dungsweeper's guild. the members of the guild make their rounds through the city, sweeping streets, collecting trash, litter and refuse.
this service is paid for by taxes.
ii) waterdeep's water system
waterdeep boasts an extensive water system that enables the city to have free access to clean water. this free access comes in many forms: fountains, wells and bath houses. some establishment even have their own access to fresh water in form of tap water "with the turn of a knob", as volo puts it in his chapbook about the city.
iii) waterdeep, city of light
waterdeep possesses many signs and street lamps that are lit with continual flame spells:
hundreds of driftglobes also illuminate the city each night:
A driftglobe was a small glass orb that magically floated in the air and emitted light.
in addition to these magical means, so called lamplighters keep the streets lit - with the exception of the field ward and more dangerous areas of the dock ward.
iv) waterdeep and literacy
waterdeep is one of the most literate cities in the realms.
the font of knowledge is a temple to oghma, god of the domain of knowledge, in waterdeep. priests of oghma "valued, preserved, shared, sought, created, or uncovered knowledge and learning. [x]" the priests there offer free instructions and lessons in reading to everyone. the temple has a library, known as "the great library".
the city has many publishing houses and printing presses. books and chapbooks (short books containing various topics from memoirs to romances, politics, etc.) are popular, as are small and large paper advertisements that dot the streets and alleys. broadsheets are popular too in the city:
A broadsheet, also known as a short scroll, was a short, printed document which usually contained tabloid-style news or political rants. They were common in Waterdeep, where they were sold by broadcriers on the main streets.
some of these broadsheets popular in waterdeep are [x]:
The Vigilant Citizen, which was one of the most reputable broadsheets in the city.
The Blue Unicorn, which reported paranormal events such as haunted mansions or undead hiding among the nobility.
The Daily Luck, a sheet aimed at gamblers.
Horkle's Gossip Cauldron, whose style of writing was said to be profane and blunt to the point of rudeness.
The Mocking Minstrel, one of the most read broadsheets in the city, known for its caustic and sarcastic tone.
The North Wind, which focused on nobility gossip and fashion.
The Merchant's Friend
Halivar's Broadsheet
restaurants and other establishments in waterdeep often have printed menus that are placed outside, as well as handed out to those who choose to eat there.
2. the griffon cavalry
"Waterdeep doesn’t have the fabled flying ships of Halruaa, but
it does deploy an aerial defense force. Brave warriors of the
City Guard light out from the Peaktop Aerie atop Mount
Waterdeep, riding fearsome griffons that have been bred and
trained for that purpose. Each of the riders is equipped with a
ring of feather falling — not merely to prevent death from
mishap, but to allow them to perform stunning feats of aerial
acrobatics.
In both martial displays and in real battles against flying
threats such as manticores, harpies, and outlaw wizards, the
griffon riders actually leap off their mounts into the open air!
For a breath-stealing moment, they fall like stones, closing in
on their targets at incredible speed. Their opponents rarely
see the death blow, distracted as they are by other mounted
griffon riders. When they are past the danger, the free-falling
riders then suddenly halt in the air, drifting like feathers until
their griffon companions swoop in and they regain their
saddles. Working in concert with one another in this fashion,
members of the Griffon Cavalry can rapidly eliminate any
threat to the city — and even catch the body of the offender
before it hits the rooftops below.
Riders of the Griffon Cavalry are trained to stay above the
rooftops, not because they fear crashing into towers and
weather vanes, but because the smell of so much horseflesh
in the streets below can sometimes drive their griffons into a
frenzy."
[from: volo's waterdeep enchiridion]
3. the walking statues
"Over a century ago, just one of these eight behemoth statues
stood visible at the northern foot of Mount Waterdeep, on a
bluff called Gull Leap. Ninety feet tall, it resembled a bald
human staring out to sea. Later events (discussed below)
caused it to be transformed into the statue known today as
the Sahuagin Humbled.
When the Spellplague gripped Waterdeep in 1385 DR, six
more walking statues suddenly appeared in the city,
wandering to wreak havoc even as the Sahuagin Humbled
remained motionless.
The authorities and citizens of Waterdeep succeeded in stopping three of these new statues, breaking the Swordmaiden and the Hawk Man, and sinking the God Catcher into the street up to its waist. Then all the statues mysteriously stopped their rampage just as quickly as they had begun it. Tsarra Chaadren, the Blackstaff at the time, couldn’t command them to return to their former hiding places on the Ethereal Plane. Consequently, the city repaired itself and built up around them.
Much later, in 1479 DR, the eighth statue — the Griffon — emerged from the Ethereal Plane to defend Ahghairon’s Tower against intrusion. It roosted there for a time before flying to its current position near Peaktop Aerie on Mount Waterdeep. Once more, this activity seemed to be outside the Blackstaff’s control.
Thankfully, all the walking statues have been dormant for
well over a decade now, serving only as beautiful, cyclopean
reminders of Waterdeep’s might."
[from: volo's waterdeep enchiridion]
the walking statues are:
the god catcher
the griffon
the sahuagin humbled
the great drunkard
the lady dreaming
the honorable knight
the hawk man
the sword maiden
below you'll find more lore and backstory about these walking statues of waterdeep:
[from: volo's waterdeep enchiridion]
#gale dekarios#gale of waterdeep#waterdeep#baldur's gate 3#bg3#baldurs gate 3#bg3 meta#ch: gale dekarios#vg: baldur's gate 3#series: baldur's gate#meta: mybg3#misc: reference#for all your waterdhavian lore needs
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But daddy I love him - Satoru Gojo [ch.01]
Short series
Summary: If there was a phrase that could describe you, it was; good girl. You had been a good girl all your life, following your father's orders and being as modest as possible. You had focused your entire life on being a perfect lady, one who could be a good wife in the future. This is how you had been raised and how you had been instructed. But your whole world was shaken when one warm summer morning, your eyes met the bold, defiant and sharp gaze of a young man with white hair.
Tags of the series: +18, female!reader, set in 1700s-1800s, loss of virginity, misogyny language and thinking, oral sex, fingering, innocent oc, unsafe sex, vaginal sex, manipulative, eating disorders, abusive parents, no use of y/n.
ch.01 | ch.02 |
Jujutsu Kaisen materialist
Note: this is going to be a short series, of around two or three chapters, it’s a way to say thank you for the 300 followers. The tags are in general for the series, in this chapter there are only suggestive language and some misogyny comments and actions, according to the time that is set. Oc and Satoru are +20
words: 4k
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You were on the beach, near the house, you had gone for a walk and read a book by the seashore. The morning was warm and your blue dress moved due to the sea breeze that hit you. Placing a lock of your hair behind your ear, you looked at the immense sea before you.
You had rarely left your place of residence and even less had you crossed the sea. But this was a fervent dream that you had longed for since you had started reading stories from different places in the world.
But your parents were strict and you had a weak body to be able to make that journey. So the only thing left was to long for something that would not happen and immerse yourself in your beloved books.
You turned the page of the book you had brought with you and continued reading. It was a romantic book, one of those that made butterflies flutter in your stomach with just words written on a piece of paper. You had always wondered if it really happened, if when you were in love with someone those butterflies appeared and fluttered.
You had never fallen in love, but you had always longed for it. You knew that when the time came, you would be married to someone, but the mere idea of marrying someone, with whom you could never feel those butterflies or any kind of affection, terrified you.
You were terrified of the idea of ending up like your parents and raising your children in a loveless home, like you had.
“It’s the book good, angel?” A deep voice spoke in front of you.
Resting the book against your chest, you looked up, meeting a face you didn't know. His gaze was sharp and even a little arrogant. You stayed watching him, while her gaze continued to rest on you and you felt like she was somehow undressing you with her. You held the book tighter to your chest and drew your legs up a little.
“Oh don’t be afraid princess. I don’t bite, unless you want me to.” You felt your face heat up at his words.
“Who are you?” You murmured.
“Satoru.” He said, giving a bite to the apple on his hand. “What are you reading angel?” He pointed to the book.
You hesitated, unsure if you should keep talking with that unkown man. “I think I should leave.” You said getting up carefully.
The man whose name was Sukuna cleared his throat. "Come on angel, don't tell me that my presence scared you."
“I would rather be alone sir.” You whispered. “Now I will take my leave.” You said turning around and moving fast across the beach.
You could still feel his gaze on you, never leaving you, not until you disappeared from his sight. Walking across the dirt road that connected your house to the beach, you looked back to make sure the man wasn't following you. Your breathing was labored and your heart was beating rapidly when you reached the door. Taking another breath through your nostrils, you straightened your back and put on the best of your smiles as you entered the house.
"Miss." One of the household maids approached you. “Her mother wants to see her.”
"Something happened?" You bowed your head.
“No, miss, I just want to talk to you about the dinner that will be held tonight.”
“Oh, yeah okay.” You nodded.
Still clutching the book to your chest, you walked through the house. You were not the wealthiest in the county, but your father had a good fortune and from time to time he held parties, in a desperate attempt to get one of the rich men to notice his daughter and thus marry her.
That night she would once again have to endure the lustful gazes of men three times her age, while she made excuses not to commit to them. But time was fleeting and his excuses were slowly running out.
You knocked on the door and heard your mother telling you to enter.
“Mother.” You bowed your head. “I heard you called me.”
“Yes.” She said. “Tonight as you know there will be a party in our house.” You nodded. “I want you to stay away from one of our guests.”
“Stay away? Wouldn't that be rude?”
“No. That man is no good news.” She stood up and walked to the window. “It doesn’t matter how wealthy he is, he is no good for our family.” Then she turned around and walked towards you. “So please my beautiful daughter, don’t you dare approach that man.” A shiver ran through your body when you saw your mother's threatening gaze and you nodded with fear.
“May I ask, what’s his name mother?” You said, still frightened.
“It's Duke Satoru Gojo. I heard he is good looking but besides that, there is nothing good about him.”
Satoru
That was the name of that man, wasn’t it?
“Is something wrong?” Your mother asked.
“No, nothing is wrong mother.” You responded feeling the nervousness in your words. “I retire to my room to start getting ready for the party.” Your mother nodded and you left the room.
You walked back to your room, thinking about the man once again. Just thinking about him sent a shiver down your spine. Mother had asked you not to approach him, but you had the feeling that he would be the one to approach you. Remembering your meeting on the beach, you wouldn't have thought he was a lord or anything like that. To tell the truth, you thought that he was one of the villagers in town who wanted to bother you, for the way he was dressed up.
He was wearing a white shirt, with the top buttons unbuttoned and the sleeves rolled up. With just one glance you could see that he was well toned. A subtle blush appeared on your face as you realized what you were thinking about. You shook your head to get rid of those improper thoughts.
“My lady?” A knock on your door brought you back.
“Rose!” You smiled at your maid.
“I’m here to start your preparations for tonight’s party.” She smiled with a small nod.
“That’s perfect. Let’s begin.”
And before you realized it, you were already putting on the final touches of your makeup and the sun had already set on the horizon of the sea. Rose said goodbye to you when you headed towards the door and with a firm step you headed to the entrance where the guests were waiting and where that man would surely also be.
Going down the stairs, you stood next to your parents, to welcome the guests arriving at the party. The faces of people already familiar and new, passed by one by one. Feeling a relief in your chest when you saw that that man did not appear, you entered the party. There were hardly any people your age or people with whom you could start a conversation that you liked.
“My lady?” You turned to see the face of the man who had called you.
He was a marquis from near the capital, he was approximately 40 years old, you heard that his wife died and now he was looking for a young girl to remarry and thus give him a male heir.
Taking a step back you greeted him. "Sir." You put on the best of your smiles.
“You look absolutely beautiful, my lady.” He flattered you, bringing the glass of wine to his mouth, his face was dyed a soft red so, it was more than evident, that this was not his first glass of wine. “It's a shame no one has courted you yet.” He said taking a step forward, you took one step back.
“The right man hasn’t appeared yet, sir.” You wanted to escape that conversation as soon as possible.
“My lady, how about I invite you to my country side house and let me court you properly?” He raised his hand so you could place yours on top of it.
Your mouth went dry and your hands started to shake. “I…” You wanted to say no, but that would be nonsense and disrespectful.
“I think the lady is not very interested in an insect like you.” A deep voice spoke behind you.
A chill ran down your spine when you heard that voice. It was him.
You raised your face to see him standing behind you, with a frivolous smile looking at the marquis you were conversing with.
”Duke Satoru Gojo, excuse me. How are you? I didn’t expect to see him at this party.” The marquis who seconds ago possessed tremendous confidence was now shaking like a wet puppy.
“Pretty annoyed, because I have to see insects like you believing themselves to be something they're not.” He scratched his head and took a step forward, standing at your height. “Now disappear from my sight.” You trembled as you heard his tone and saw his murderous look.
Who was that man? Your gaze was fixed on him and you did not see the marquis flee the place in terror. When you realized you were both alone and he looked at you with those same hungry eyes with which he had looked at you that morning on the beach.
“Angel, we met each other once again.” He bowed a little. “You look even more beautiful than this morning.” He tangled one of your locks in his finger.
“Duke.” Taking a step back from him, you bowed to him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” You said without looking at his eyes.
Mother told you to stay away from him, so you needed to escape from there as soon as possible.
“Oh I’m a bit disappointed that you won’t look at me.” You heard him chuckling. “You are scared of me little one?”
“Sorry duke, but I must take my leave.” Trying to move away from him, he held your wrist pressing you against his torso.
“Careful angel.” He whispered into your ear, causing your legs to tremble at his warm breath. “You almost dumped into the waiter.”
And then you noticed, the waiter that was there holding the tray with more drinks. "I’m so sorry." You told the waiter.
The waiter shook his head and smiled at you, leaving your sight. "You have to be more careful angel, you could have hurt yourself." He whispered again against your ear.
“Thank you…” You whispered, releasing you from his grip and separating you from his muscular body.
Being close to him, his warmth and touch had caused a strange feeling in you.
“Angel, are you avoiding me?” His face came dangerously close to yours and your cheeks turned a subtle crimson red.
“No duke, that would be rude.” You looked down to your feet.
“So angel, how about you join me for a walk on this warm summer night.” He extended his hand towards you.
Your heart was beating strongly in your chest, doubting what you should do. Your mind wandered to the conversation with your mother, where she implored you to stay away from that man. But your heart wanted to grab that hand of his and take you for a walk that night. With your hand trembling you grabbed the duke's hand and together you left the house.
The cold of the night hit your body, causing you to shrink subtly, trying not to let your body heat escape. Instinctively you squeezed your hand, causing you to squeeze the duke's hand subtly. Realizing this, you moved your hand away and placed it against your chest, feeling your heart pounding in your chest.
The duke looked you up and down and took off his jacket, slinging it over your shoulders. You don't know if it was because of the jacket or because of the gesture, but you felt an intense heat settle on your face.
“Thank you duke.” You murmured holding into his jacket.
The duke just nodded and continued walking. Your gaze focused on his back and your mother's words echoed in your head again. You still had time to return to the party and ignore that you had been with that man there, but as before your heart decided for you and you walked following his step.
“So angel.” He spoke, taking what it looked like a cigarette out of his pocket. “Was the book you were reading good?”
“Yeah… it was.” His voice was making you feel things.
“What was it about?” He put the cigarette on his mouth and smiled at you while lighting up.
“About…” Your words didn’t want to come out of your mouth. “About a girl and boy that fell in love and escaped.”
“Oh… interesting.” He smiled. “You still don’t seem to trust me very much angel. Did someone talk bad about me?”
“No duke, not at all.” You hated to lie but you couldn’t expose your mother or else things could get complicated for your family.
“I don’t like when beautiful girls lie.” You felt his hand under your chin. “Tell me angel. What did they say about me?”
You trembled under his touch. “That… that you are no good news.”
With a crooked smile he spat the cigarette smoke away from you. “And that’s what you think, princess?” He asked you, narrowing his gaze.
“I haven’t had the opportunity to meet the duke, so I can not give an opinion.”
With a smile and with the cigarette between his teeth, he removed his hand from under your chin and walked to a stone seat overlooking the sea and sat there. You looked at his figure, muscular and large, feeling that heat in you again.
“Angel, don’t be shy and sit here with me.” He extended his hand and gestured for you to come closer. “I would like to know more about the beautiful lady of this house.”
You sat down next to him, placing your hands thighly on your knees, still nervous due to his presence.
“Ask me whatever you want, angel. I already told you.” He got near you. “I won’t bite you, unless you ask me to.”
Taking a deep breath, you spoke. “Why do you have a bad reputation?”
“Well…” He chuckled. “People think I killed my brother, to take the title and the power.”
“But those surely are just rumors right?” Your heart was beating faster and faster with each passing second.
“Maybe I did kill him, angel.” You began to feel dizzy, was he for real? “Don’t look at me like that angel, I didn’t kill him. My brother was clumsy and an idiot, he died due to his clumsiness but I loved him, at the end of the day he was my brother.” He threw the cigarette away. “But everyone started to believe that lie and to say I manipulated him because the title, instead of going to his son, it was leave it to me.” He shrugged. “Do you still think I’m bad angel?”
You shook your head. “I’m sorry you have to face those rumors.”
“How sweet of you angel.” He smiled. “That man… he wanted to marry you, right?”
You nodded. “Yeah…”
“Someone your age would be expected to be already married.” He pointed out.
“Yeah but I have a weak body, so my parents are trying to push it away.” You explained.
“Are they?” You looked at him confused. “Or are you?”
“What do you mean? I would never…”
“Princess it seems to me that you don’t want to marry any of those old insects and that you use the bland excuse of having a poor body to get away with it.” He cockily smiled. “I’m wrong?”
“That’s a gross lie, I would never lie about my body being weak.” You blurted out, embarrassed by his words.
He chuckled softly. “Okay angel, I will try to believe in your words.” He turned to face you. “But honestly, you would need a better match than those suitors your parents want to assign you. A princess like you doesn't deserve to be with those insects.”
You looked down. “I don’t have a say on what my father chooses for me. Once the moment comes, I will marry the person he chooses for me.”
“And that’s what you want, angel?” You felt his breath on your ear. “Or you want one of those love stories?”
You took a deep breath. “Those stories never come true, I’m destined to marry someone I won’t love, but you know.” You smiled looking at him. “Maybe with time love can happen.”
“Or maybe it never happens and you are unhappy for the rest of your life.” He said with those eyes all over you.
“Why are you telling me these things duke? Isn't it a bit rude to be talking like that to a lady?” You said.
“Is it?” He tilted. “I don’t know angel.” He stood up and you followed him with your gaze. “So you say you will marry anyone your father chooses. Interesting.” He smirked and watching that smirk, it made your body tremble.
You watched as he took a pocket watch out of his pocket and how he looked at it. “Duke…” You called him. “Why did you come to the party?” It was a question you have been wanting to ask since your mother informed you he was coming. “I don’t want to sound rude or anything, but the travel from your residence to here is quite long.”
He put the watch back in his pocket and smiled at you. “Just wanted to see with my own eyes how beautiful the lady of the house was or if the rumors were all fake.” He held your hand and brought it to his lips. “And the rumors were not wrong.” He said planting a kiss on your knuckles.
Your legs shook as the duke sank his teeth into the fabric of your gloves and gently began to remove it. But the real weakness came when he ran his tongue between your fingers while his piercing eyes were fixed on you.
An immense heat was established in the lower area of your abdomen and as much as you wanted to remove your hand from its touch, the pleasant sensation it was causing in you, prevented it.
“I will keep this glove with me, angel.” He kissed the glove and put it in his pocket. “We will see each other again soon, angel.”
And you watched him walk away, disappearing in the darkness of the night. You stayed on the bench for a few minutes, thinking about what just happened and feeling a new sensation on your body that you could not quite understand.
Standing back up you walked back to the house, getting welcomed by the noise of the people speaking, singing and dancing.
“Where were you?” Your mother appeared. “And whose jacket is that?” She raised your voice.
“I was outside and a…”
“Outside on your own?” She held your arm.
“Mother, you’re hurting me…” You whispered.
“Don’t tell me you were being a slut in our garden?” She asked you.
“What? Mother no, I was just taking fresh air.” You felt how your eyes got wet. “Please mother.”
“Agh.” She let your arm go. “Come with me, your father is going to introduce you to someone.” She turned around and walked.
You followed her in silence and with your head low, still feeling scared for your mother’s tone and angry look on her face. When you looked back up, you saw your father talking with a man, an unknown man for you. He looked the same age as your parents and was laughing with your father while smoking and drinking.
“Oh!” Your father said. “Look Marquis Harrison, this is my one and only daughter.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you sir.” You bowed your head.
“You have a really beautiful daughter.” The man spoke looking at your father.
“Yeah.” Your father laughed. “And you know Marquis Harrison, she is still unmarried and in the perfect age to to conceive.”
You felt your pulse accelerate and your breathing shorten, while you listened to your father speak. You knew where that conversation was going and you didn't want it to get to that point, you didn't want to marry that man.
You felt like the corset was tightening you more and more and how it was difficult for you to breathe with each passing moment.
Duke Satoru had been right, you had been lying about having a weak body and you had been paying gold coins to your personal doctor to corroborate it. But that excuse would soon be exhausted.
“Oh it’s that right my lady?” The man spoke to you.
You noticed the vein in your neck throbbing strongly, you felt like you would faint at any moment.
“Answer to Marquis Smith.” Your mother, angrily whispered to you.
“I…”
“Angel.” That deep voice again. “I totally forgot about my jacket.” He approached you causing all eyes to fall on him and then on you when he was in front of you.
Your cheeks turned red as you saw his face again, as if something about him had an instant effect on you.
"What does this mean?" Your mother raises her voice.
“Oh ma'am, I'm afraid I didn't get a chance to properly introduce myself to the hosts of the party.” He turned to face your parents. “I am Duke Satoru Gojo, thank you for inviting me to this party.” He smiled, bowing slightly and placing her hand on her chest.
“Are you the one who gave the jacket to my daughter?” Your mother asked.
“That's right ma'am, I found her daughter outside getting some air and I lent her my jacket.” He lied.
Your mother took two steps towards you and she grabbed you tightly by her arm, she didn't care that all eyes were on you. “Didn't I tell you to stay away from him, don’t tell me you are a slut who spreads her legs out there?”
“Mother please.” You felt your eyes sting.
Your father shook his head. “Our daughter is a bit poorly raised, Duke, we are sorry if something uncomfortable could have happened.” You felt like crying at that very moment, you wanted someone to get you out of there. You needed someone to do it.
The duke looked at you and then at your father. "I think the only rude people here are the hosts of this party, who dedicate themselves to humiliating their only daughter in front of all the guests, while trying to marry her to the highest bidder." The Duke's words came out like darts from his mouth and his gaze was so extremely sharp, you would swear he could cut the air.
“How dare you…” your father blurted out with his face slightly red.
“I want to marry your daughter.” The duke cut your father.
A loud gasp was heard in the room and you looked at him stunned.
“Stay away from her.” Your mother blurted, still holding your arm thighly.
He completely ignored your mother. “I will be staying in the house, so your daughter and I can meet better.” He sharply looked at your dad. “I hope this is not an impediment or I will have to contact his majesty the King.” He threatened.
"Alright." Your father stammered, looking at the ground. The duke turned and removed your mother's grip on your arm.
He lifted your chin with his hand and smiled. “Now we can see each other more, angel.”
You swallowed dryly, looking into his eyes and feeling that flame light up inside you once again.
#gojo satoru fanfic#gojo satoru x oc#gojo satoru smut#gojo smut#satoru gojo x reader#gojo x reader#gojo saturo#gojo satoru x reader#gojou satoru x reader#fanfic jjk#jjk x reader#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen#gojo satoru x you
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professor!kenshi takahashi > again
you just can't seem to do professor takahashi's reading assignments.
warnings: smut kinda? idk ur freaky and so is he
notes: hi guys im sorry i havent been posting, brain went numb after i lost a 2k kung lao fic because god hates me. enjoy a new brainworm!
@crimsonbubble come get yo juice
[ masterlist ]
• professor takahashi was a major asshole, every student on campus whispers about his attitude and ridiculously complicated assignments, particularly his reading assignments. they were long, tiresome, and often so complex in word choice you swear your eyes are crossing. unfortunately, you needed this credit to get the hell out of that school.
• he was presumably indifferent about you, wandering the aisles of the desks with a never-changing scowl. he was pretentious, always clean in a suit. his hair was neatly done and his back was obnoxiously straight. you tried to be mad, but you respected his devotion to his career.
• when he'd assign one of those readings, nine times out of ten you chose to skip it. they were only worth five points, it felt criminal to waste that effort when you could be enjoying college life. what's a few points here and there? it's not like you were studying for a phd like your physics professor, dr. carlton.
• midterms were approaching, grades were set to be due within the week and it seemed to be all crashing down on you. the readings and journals following them were costing you about seventy points that could easily bump your grade up a letter... if he let you submit them this last second.
• knocking on his office door, you hear an immediate groan and shuffling. his dress shoes clacked against the floor before he opened up. his height was alarming at such close proximity and you found yourself dizzy under his scrutinizing glare. the glasses on the bridge of his nose jump as he scrunches.
• "it's after office hours," he states, eyes shooting to a clock on the wall behind you. "3-7. it's on the syllabus."
• "i—i know, but—" for the first time, you found yourself stuttering in front of him. "i didn't have the t-time to do the assignments and i was hoping you could take them before the end of the week...? i'm sorry, i know this is sudden—" his large hand raises itself, putting a spell on you to stop talking just as quickly as you started.
• "you're missing fourteen of them," his voice is low and cold. how did he already know how many you were missing without checking? it takes a long time before he sighs and steps to the side, eyes inspecting your every move. "we... could probably knock a couple off if you need the help." ...we?
• swallowing, you step into the small office. you never really noticed a distinct smell on him, but the faintest cologne and his natural musk fogging up the room made you suppress a whimper of surprise. he squeezes past you to get to his desk, and you try to ignore the brush of his touch against your waist as he subtly moves you to the side. you feel trapped in this room, backing into a corner and fidgeting with the dead skin by your fingernails.
• he shuffles papers around on his desk, retrieving the printed copies of what you're missing and slapping them on the desk. you jump, trying to back even further into the corner you had buried yourself in.
• "don't look so afraid," somehow his harsh tone offers a smidge of comfort. "it's not rocket science." he beckons you over with two fingers and your insides curl.
• the passage is long and aggravatingly complicated just from a glance, the backside of the page being a few short answer questions. professor takahashi stands close behind you, forced into closeness from how much his desk was positioned against a wall. you hear him try to stifle his breathing but each small gust on the back of your ear made reading all the more impossible.
• your eyes skin the page, lips trembling as you mouth the words on the paper. just as focus overtakes you on the final paragraph, your professor's sultry voice grumbles in your ear.
• "what did the curtains symbolize?" he gruffly asks, tapping a finger on the first question. you stutter over your words, in a blind haze you couldn't even recall the mere mention of curtains in the writing. you swallow thickly, trying to pull an answer from your ass in typical student panic.
• "concealing true thoughts?" you wince, ready for his disapproving tone to burn your ear. instead, the tense air is cracked through when professor takahashi slams his hand palm-down onto the desk, making you whimper in surprise.
• "again," he groans, already frustrated with your ignorance. "and get it right this time."
• how were you able to focus like this? it was cruel. it was sick, and you wouldn't be able to tell that kenshi agreed with your panicked thoughts from his stone cold expression. he was just thankful you had just enough wiggle room to not be pressed against his aching boner through his slacks.
• you swallow thickly, eyes fluttering over the passage again in a haze. this was too much, you should have just failed instead of participate in whatever this was. "the barrier between private and public manners?"
• kenshi groans again, head dropping in frustration and nearly putting his head on your shoulder. you tense up, his hot body feeling like too much and he's not even touching you. something about a big, authoritative man telling you what to do was getting you going... damn you and your late night assignment recovery plan.
• professor takahashi raises his head again, rolling his shoulders as he tries to keep himself together. his eyes glance downward, and he looks down his nose at the sight of you rubbing your thighs together ever so slightly to relieve the tension. a chuckle is pulled from deep in his throat, amused by your small figure and just how caged you were in this situation. he had all the positioning to... no, he shouldn't think that way.
• something ugly and disgustingly horny tugs at him anyway and pulls a swift movement. professor takahashi swings his thick leg between yours, parting your thighs and forcing you to stand with your legs further apart, pulling all satisfaction from you the moment it started. the smoothness of it all sends your heart into overdrive as you try to make sense of his motion.
• you're too afraid to turn back and look at him, to ask what he's doing. you can't, it's too much to ask of you. your legs are weak and knees are buckling, so you attempt to subtly rest your weight onto his desk with your elbows, unintentionally(?) bending over his desk.
• you feel his body loom over yours, and he manages to position his leg just right to press flush against your ass. his torso bends down, just barely above yours, just barely pinning you to the wood.
• "innocence," he answers the assignment question lowly, his brow twitching desperately. "purity... shame."
• his words tug at your core. "oh."
• kenshi wonders if he should pull away, if this was too much, if you'd run away the moment his grip loosened... but you show no ounce of disagreement to the predicament. if anything, the shake in your body and the emanating heat from your cunt through your bottoms told him you needed this... maybe even more than you needed this grade.
• testing the waters further, his fingers dip into the sides of your waistband, tugging the fabric away from your hips curiously. if now was your time to decline his advance, you certainly wouldn't have taken it. involuntarily, your ass presses against his thigh in anticipation, a motion that makes him jolt in surprise. no words are being exchanged, yet your heat was telling him all that he needed to know.
• "question two," he mutters, eyes transfixed on your back. "in the main character's dialogue during the theater scene, who was he speaking to?"
• this question came to you easy even if your mind was escaping you. your voice is weak, barely there enough to answer. "the audience."
• "which one?" his growl makes you yelp as he tugs on your waistband, pulling you impossibly closer. your clothed pussy was just barely able to rub against his thigh.
• a hot breath escapes your lips, why he's torturing you like this is beyond you. "the—the real audience. us." a reward was given as kenshi pulls your bottoms to the floor, letting them pool at your ankles to give him a display of how soaked you got through your panties. he takes a sharp intake of breath, unable to stop his hand from dragging along the fabric or diving in straight away... no. you wanted this, you had to earn it.
• his lack of response but delight in touching you was confusing. your head drops in embarrassment, hiding the heat creeping up your face. "was... that right?" professor takahashi only replies with a hum, tilting his head to inspect your arousal further.
• he dives right into the next question, just as hungry as you were without admitting it. "what was the meaning behind the title?"
• you part your lips to pathetically guess, forgetting the passage had a title to begin with. your eyes are glassy, the words nearly impossible to distinguish. you want to cry by now, needing both a grade and something, anything to relieve what he's not providing you with. all you can sputter out in a shameful "i don't know."
• "yes you do," he really hopes so as he pulls your panties to the side, fully exposing yourself to him. he prays to god you know the answer, then he'd be able to take what he wants, fuck you into how he desires. he considered himself a pervert, a sick and twisted individual that shouldn't have the job he does. but seeing the way you ache and writhe for him assures he's right where he belongs. "think."
• you can't, you honest to god can't. your mind and body are fully disconnected, unable to access any cohesive part of your thoughts that would either tear yourself away, push yourself in deeper, or just completely shatter. his voice was pulling you apart, and in hindsight, maybe it always has. maybe he was just so alluring during his lectures you found it hard to focus on the work in front of you.
• a belt buckle clinks behind you, a sound that makes you clench onto nothing. kenshi frees himself, one hand squeezing the base of his cock and the other one pressing your back down, bending your body into a 90 degree angle. a mortifying wet slapping sound shocks your body as he taps his shaft against your cunt, your juices sticking and stringing in connecting threads each time he pulls away. your mind runs wild, wondering just how big he is, if his face is flushed or cold as always, but even still you dare not turn around.
• "again," he instructs with a huff, breath escaping him as he tries to regain his own composure. you're tearing him apart just as much as he is to you. "read it — hhh — again." the hand on your back trails to the back of your head, grabbing a fistful of your hair and guiding your sight back to the passage. through fluttering lashes, you manage to get a clear image of the text, racking your brain for an academic response when all you can focus on is his tight grip and heat from his cock.
• "s'a reference," you sputter out, hoarsely. "to the... irony."
• "of?" you can hear the smirk as he notches his tip into your entrance.
• "the... character's... fuck—" you pound a fist onto the desk, back arching and attempting to fruitlessly bounce back onto him, something he wouldn't permit just yet. "the main character's thoughts and inhibitions..." you try to crank out an answer as you clench your eyes shut, chasing your potential reward. "how good of a man he claims to be when he's just as evil as the villain." you speak so fast you're afraid professor takahashi misheard you, or was displeased with your tone. his silence is deafening and you feel tears prick at your eyes.
• you whine at his silence, but before you could cry his name out in frustration, his hand curls around your head and slaps against your mouth, pressing firmly to stop any noise from escaping.
• you feel like a wet, silenced, needy dog with the way he handles you, demanding and controlling the situation in a cruel and torturous manner. it makes you sick, he makes you sick. it's a terrible awful desire to want to be stuffed full of a professor, one you paid to teach you, and all he's teaching you is how to behave like a toy.
• as you near the verge of fighting back, a firm knock echoes on your professor's office door. a feminine voice pours through, authoritative and with obnoxious intent.
• "mr. takahashi," the calls through the door. "the board wanted your approval for the next steps we discussed in last week's meeting. is now a bad time?"
• his cock still pushing against your entrance, he clears his throat and adjusts his glasses, standing straight. "not at all," he replies nonchalantly, feigning innocence behind a thin wooden door. "one moment, if you could."
• she approves and you hear her lack of footsteps — she's right outside of the door. in one swift moment, kenshi discards the assignment, hoists your bottoms back into place nearly making you jump in the process, and cramming his dick back into his pants. you want to cry, whimper for any sort of guidance, internally laughing at yourself for suddenly needing his attention and help instead of being the aloof student you typically were.
• professor takahashi nods his head toward his desk, and you understand immediately — crouching down and tucking your legs against your chest, you bury yourself underneath his office desk and hold your breathing, trying to calm your racing heart... tonight has been a lot for it.
• he clacks toward the office door, swinging it open. you can only catch the faint noises and changes in lighting as they move about the office. kenshi's sure to circle back to his desk and sit down, giving his coworker no opportunity to join his side of the room.
• your breath is held tight as they talk about office jargon, words you're too afraid to hone in on in case you get spotted. you try to focus on the faint stripe pattern of his slacks, the tapping of his foot as he intently listens to the muddy words.
• "i must admit, tonight's a busy one for me," he bluntly admits to the woman, shifting his hips in his seat. "i've got a lot to catch up on, a lot of grades to fix. if you don't mind, it would be best for the both of us to put a pin in this and come back tomorrow morning." a polite smile graces his stern features, one you can yet again hear in his tone. your heart flutters at the thought of being alone with him again.
• "i'm at a crossroads here," the woman sweats, nervously chuckling. "we were hoping to do a late follow-up meeting after your approvals... as soon as our conversation is done. they're all waiting in the board room."
• professor takahashi audibly groans, leaning back in his seat. you take the brief moment of adequate lighting to smirk at the sight; his cock was still raging and angry from denial, pushing hard against his slacks. he was dying inside.
• "if we must do it tonight," he draws out his tone, standing abruptly. "alright."
• your stomach drops at the thought, cunt aching and drooling for more after getting only a taste. you wouldn't be able to sleep, eat, function until you're able to be split in half by his dick. fuck the assignments, there's something else you want to chase now.
• and you wish you could chase, frowning as you see them both leave the room, kenshi stock-still as always just as you peer over the wood to ensure you're free to escape. tonight was a disappointment all around, and not even five minutes on your walk back to your dorm your phone pings, a new email sitting in your inbox.
just now - [email protected]
subject: office hours
thank you for reaching out for after-class help. my office is open anytime if you need anything from me. i'll be expecting you tomorrow to start.
#mortal kombat#mortal kombat x reader#mk1#mortal kombat smut#kenshi takahashi smut#kenshi takahashi x reader#kenshi takahashi
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Yes well, I've been following you for a while and I like a lot of yours… Well everything, I would like to request a Leo Valdez (We all love him, I don't argue) x Children of dionysus, thank you!
love at first eightminutes sight ෴
— leo valdez x children of dionysus!reader
warnings; none, language
a/n; hi! thanks for reading me. i'm so flattered 🥹 i hope you like it ): andd ik, In the photo they are cherries but let's be silly, lol.
Those 8 minutes were the toughest for Leo.
Dealing with his concentration issues when people talked about things he wasn't interested in was bad enough, but having to face someone as cute as you while that was happening didn't seem like a good decision on Dionysus's part. Leo was surprised because, being the god of wine and other pleasures, he thought Dionysus would understand.
— Valadez, are you listening? — The god tapped the table, bringing Leo's attention back. Leo saw his name on the corner of the blueprints made by Athena's children and wondered why that man never bothered to pronounce his name correctly, neither his nor anyone else's.
— Yeah, sir — Leo replied, not too enthusiastically, but it was enough for Dionysus to continue his speech, which Leo decided to ignore to keep admiring you. Seconds were enough for him to notice how your lips sparkled with some kind of gloss that tempted him even more to taste them, as well as the way you occasionally bit your lower lip, making him wonder if it tasted as sweet as your gaze, which, unlike his, was focused on your father's explanation.
— Do you understand?—Dionysus asked insistently, thinking Leo was playing dumb. Although he wasn't wrong, the son of Hephaestus nodded confidently for him to continue.
If he could get closer to you... would you smell like grapes? Maybe with a gentle breeze, he could find out, and then he wished he had Jason's power.
— Am I right? — Your father asked you in the middle of his explanation, and you nodded.
— Yes, father.
Leo opened his eyes slightly wider, hearing your voice for the first time, feeling a warmth in his fingertips warning him not to get too excited, or he would end up revealing his interest in you in front of everybody. The way you smiled at Dionysus made him truly want to be interested in what he was saying, but it was a lost cause; you had him in some kind of trance from which he didn't want to escape either. How would Leo feel if he were able to make you smile?
— Then, in this part of the plan is when you come in — Leo was startled by the sudden increase in volume and nodded repeatedly to disguise it, stealing quick glances in your direction to avoid being caught. So when your eyes met his, Leo almost burst into flames from embarrassment. You didn't immediately look away; you held his gaze, and he saw a sparkle in them that he had never seen in anyone else's. Was your mother Ariadne? Were you made of something truly divine, being one of Dionysus's only children?
A smile began to form at the corner of your lips, making Leo feel like he was about to fall flat on his face, but the table he was leaning on wouldn't allow it.
—So? — Dionysus asked, tapping the table hollowly, and the empty look in the boy's eyes said it all: He hadn't heard a damn thing. The god let out a guttural groan and rolled his eyes, muttering something about when his father's punishment would end.
You let out a laugh that immediately relaxed your father's shoulders, and to Leo, it seemed better than any power anyone else could have. Dionysus snorted and rolled up the blueprints, handing them to Leo, who clumsily took them.
—You'll figure it out, kid. Now, scram.
No, he didn't want to leave. Leo began to stammer, trying to find a reason to stay a little longer, but before he could do so, the god was dragging him toward the exit with a flick of his finger.
— Father — you called, and his attention shifted to you, halting the magic. Your father's purple eyes questioned you, and you smiled calmly as you pointed to some papers on the table that had slipped from the blueprints.
Dionysus tried to take them, but you stopped him, asking him to let you do it for him. Leo was dumbfounded. Would you accompany him to the exit? Had he died again? Why didn't it feel as bad as the first time?
Your hair shimmered in the light as you leaned over for the papers, and he noticed that your nails were painted with burgundy nail polish. Everything about you was intoxicating, new, and when you started walking, he felt a heat burning from within him as if he had taken a sip of sherry. Was it because he had fallen in love with you at first sight? Or was that the effect you had on him?
The tips of your shoes touched his, causing him to lose his balance, and you shook the notes in the air.
— I'll walk you out —you said. Dionysus glanced sideways and suppressed a curse because he knew you very well. You never approached anyone.
Leo swallowed hard and nodded, taking steps back to walk with you to the exit of the Big House.
—And well...— Your words came without warning, even to you. You didn't know you had the courage to confront a guy as handsome as him. When Leo turned to you, his curls bounced, making you want to run your fingers through them... and you did.
The brunet jerked back and started to stammer again, yeah, he always acted like don juan, but few times did someone approach him the way you were doing.
—And well?— he asked when his tongue allowed him to form something coherent. You sighed as you descended the first step.
— Are you going to ask me out, or are you going to keep staring at me every time my father calls you?
He froze, wanting to meld into the porch wood, but you didn't let that happen because you pulled him towards you, confirming many of his suspicions. Yes, you smelled like grapes, and you were more beautiful up close.
— Do you want to go out? — he managed to ask after stuttering like an idiot. He looked at your eyes shining along with the smile you showed him, and now he knew how it felt to make you smile, and he had become a fan of it.
— I'll see you around, repair boy —and you pushed him down the last porch step before going back inside.
Oh shit, to hell with the camp blueprints, he had to plan a good date for you.
*don juan: kind of womanizer but not that too much.
#maría's shared dreams☆｡ﾟ✧#leo valdez x reader#leo valdez x you#leo valdez#pjo#leo valdez x y/n#heroes of olympus#pjo hoo toa#percy jackson#hoo x reader#hoo x you#leo valdez fic#leo valdez imagines#leo valdez fanfic#leo valdez fluff#heroes of olympus x reader
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So I just got sent that pretty iconic "anti-tulpa" document and I think it's pretty damn funny that a lot of those sources, if you actually READ them, are neutral or even supportive lmfao.
Like for this one? This is straight up pro-, and is just explaining that "tulpamancy" isn't the original concept and that it's based on other practices. Congrats, you're making our fucking point for us!
This next one is pretty interesting also. I wanna highlight some stuff from it, from both the op and comments.
Let's talk about my existence in contrast to some of these statements. The first one is "The biggest, most dangerous form of evil in Buddhist thought is "ego" or self-grasping. If ANY mental phenomena increases your self-cherishing attitudes (self importance, grandiosity, jealousness, craving, hatred, self-loathing, self-absorption etc) it's evil. IF a mental phenomena causes greater flexibility, less attachment, more tranquil emotions, less mental chatter/discursive thinking, increased generosity and compassion toward others, higher mental clarity etc.--that's good." And the second one is "If it increases negative emotions, it's not Dharma. If it decreases negative emotions, it's Dharma." So these are great for some people, but that mentality of not allowing "self-cherishing attitudes" can be EXTREMELY HARMFUL FOR SYSTEMS and ANYONE with self worth issues. A lot of this is contradictory for a lot of people. Something can both decrease negative emotions and make you feel connected to yourself. Nobody has the right to make us feel any less like ourselves - normally you can believe whatever you want for yourself, obviously, but pushing it onto other ppls' lives aint cool. The implication that we're straight up DANGEROUS just for existing is insulting to created systems regardless of whether you're using the word tulpa or not.
The reply to that by @/eeveecraft is great, and this part describes how weird that is in the context of headmates' identities here. "Furthermore, really don't like how you downplayed tulpas as property there, buddy. Tulpas are not property, they are people in every sense of the word, and I don't [give a] flying fuck about whatever complications that for your beliefs. My systemmates are people, full stop. I was already able to tell since you refer to your own systemmates as "imaginary friends," which a lot of tulpas aren't okay with being called that because that implies that they're fake. They are NOT lesser because they're not created by ancient monks or whatever.
"Like, seriously: "They would be considered "as real as you and me," with their own likes and dislikes etc," because apparently, modern tulpas don't have likes and dislikes and their hosts just see them as delusions? Say that to my tulpa, Arcanus who adores coffee while the smell makes me nauseous, say that to my systemmates who switch with me and have their own hobbies. Also, tulpas are more than just personalities. They have their own experiences, skills, preferences, dreams, memories, thoughts, a person is more than just their personality, and I thought a "licensed psychotherapist" would know that, especially if they have systemmates of their own." Make sure to read the full comment tho cuz it's a good takedown, it's not just about that it goes thru the entire thing.
SO! If anybody actually wants a well-studied paper outlining everything, check out Tracking the Tulpa: Exploring the "Tibetan" Origins of a Contemporary Paranormal Idea by Natasha L. Mikles and Joseph P. Laycock. It goes into a lot more of an accurate and in-depth history on the subject, and the bibliography ACTUALLY shows where things come from.
All that document showed us was that Buddhists are a wide community with a variety of different people with different skill levels, understandings, and opinions. And that we need to ditch the fantastical, impossible representation of the tulpa in supernatural media because that's ACTIVELY harming people. Which is what we want to show people! So congrats!
#im not linking it cuz its cherry picked as hell#but if youve been here a while you know what it is#if you want the document shoot me a message#that shit needs to stop circulating#syscourse#tulpacourse
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edward shimmer edward shimmer edward shimmer edward shimmer edward shimmer edward shimmer edward shimmer edward shimmer edward shimmer edward shimmer edward shimmer e
on occasion - edward nashton x gn!reader headcanons
elijah's anniversary celebration: post one!
✨ shimmer prompt: give me a character, and i will write a piece on how they would handle having a crush. ✨
{contains: edward being flustered and obsessive, general fluffy butterfly feelings!}
note: i am so sorry it took me so long to get to these. you can expect quite a few pieces to be published in the coming days! thank you for reading and supporting my work. xoxo, eli <3
♡ It would all be far simpler if Edward had the ability to admire in moderation. If only he could offer you the smallest speck of his heart, the littlest share of his love. That was just his problem. Edward Nashton did not love, but when he did, moderation was not possible. He loved all-encompassingly, with wide, sparkling eyes full of hope and a wildly skipping heart doused in desperate desire. There was nothing he could do to shake you from his thoughts. He simply wasn't able to rip you away from his brain.
♡ You didn't even do anything special; you just lived your life. But that was enough. Your pure, unfiltered existence was enough to have him entranced. Ever since you moved into his complex, he spent his days going crazy, waiting by his cellphone for a text or call. Hey, Ed, I'm off work! Wanna hang out? Hey, Edward, I'm going to the store! Want me to pick a treat up for you at the bakery section? God, you were so thoughtful. So caring. So funny and witty and so irresistibly you. Everything about you had him begging for scraps. Any piece of your backstory or future goals only fueled the crackling fire burning in his soul.
♡ Edward recognizes that the enormity of his longing could be perceived as overbearing or creepy. That's the last thing he would want, to scare you away. He can barely survive each day in his skin as is; he couldn't live with himself if he made you uncomfortable. So he does what he can to hold back. He declines your invitations to hang out sometimes so as to not seem clingy. He leaves you on delivered for a little while, even though he's practically glued to his phone, the intense, monstrous ghoul of FOMO looming over his shoulder.
♡ Even still, his crush is pretty pathetically obvious. He laughs hard and loud each time you tell a stupid joke. He blushes deeply when you compliment him, and his anxious finger-fiddling and lip biting isn't lost on you.
♡ Crystal clear, grade A anxiety. That's how he deals with a crush. He feels a rush of wildflowers bloom colorfully and brightly in his heart each time your name appears on his phone or he sees you in the complex's hallway. His stomach churns and his palms get clammy and goodness, he feels like an awkwardly love-drunk adolescent when he sees you: your glittering, smiling eyes, the way you walk and talk and smile at him...it all swirls around through his body like a whipping windstorm.
♡ He doesn't have the option of not overthinking every interaction, either. Did I say the right thing? Did I act the right way? Was I...cool? Jesus, he really did sound like a teenager, not a grown, mature man in his thirties with a real adult job and real adult responsibilities.
♡ The occasional high of courage shoots through him. He'll occasionally initiate a hang out session. He'll occasionally drop off a gift, maybe a baked pastry or a little trinket he found at the thrift that made him think of you. He'll occasionally write letters and practice speeches confessing his feelings towards you, and he'll occasionally rip the papers up and cringe into his pillow at the quivering in his voice.
♡ Maybe Edward doesn't know what to do with these monstrous feelings of adoration now, but it'll come to the tipping point where he can't bear the feeling of those blooming flowers in his heart anymore. They will outgrow their cage eventually, and he can only pray that you'll accept them and tend to them with him.
#eli's writing#danonation#paul dano#edward nashton#the riddler#the batman#edward nashton x reader#the riddler x reader#edward nashton x you#the riddler x you#edward nashton x y/n#the riddler x y/n#elijah's anniversary celebration 24
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do you guys remember the sketch animation thingy i made with suitcase and balloon saying someone should make a grimdark of it?
SO UM. i'm not exactly promising anything BUT that idea has been cooking in my brain <:3
and i've been doodling stuff about it :3 (more yapping and drawings bellow)
In paper, Balloon and Suitcase forming a friendship and going around killing sounds fun in it's own BUT how they reach to that point needs work.
They aren't exactly evil (canonically wise) they wouldn't kill someone let alone in gruesome ways like in a grimdark.
What i have in mind specifically needs some tweaking but first and foremost, if i want to actually attempt to make a story i don't want their actions to be justified by mental illness, like most are-
It feels wrong to me, and I get that it's the easy option i don't wanna be yet another one to villain-ize any disorder.
Neither do i want the "mephone is missing" trope, i want them to have that obstacle and find their own solutions to it.
That's the interesting part after all: HOW they do it
Would they use weapons? Would they have a favorite method? Would they enjoy it? Would they feel regret? Would they be reckless or more precise? What skills do they have that could help them in achieving their goals? HOW do they come to an agreement?
I'm gonna need to answer a lot of those questions, but here's a funny one i wanted to mention: How would Suitcase kill?
I don't thinking standing one one leg using another to wave a weapon around would be exactly convenient.
Neither waving one in her mouth, she could hurt herself :(
BUT THEN IT HIT ME. Armless objects sometimes carry stuff in their mouth, possibly heavy stuff. This indicates a strong jaw
So. uh she bitey :3
HEHEHEE let me know what you guys think! I left it mostly vague, i didn't talk about their promise, just in case i wanna make it a thing :3 but also what should i name this au? just for convenience if i ever talk about it again
okay i'm gonna shut up thanks for reading :3
#art#a-narcissists-warren art tag#digital art#osc#osc art#object show community#osc fanart#object show#inanimate insanity#ii au#ii balloon#balloon ii#ii suitcase#suitcase ii#magma#magma art#tw blood#cw blood#tw knife#cw knife
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You need to apply all that research that you did in the real world. stop overconsumption!
#me to my group mate#she finds the best resources#but leaves them at my door to make sense of them#woman do something with your brain#what is the point in reading all those papers#if you can’t even write a proper research question#on my dark academia phase#i’m so done with this project#snow rambles
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...
#it's an old frustration. an old pattern of thought.#i just feel that i have a brain that doesn't hold information. that lacks the discipline to gain knowledge. that is incapable of deeper#thought. and i cant teel you how maddening that is. to sit in a room and listen to other people discuss a paper you read in depth 5 times#like it's the 1st time you ever heard anything about it. how is that possible? how do i work with that? i read and nothing sticks.#nothing stays with me. how??? i was talking to a prof recently who ive heard is hard on her students with disability accommodation. and she#was saying how she doesnt see these things as a disability. how we're just different not disabled. ive heard the phrase differently abled#a lot of times. and i get what she's saying. i do. ad i get why she's hard on them. she wants to push them. but there comes a point where#you are quote unquote differently abled and you run into a wall that other people dont have. then what are you supposed to do? work harder?#but what if that doesn't help? what if that just compounds the hurt that's always been there? what if that leaches away all the wonder? what#then? at what point does a thing become too much of a barrier? i think there's a reason i dont run into many other dyslexic grad student.#everyone has adhd. it's a place where those with adhd prosper. but dyslexia not so much. at least not with the level of hanicap i have#and everyone's really nice. they want to help. but there's nothing anyone can do for me at this stage. it's up to me to compensate for my#leaky head. and i kno im not stupid. ive got a piece of paper stating my iq is above average after correcting for uneven intelligence. but#i dont feel very smart most of the time. i feel more like my uncorrected iq score that comes out at just below average even with me trying#my very best. iq is bullshit but there's something to be said for that gap. im smart if unconstrained by language and time. but were bound#by language and we're bound by time so what am i supposed to do? is there anything i can do? im stuck with this forever. theres no getting#better or making it easier. my brain is wired in a way that gives me the reading skills of a child. forever. and i just have to accept that#and im trying to swallow around that idea easier because the only other option is to choke on it. but maybe i chose the wrong career path.#one of my lab mates said she wants challenges all the time and ive chosen a path that's challenges all the time but im jsut trying to do#what everyone else can without a second thought. it's deeply demoralizing. yet here i am. trying to be easier abt it.#maybe im just nit cut out for this. doing a job im not built for.#unrelated
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samuel beckett as paul klee's angelus novus (new angel; 1920)
+ laurie anderson, the dream before (1989)
+ walter benjamin, theses on the philosophy of history (early 1940s)
+ + s.d. chrostowka, angelus novus, angst of history (2012)
+ gershom scholem, Gruß vom Angelus (greetings from the angelus) (1921)
#quantum leap#(<- putting this in tags first so it actually shows up lol)#*folds hands* so. i was reading this paper on quantum leap and about the way history is portrayed in fiction#and the paper actually began with that laurie anderson lyric....... and so... it all kind of spun off from there#also there are LOT of translations of Gruß vom Angelus btw. i picked that one because i like the second line being italicized#the link goes to a slightly different translation of the full poem that i like the most as a whole (as it relates to ql of course)#also i would really recommend learning abt angelus novus (the art piece) bc there's a lot of history behind it#it only survived the holocaust/wwii because of walter benjamin (who tragically did not survive himself)#and Gruß vom Angelus was written for benjamin specifically about it. like all three of those points are connected#anyway ummm quantum leap. right. well this is my post about how sam is now an angel to me mentally i hope everyone likes it#i was gonna say stuff about the individual screenshots but you know what... i don't wanna. interpret them however you want. that's art babe#ql#oc
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I can not tell if harley is sick or if her allergies are just worse this year
Other than more frequent sneezing and being a little quieter and a little extra sleepy last week shes acting totally normal
But shes not lethargic. She didn't eat or drink much yesterday but sometimes that fluctuates anyway and shes been eating and drinking just fine today and had been before yesterday except maybe Wednesday but the weather was fluctuating again and allergens were high that day
Its possible shes having a reaction to the carpet cleaner cuz that was in and on my vacuum when I used it Monday (and her symptoms showed up soon after that) and I havent washed my rug so its possible I didn't get all of it back out of the rug after the vacuum spit it out
So im gonna clean my room this week and dust and wash everything and see if that helps
Like she was less sneezey when my mom took her outside earlier than she's been in the house all week (and she spends most of her time in my room)
She was doing yoga
#i need a vet that i can text and be like ''this is what im noticing should i be concerned''#because i have anxiety. particularly surrounding my cats health#and my parents are like ''well just google it'' and like. I HAVE ANXIETY. my brain is going to hone in on all the worst things it could be#also its annoying to have to sift through shit that i cant tell is ai generated or not#like the way half of everything i come across in duckduckgo feels ai generated#i feel like shes been groomimg her paws more than usual so i think they might be itchy#which is also pointing towards allergies for me#if she wasnt JUST at the vet for a checkup i would take her in#she hasnt been throwing up or anything#shes not really more or less clingy than she usually is#shes grooming normally#maybe not a vet i can text but even just someone who knows more about cats than me#my parents are not those people#like when it comes to my own medical shit my mom can usually reassure me that im not dying cuz she went to school to be a nurse#and while she never actually became a nurse she has worked in a medical field her whole adult life and spends a lot of time reading medical#papers just for fun#she doesnt get anxious around medical shit#its the same reason i like my doctor. shes straightforward and blunt. i appreciate that#i need someone who knows cats that is like that#cuz i dont have money to take harley to the vet everytime i get worried about something thats probably not an issue
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“As a biologist, the terms biological woman and man don’t make any sense to me” okay then you’re an idiot and a terrible biologist. I swear to god, morons like you only become biologists just so you can hold it over others, when in reality, if biology deniers like you can become biologists, then being one really doesn’t mean much anyway. But this probably just gave an autogynophile like you a boner to read, anyway.
Oh fun! Haven't gotten one of these in a while. Disregarding the fact that you somehow think the qualification for being a biologist entirely hinges on defining womanhood, I do need to ask some clarification. I know I'm feeding the trolls here, but here we go: does your definition of "biological woman" mean:
Sociological woman? Eh, context dependent, I'm not fully out of the closet, but oftentimes, I am and present femme. So let's call that one 50/50.
Psychological woman? Because I am one.
Neurological woman? Because I am one [1].
Physical woman? My soft tissue redistribution is handling that well.
Hormonal woman? My blood tests are within cis female ranges.
Transcriptional woman? As a signalling molecule, the downstream effects of estrogen have broad transcriptional effects, completely changing the profile of gene expression and functional genomics of my cells. [2]
Genetic woman? I mean, see my above point- as far as my genes that are actually active, I have all of the same transcripts being produced, controlling which genes are expressed.
Karyotypic woman? I actually have a few signs pre-HRT that might point to a non-XY chromosome pair, but I haven't had a karyotype. We'll put that down as unknown. And hell, even if its XY, there's plenty of cis women who are karyotypically XY, with suppressed sry or complete androgen insensitivity. Interestingly enough, a completely androgen insesitive woman can go her whole life without knowing- and functionally, is very similar to a trans woman, actually. Fancy that. [3]
Reproductive woman? I can't produce an egg cell, but neither can significant fractions of cis women. Also, this is all gonna change soon, which is fun. [4]
There's also a lot of understudied aspects to the biology of HRT and even pre-HRT that are emerging, largely demonstrating widespread cellular and genetic remodeling of trans individuals undergoing hormone therapy. The field is a bit behind due to constant political pressure to revoke funding, but a lot of the results are extremely exciting in both testosterone and estrogen hormone therapies. I'm sure that, as a self professed biology As someone who presumably has a lot of expertise in biology, I'm assuming that you're aware of all of this cutting edge research, and are keeping up with modern papers, including but not limited to these cool findings:
Trans men on HRT exhibit significant genetic and transcriptional changes that make them biochemically male. [5][6]. It's a good hypothesis that the same happens with estrogen treatment, but those studies don't exist yet- I'm sure you're reserving judgment until more publications exist, of course.
Trans men on HRT develop male cell types and tissues. [7]
Trans women experience muscular and blood cell changes that align with cis women moreso than cis men [8]
And many, many more! This is an exciting, underserved, and groundbreaking field of research, and I'm sure you're keeping up with the latest in scientific journals about it.
I'm sure, of course, that you understand that it becomes impossible to draw a distinct line anywhere in here, and that words like "woman" are shorthand for the myriad of traits that invisibly synthesize in our mind and in society to represent a concept? I'm sure you understand that science is fundamentally descriptive, not prescriptive? I'm sure that you understand that these findings, while really cool and interesting, actually don't mean jack shit about what the word "woman" means or not?
As someone who is the ultimate decider in what a biologist is, I'm sure you know that bioessentiallism is a childish mindset that completely ignores and disregards the constantly changing, dynamic nature of biological systems, something that extends well beyond biological sex and its relation to gender.
I'm sure that also, that you understand that beyond just this, that the role of science in society is to advise how to achieve our moral principles, not create moral principles in themselves. And I'm sure that understanding means you know that trans affirming healthcare and supportive societal treatment leads to reduced mortality and increased happiness for everyone, right?
So great to talk to someone who is surely a scientist on this. You are a biologist, if you're talking like this, I assume? I assume you're not going to spit complete misreadings of scientific language from the background sections of these papers that only reveal you've never read a scientific paper in your life if you're thinking this way? I assume you have experience interpreting data like this?
Also, imagining my genitalia while writing this? Ew. Please stop projecting your fetishes into my inbox.
Works cited:
Kurth F, Gaser C, Sánchez FJ, Luders E. Brain Sex in Transgender Women Is Shifted towards Gender Identity. J Clin Med. 2022 Mar 13;11(6):1582. doi: 10.3390/jcm11061582. PMID: 35329908; PMCID: PMC8955456.
Fuentes N, Silveyra P. Estrogen receptor signaling mechanisms. Adv Protein Chem Struct Biol. 2019;116:135-170. doi: 10.1016/bs.apcsb.2019.01.001. Epub 2019 Feb 4. PMID: 31036290; PMCID: PMC6533072.
Gottlieb B, Trifiro MA. Androgen Insensitivity Syndrome. 1999 Mar 24 [Updated 2017 May 11]. In: Adam MP, Feldman J, Mirzaa GM, et al., editors. GeneReviews® [Internet]. Seattle (WA): University of Washington, Seattle; 1993-2024. Available from: https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/books/NBK1429/
Murakami, K., Hamazaki, N., Hamada, N. et al. Generation of functional oocytes from male mice in vitro. Nature 615, 900–906 (2023). https://doi.org/10.1038/s41586-023-05834-x
Pallotti F, Senofonte G, Konstantinidou F, Di Chiano S, Faja F, Rizzo F, Cargnelutti F, Krausz C, Paoli D, Lenzi A, Stuppia L, Gatta V, Lombardo F. Epigenetic Effects of Gender-Affirming Hormone Treatment: A Pilot Study of the ESR2 Promoter's Methylation in AFAB People. Biomedicines. 2022 Feb 16;10(2):459. doi: 10.3390/biomedicines10020459. PMID: 35203670; PMCID: PMC8962414.
Florian Raths, Mehran Karimzadeh, Nathan Ing, Andrew Martinez, Yoona Yang, Ying Qu, Tian-Yu Lee, Brianna Mulligan, Suzanne Devkota, Wayne T. Tilley, Theresa E. Hickey, Bo Wang, Armando E. Giuliano, Shikha Bose, Hani Goodarzi, Edward C. Ray, Xiaojiang Cui, Simon R.V. Knott, The molecular consequences of androgen activity in the human breast, Cell Genomics, Volume 3, Issue 3, 2023, 100272, ISSN 2666-979X, https://doi.org/10.1016/j.xgen.2023.100272. (https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S2666979X23000320)
Xu R, Diamond DA, Borer JG, Estrada C, Yu R, Anderson WJ, Vargas SO. Prostatic metaplasia of the vagina in transmasculine individuals. World J Urol. 2022 Mar;40(3):849-855. doi: 10.1007/s00345-021-03907-y. Epub 2022 Jan 16. PMID: 35034167.
Harper J, O'Donnell E, Sorouri Khorashad B, McDermott H, Witcomb GL. How does hormone transition in transgender women change body composition, muscle strength and haemoglobin? Systematic review with a focus on the implications for sport participation. Br J Sports Med. 2021 Aug;55(15):865-872. doi: 10.1136/bjsports-2020-103106. Epub 2021 Mar 1. PMID: 33648944; PMCID: PMC8311086.
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Can you write a college roommate head cannon for miguel O’Hara ( 18+ f!reader)
ik you asked for HCs but I have no self control... my bad, anon!
College Roommate!Miguel O'Hara Headcanons
(AO3 Mirror), Main Masterlist
pairing: College Roommate!Miguel O'Hara x f!reader
summary: Miguel is your roommate. And he’s hot. That’s it, that’s the tweet.
warnings: 18+ as fuuuck. F-receiving oral, using toys, masturbation, voyeurism (-ish), grinding, praise, service dom (idk?) Miguel, recreational drug use (reader and Miggy smoke a blunt). Minors DNI
a/n: I am a firm believer that modern day Miguel listens to 90s rnb, back when men were men: unabashedly, unashamedly down so fucking bad for their partners. he just gives me those vibes!!
edit: I'm writing a full fic for this! Rigor Mortis, college au fic, read here.
wc: 6k
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I'm thinking you become roommates but he's your last choice.
Very last minute: you have a big falling out with your now ex-boyfriend, and the plans for flatsharing next semester goes right out the window.
So all the good places are taken, and you're going apartment-hunting, but everywhere's either too expensive, too dirty, or there's a predatory clause hidden in the lease: shitty landlords and blaring red flags in 9pt Times New Roman.
When you stumble upon Miguel O'Hara; a student in private accomodation who, lucky you, is in need of a roommate; it feels like a godsend.
Rent is affordable and he's nice enough; refusing to grunt more than a few words to you, but is clean, organised, and from what you can tell, is barely in the apartment.
You sign onto the lease, desperately, hoping you've just been lucky and trying not to look a gift horse in the mouth.
You give a thousand mile stare at the blank document in front of you. A bullshit paper due in exactly 12 hours. Yes, you left it until the final stretch, and yes, it's 10k words. Very doable. You're not fucked. Nope.
You blame it on the banging from next door. Paper thin walls; obscene noises. Cries of Yes Miguel and Just like that, daddy have been plaguing you for almost an hour. His stamina must be superhuman, the way the woman in his bed has been howling. Howling may seem extreme, but she sounds like a dying cat: cock drunk and babbling over Miguel O'Hara?
Your new roommate had been nice enough. Quiet, unassuming, and seemed more than absorbed in his schoolwork. So you didn't expect him to unashamedly fuck the girl he's been tutoring for the past week. It all clicks. The "perfect roommate" turned out to have one teeny tiny little flaw: loud, obnoxious sex, well into the early hours of the morning.
On autopilot, you're clicking through tabs on your bed. Perhaps you're a prude, but the sex noises are abrasive, excessive, to the point of parody. Persistent, Miguel's low voice reverberates in the walls of your bedroom; making heat pool at the base of your stomach.
"You want it, hermosa? Tell me…. such a pretty girl… like that?" It's muffled, but his voice is unmistakable. Low, greedy, heavy with want. God, the last time someone's spoken to you like that was…
You shake your head free of cobwebs. No. You're not rewarding him. You can't . Your roommate is shameless, and inconsiderate, and really fucking annoying .
The smacking noises increase, coupled with banging on his side of the wall. Resolute, your face hardens. From where you perch on your bed, you slam the wall with the side of your fist.
"O'Hara! Keep it the fuck down!"
~~~
He's a biochem major, up to his ass in assignments and he still has time for societies, internships and tutoring.
The only times he'd be in the apartment really was an impromptu session, and you didn't notice at first, but it became more obvious as the semester went on.
As a so-called tutor, he only seemed to pick the prettiest girls - they would twirl their hair on your kitchen counter and bat their pretty lashes at him when they didn't understand. Favours for a couple of friends, is his only response when you ask.
It felt like you'd open the door to a new girl every week and you are baffled. Donned in makeup and short skirts, they'd waddle in asking for Miggy, or drop off half-finished assignments whilst craning their head through, trying to catch a glimpse of him.
The absurdity would make you laugh if it wasn't affecting your sleep.
Not that he's not absolutely gorgeous, but he's so quiet you would never have thought he had it in him: to have a revolving door of women lining up to lay underneath him.
This time, her name is Sarah: pretty little thing in Miguel's Advanced Math class. She perches on a stool, wearing a tight dress that is wholly not appropriate for a tutoring session. She's one of his regulars, if you can call it that, and has been failing for at least 2 semesters. You flash her a smile as you pad through the kitchen, searching the cupboards for a snack. God, she is gorgeous; dolled up for another long session with Miguel, no doubt.
"Where's he gone?" She asks politely.
You shrug. "I couldn't tell you, sorry."
"It's okay… I'm just a bit stuck." You almost snort and catch yourself. For some reason, you didn't think they actually did any work, merely a pretense for the… cardio later on in the day.
You glance at her sheet of paper, scribbles in purple pen with large swathes crossed out. Leaning over, you scan the page.
"Right here." You point and she follows with a manicured finger. "You fucked up with this integral and I think… yeah, I think that messes with the whole thing."
Her eyes light up as she follows you, explaining with a piece of cookie hanging out of your mouth. She's definitely smart, just a few little mistakes here and there that you're happy to point out. Thanking you fervently, she rushes to correct it.
"Ah, it's no problem. I get mixed up with it too." You smile and notice Miguel by the doorway, watching with a strange look in his face. You roll your eyes as you walk past. What a fucking weirdo.
"Thought I was the tutor?" He croons.
You raise an eyebrow, voice low as Sarah is engrossed in her work. "...I don't want to fuck her, Miggy , if that's what you're worried about."
A little cruelly you push past him, shoulders clashing against one another. Is he smiling ? For now, you blame your perpetual tiredness when you think you catch the hint of a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
~~~
You're a light sleeper, and it all makes for a tired, delirious combo. You sleepwalk through the day, scramble to finish assignments and whilst it's not all O'Hara's fault, you can't help but blame him for a lot of it.
After you successfully get through one long week, you decide to celebrate. That means a couple hours of mindless hedonism: your favourite movie, greasy food…. and your trusty dildo. Not at the same time, of course.
Miguel's not home, and he's not tearing down the walls with some other girl, for once, so you decide to treat yourself.
You've been going through a dry patch, and you'd hate to admit it, but he does sound good through the thin drywall.
It was a joke gift; given to you by a friend for your birthday. An obnoxiously purple dildo with a suction cup at its base. Aptly named Hugh, due to its - ahem - large stature. Standing tall at 7 or 8 inches, far bigger or thicker than any partner you've taken in the past. Sitting around a small diner booth with your friends and opening the bag to reveal him, had been quite the experience, for sure.
It wasn't your fault you had gone through a dry spell in the past few months. With work, with school, with relationship issues, you hadn't had the time or energy to sleep around. Not that you were desperate for drunk, lackluster sex, followed by an awkward dance of ubers and shitty coffee in the morning. Like many, you preferred to do it yourself.
Laptop open, you ease yourself onto the toy, already slick with lube. Prepping yourself with your fingers had been quite the task, tabs open to something on a lewd website. It's cheesy, but you didn't really like the bright lights and plastic of usual porn. The moans felt too fake, the sex devoid of any real passion. So you found a couple of independent creators; couples, mostly; carnal fucking with fervour only borne from real love . It's embarrassing to admit it, but your favourite parts are the little kisses and touches in between, or light laughter after a rough session. As if to say: it's okay and I'm still here.
On your screen now is a longtime favourite video, a broad man bullying his fat cock into his partner. You can't help but think he looks like Miguel, not as pretty but tan with strapping shoulders, and large hands that wrap around the neck of the girl in the video.
" F-Fuck," You breathe, sinking down onto your toy. You bet Miguel's palm on your throat would be deliciously rough, and you imagine how he'd fuck the brat out of you like the man on your screen.
What hadn't occurred to you, however, was that the thin walls went both ways. Whilst you were quieter than many of the girls Miguel brought home, you were fairly shameless with the moans and curses that fell from your lips. Headphones on, you were blissfully unaware that Miguel had slipped into the apartment some time ago. The slap of your thighs to the floor, the desperate whine as you roll your hips over the toy - he can hear it all.
Miguel has a conscience, so he does feel some amount of shame when he slips a hand down his trousers and presses an ear to your shared wall. He closes his eyes and bites down lusty groans, fisting his cock to your pretty noises. Noises he's been wanting to hear from you for months, now, imagining it was you underneath him instead of his usual partners.
He times it just right, squeezing around his tip in time with the steady slap just beyond the wall. Are you fucking yourself? On your knees, hands flat on the floor, churning up your insides with a toy… or maybe ass up, dildo attached to something…? He almost cums with that mental image, wondering what you'd look like on your knees for him. Is the dildo as big as him? He knows you, knows you'd want it to hurt - for his cock to stretch out your pretty pussy when he cums deep inside you.
All things he thinks about with a hand around his cock, and he's already close. But he wants to cum with you, listening intently for the signs.
" Fuck," Your voice comes out muffled, but it makes him buck up into his fist all the same. " Need it… oh God, I-"
He speeds up, wondering what it would be like to have your thighs shake underneath him, what it would take to have you babbling and begging for more. How would he break you? Maybe on his cock, where he'd watch you squirm as you take his length. Or on your knees, choking around him and licking up his cum. Or, God, thighs wrapped around his head, riding out your high with his mouth sealed on your clit, crying for him slow down, for him to-
" H-Harder, Miguel, please."
He releases, sudden and intense, spilling white ropes into his boxers.
" Fuck, Miguel…"
He fucks his fist through it, overstimulated from the way you say his name. It feels like the only way it should be said; spilling from your mouth, haphazard and desperate. Like honey, like treacle; sweet things he didn't know he had the capacity for. He lets that feeling wash over him, panting, bringing his forehead to rest on cool wall.
~~~
He's hot. He's smart. He's a whore.
A total blindspot for you, and no matter how much you can't stand him; you still find yourself stealing glances whenever he's home.
And he does seem to be home a lot more, often choosing to study on the dining table rather than his room. It's like he does it on purpose, using the warmer weather as an excuse to wear tiny tank tops and loose gray sweats - showing off the muscles of his broad back and arms perfectly.
Funnily enough, when he's not around those girls, he's bearable - seems to have grown a couple of brain cells in those short few days between sessions.
You laugh and joke, sometimes, and he surprises you by suggesting a movie one quiet night.
He offers you his sweater to snuggle into, you eat your weight in greasy takeout, and your roommate seems like an actually decent guy??
You had fallen into an easy routine: O'Hara leaves a flask of coffee for you to snatch up in the morning, hair damp from the shower and all, and you meet him with netflix and instant noodles in the evening. A push and pull that works in the little space - much smoother than your rocky beginnings.
After a truly shitty day, you come home to a quiet apartment. Almost sleeping through an exam, forgetting lunch, missing the bus home, and having to trek back through pouring rain in a thin coat. Everything that could go wrong, did, and you are left with the pieces. You trudge through the living room into the kitchen, the wet squelch of socks on laminate floor haunting every step. Shedding your limp outerwear, you lay the contents of your backpack onto the kitchen counter: clumps of loose paper, the damp leftovers of a textbook, bleeding ink. Your main concern, however, is your laptop slick with rain water.
With baited breath, you put it on the slab, and press the power button. A click, a stuttering whir, and the screen flickers on. Then, just as strained, it putters off. Dead. Completely dead. Your legs almost give out, and you lean on the counter to steady yourself. Half of your life was there; including the final project that would make up a good chunk of your grade. It takes you everything not to collapse onto the floor right then and there.
"How was it?" You hear the click of a door and Miguel calls out from the hallway.
You wince."...F-Fine?"
You hear footsteps, as he gets closer. "Are you asking or telling me?"
You clear your throat, desperately trying to keep your voice steady. "Fine. It was fine. I'm just… it was fine."
Back still turned, you fumble around with the wet contents of your bag, hoping he doesn't notice.
"Long day?" He says warmly, head poking into the kitchen. Haphazardly, you spare him a glance from behind your shoulder. He's dressed in a sweater that fits snug around his chest, rolled up to expose his forearms, and loose sweats. In his hands, he drinks from a cheesy mug - your mug, donning a stupid pun. He looks warm. Cosy. Domestic. For some, reason it makes your heart sink even further.
Long day? "Something like that." You manage to squeeze out. There's a pregnant pause as he comes closer. Rummaging blindly through a cupboard, you try to hide behind its door. If he sees you like this, now, you don't know if you'll be able to hold it together.
You close the door, and all of a sudden he's there, mug in hand.
" Fuck, man- " It makes you jump, as he squints and takes a sip of his coffee.
"You look… wet."
"That's because it rained, Miguel." Snapping at him, your tone is biting. You're tired, stressed and in desperate need of a cry, but he is unrelenting in his gaze.
"Are you ok?" He asks, unfazed.
There's a lump in your throat and all you can do is nod with a tight expression. His eyes flicker towards the counter and you shuffle, trying to cover up the mess. And then you watch it happen; initial confusion, a flash of realisation, and then worry; all in the space of a couple seconds.
Gently, he pulls you aside to inspect the damage. "Mierda. This is pretty bad. You sure you're ok?"
He's got a hand on your arm now, The dam breaks and you crumple into tears in the kitchen floor. Of course, he comes with you, rubbing your back as you blubber through the details.
" Nothing's going right for me… and I've got my final project on there… I'm barely keeping up as it is…" All he does is nod, face tight with something you can't quite name. It must seem pathetic to him, you think, shamelessly crying on the kitchen floor, complaining to your poor roommate. He can't leave you like this, because he's a decent person - but internally, he must think you're going crazy.
It helps, having him there: a steady presence by your side. Slowly but surely, your tears subside.
"You could've asked me to pick you up." He hands you some tissues off the counter, and watches as you mop up the tears. "I would've come, if you called."
"I didn't… I didn't think we were…" You search for the right word.
"...friends?" He offers, with a small smile. "You think I let just anyone steal my sweaters?"
"First of all," It makes you laugh, despite yourself. "You offered. And second, I've seen what you do with your friends, and I don't know if I have the energy for it."
"Ouch." Bashful, he rubs his chest like it aches. He sits a little close to you, knocking your shoulders with his own. "I know this girl who's crazy good with computers. I could ask her to take a look, if you'd like? Might not be able to save it but maybe we could recover the files?"
"...I'd like that, to be honest."
"Muy bien ." He leaps to his feet, palm stretched towards you to help you up. "I'll run you a warm bath or something. You're creating a puddle and it's going to ruin my floor."
"Our floor, asshole. I pay rent here, too."
~~~
You find that you enjoy being around him, and he feels the same.
You can't help but compare him to your shitty ex who you were planning to move in with: and even with his quirks, Miguel is better in every way.
There is harmony in your household, for a while, and you almost look forward to coming home to him after class. Almost.
It doesn't last long, because of course it doesn't. You'd thought you'd come to a tentative ceasefire, able to casually rib and joke with each other - takeout and B-roll movies aside. He leaves you leftovers from food he makes, you turn down your music when he's studying, and he even woke you up the other day when you had slept through your alarm.
Beyond the wall, his music is loud: a playlist you recognise as the one he puts on to (unsuccessfully) mask the noise of his usual late night adventures. Cheesy love ballads, heady RnB that leaks into your own room. You'd rather die than admit his taste in music isn't horrible, but it usually means a long, long night for everyone around. With finals around the corner, there's no way you can let this stand.
What kind of person does that? Lull you into a false sense of security with Snakes on a Plane and pepperoni pizza?
Absorbed in your own work, you hadn't even realised he had someone over; let alone was gearing up for obnoxious sex. You'd bang on the wall, but you feel like you guys are past that: crossed a threshold of intimacy that means you can shout at him up close and personal.
So you stomp over to the hallway, banging at the door to his room. In the short trip there, you've worked yourself into a frenzy. How many times have you told him to keep it down? That it was rude and inconsiderate to flaunt his sex life in your face; to fuck other women so loud you were practically involved? There was something about the little smile he would give you afterwards, when you catch him shepherding his latest out the door in the morning - like he gets off on it, enjoys it, when you react. Even when you think you're over it, he still manages to drive you absolutely crazy.
“Miguel? Open the fuck up!"
You're still fuming when the door opens with a click, and Miguel appears in the sliver of the doorway. He opens it so that his frame is half swallowed by the door, top half peeking through with a lazy hand in his hair. And of his top half, he's bare from the waist up, black band of his boxers sitting low on his v-line and loose sweats.
All the wind is knocked from your sails, and you lose your train of thought.
"Yeah?"
"I…" You clear your throat. "I don't care who you fuck, but when I'm doing work-"
"-I'm not." He chuckles. "There's no one here, hermosa. Just me. And you, I guess…"
There's something about the way he says it, lazily, as if it's his first time saying those words - wrapping his tongue around your name to see how it fits. If it fits, how it tastes. His relaxed posture, the way his hair falls…
"You're high." Your brow shoots up. "... you're high!"
With a finger pressed to his lips, he grabs your hand and pulls you into his room, eyes darting around the hallway.
"Shhh! You can't-" Now, he gets close, whispering like he's saying something he shouldn't. "You can't tell anyone. "
"I won't." You breathe. His face is serious at first, and then you're both giggling. You've never seen him so carefree, and it's nice to see Miguel walking around without the weight of the world on his shoulders.
He's still holding your hand, pressed close, and you see him drag his eyes up and down your figure. "You want do something you'll regret…?"
"...I've got a 9am, tomorrow, I really-"
"-shouldn't?" He finishes, dragging his hand up your bare arm, pupils blown. He gets up to your shoulders, tucking your hair behind your ear. It's sinful, the way his touch is gentle but gaze heavy - violent in the way he practically eyefucks you. You feel bare, in little sleep shorts and a t-shirt.
He steps back, lounging on his bed, and makes for a half finished blunt by the adjacent window sill. Sighing, you sit by him, sinking into the mattress. He pats you closer, dangerously close, and you comply. One arm curled by your waist, the other brings the blunt up close and you wrap your lips around it. When Miguel brings a lighter to the blunt, you lean into it, knuckles brushing your lips.
You take a drag, long, heavy, eyes closed. And when they open, you're met with his own. Maybe it's the weed, maybe it's the heady atmosphere, but you swear his eyes are low and deep with lust.
"Good girl." He rumbles, cupping your chin and tracing a thumb to your lips. He separates, bringin the blunt to his own lips before leaning back to pass it to you. As quick as he gets close, he pulls away; leaning back into the expanse of his large bed. And he looks good, head drawn back and the curve of his tan arm drawn upwards. Tufts of hair from his chest, the trail that leads down suggestively - and without inhibition, you basically drool over him. God, there it is. You feel it kick in and let it wash over you.
His music, long forgotten, blends into your downy haze. You want to sit in his lap, rest your head on his chest. You get it now: if this is the view all those women he tutors get to have, then you finally understand.
"Come closer, hermosa ." You barely register the nickname, only focused on the way he says it, the delicious way it rolls off of his tongue. You nod, and shuffle closer. His siren song sounds sweeter, somehow, up close.
You pass the blunt between you both, and watch it dwindle to the last dregs. Lying down next to him, he clutches your hand and takes the butt between his fingers, letting its flames die as you watch. You giggle and his gaze softens.
"I didn't expect this from you." You look up to see an upside-down Miguel, hiding a smile.
"Expect what?" He drags himself downwards, to rest his head by your side.
"All…" You gesture vaguely. "This. Don't even think I've been in your room for this long, before."
His room looks exactly how you'd expect it: tidy and modest, a row of trophies neatly lined up on a shelf, a telescope pointing out towards a window. There are posters by his bed; science related, mostly. You tilt your head in the direction of one of them.
"Is this what they see?" You mumble to no one in particular.
He manages to catch it, sluggish in his response. "...Is this what who sees?"
"All the girls you fuck." It tumbles your of your mouth, before you can help it.
He tilts his head too, looking at the poster and you watch the sharp lines of his jaw besides you. Even at this angle, he's so pretty.
"Huh. I guess they do."
"It's not very romantic, is it?" You blink, oblivious. Your question is met with a noncommittal shrug. "What was her name last time? Cassie, Clara-something…"
"Katie." He hums.
"Katie." Ignoring the twinge of disappointment at his quick response, you hope it's the weed and not jealousy that made you pretend to forget her name.
You sit up on your haunches, tracing the valleys and mountains of his bare chest with a leisurely finger. You try not to notice the way he shivers at your touch.
"I could hear everything. Every, 'Yes daddy'," You feign a moan by curling your lips into an O-shape. You bring your other hand to your hair, head tilted back with exaggerated movement. "And 'right there, Miggy, right fuckin' there' ."
Technically, you're making fun of him and laughing, expecting him to follow. But he doesn't, head back and eyes boring into you - only bringing a hand to press yours at his chest.
"Thin walls, Miguel." You clear your throat, sensing a shift in the atmosphere. Too far, probably. "Sorry, shit. I didn't mean-"
"I hear you too." He says softly. "I heard you, the other day."
Head filled with cotton, it takes a moment for his words to really click. So he elaborates, lacing his fingers with your own.
"Fucking yourself, hermosa ." He says it lazily, like the vulgarity of the act doesn't register.
Your eyes widen in horror. How much exactly did he hear?
"...and I heard you say my name."
"It was…. i-it wasn't like that-" Fuck. You can't think straight as it is: and his voice is low and silky, rubbing circles on your hand close to his chest. Even now, he oozes confidence, the steady thump-thump of his heart giving away nothing.
"Hmmm? Then what is it like?" You blink at him, unable to answer. "You're a hypocrite. You complain about all these women I supposedly fuck, but then-"
He pulls you closer, so that your lips almost touch his. "-you lock yourself in your room, touching yourself and thinking about your poor roommate. What am I meant to do with you?"
A pause, and in your daze, you can't breathe. For all your theatrics, it's too easy for him - to prod and tease, and for you to chase after him. You move to kiss him, but he grabs your chin at the last second. "Not quite. I want to hear you say it."
"Fuck- " You crumple, hiding your head in the crook of his shoulder. Even in your haze, the nerves bubble up from the base of your stomach. "Fuck me, please , Miguel."
He places a hand on your thigh, leading you to straddle his middle, other hand wrapped around your waist. He grinds your lower half into his, leaning up to bring your lips together.
He tastes sweet, greedily lapping up your moans in the clash. You're not thinking, not really, lost in the heat of his body, desperate and eager when you kiss. To contrast, Miguel cups your chin, pulling you away for air whenever you sink too deep. Somehow, he still manages to look smug, taunting you with a flash of his little fangs whenever you separate. If you weren't feeling the effects of that blunt, you may have had the means to be embarrassed at how much you want him - needily grinding against him and pawing at his chest.
It's too slow, too leisurely, like a punishment; and he refuses to give you what he knows you want. Your whines betray you when he finally slips a hand down your shorts.
"¿Paciencia, hmm?" He grabs a handful of your ass, clothed cock catching on your clit. It rips another moan from you, which he happily swallows with another kiss. "Patience, princesa."
You hump against one another like teenagers, your hands planted by his head for purchase. Hips moving of their own accord, you chase the relief Miguel provides: with his hands kneading your ass, length catching at your clit, and teeth nipping at your bare neck.
He licks a stripe up your collarbone, soothing the blossoming hickeys with a hum.
Fuck, how can he be so casual ? You don't know if it's the weed or something else, but he is in his element, hand dipping down your back to graze at your pussy from behind. He hisses when he realises how wet you are, swiping his fingers down your slit and taking them out to pop them in his mouth.
Now, flushed and face hot with embarrassment, you look up at him with big doe eyes. It makes Miguel feel guilty for stopping you so close to your climax. Beautiful : lower lip hooked under your teeth, plump and swollen and kissable. He'll make up for it later: a promise he whispers into skin.
"You're soaked." He cups your cheek to press a kiss to your forehead, and all you can do is whine. His gaze dips down, to the swell of your tits in that thin shirt..
"What did you think about when you touched yourself?" It's soft, said in the warm press of your bodies; hook-shaped and hazy and you fit like you were made for one another. The thought lingers, plants a dangerous seed that makes you forget that the man underneath you is your roommate : unrepentant whore, Miguel O'Hara.
"You." You've seen it first hand, he eats hearts for breakfast; and yours is on a platter for him to devour.
He laughs, deep and rumbling, hands resting on your waist. "I know that, baby. You don't have fantasies? Fuck yourself to the thought of someone touchin' you just right?"
Not just someone, him, you think. Your voice dies in your throat at the way he looks at you. "Just… n-nothing really-"
He hums, grinding your hips onto his. "Speechless, I can't believe it. Is this what I need to do to get some fucking peace around here?"
You roll your eyes, "Don't be a dick, Miguel. When I shout, it's because you deserve it."
"...there it is." Eyes shining, his face stretches into a shit-eating grin. Wide, unabashed, unambiguous. "You back with the living, sweetheart?"
It makes you laugh, even though you hate to give him the satisfaction.
"What do you want?" He kneads your thigh and pleasure pools at the base of your stomach.
You mumble something begrudgingly.
"Hmm? Can't hear you, baby."
Louder, now. "...want to sit on your face, Miguel."
Lowly, he groans, shaking his head. "Mierda… of course you do."
Expertly, he helps you take your shorts off, dragging the thin material down your thighs. You clambers upwards, wrapping them around his shoulders, watching intently as he kneads the soft skin. It's tentative, at first, and you place your hands on the headboard to perch just above his mouth.
He licks, diving in with the flat of his tongue: a long upwards stroke that ends with him sucking your clit. Moaning, your hips jump and he chases your pretty pussy up, large palms pushing you back down. He concentrates on your bundle of nerves, lips around your clit like a man on a mission.
And, God, does it feel good; he watches and learns from your every movement, committing your body to memory. His moans vibrate deliciously, tension building at that spot faster than your mind can register it. Then, you clench around nothing, gushing into his mouth whilst he eases you through it. The noises he makes are obscene; one leg off the bed and a hand snaked under his boxers. He's getting off on it; watching you crumple and sob around his tongue.
And when you begin to move off, thighs sore, he doesn't relent, sealing his mouth on your pretty little hole.
"Miguel.. fuck-" After your first orgasm, it surprises you when he continues, tongue fucking you with fervour. He presses you close, impossibly close, and your body fights against his ministrations. Heat, everywhere, and it's too much. The haze of the blunt begins to wear off and you are left with biting clarity. You want more of him, deeper; drunk off of just his tongue.
You card your hands in his hair, and he moans: deep and wanton, with his eyes fluttering shut. He wants to look, to watch you when you cum on his tongue for a second time. Back arched, the curve of your tits peeking through a tiny top, fucking yourself on his face. He wants it hard , wants you to take control and use him to get off.
"Right there, fuck… "
Like you can hear his thoughts, you press yourself down harder, riding the deep ridge of his nose for relief. Miguel complies and leans into it. He eats you out like a man starved and the carnality of it all brings you to a second peak. You cum once again, legs wrapped tight around his face. Head back, he laps it up readily.
You separate with a wet pop, and Miguel looks blissful : fucked out and panting, wiping the slick off of his face with a forearm. Exhausted, you lean back onto the mattress beside him.
"That was…" He searches for the right word, and it's your turn to finish for him.
"... good. " Scarily good. So good you won't be able to see him around the apartment without remembering what he looks like trapped between your thighs.
Gently, he turns to cup your cheek and bring your lips to his. It starts off sweet and deepens rapidly, making that thread at the pit of your stomach tighten, again. He grabs your thigh, bringing it closer, and you feel his length poking your stomach. Fuck.
"You haven't…?" Your hand makes for his trousers, and he stops you. "I want to, Miguel. Want you to feel good too."
His head sinks into your shoulder. "I know, baby, I know. Not like this. Not yet."
You nod, still wrapped up in his arms. You haven't even fucked, and it feels more intimate than it should.
"You've got a 9am tomorrow." He smiles with a hand underneath his head.
"I've got a 9am tomorrow," You repeat, sighing. "...and my life is falling apart. I'm failing half of my classes as it is."
He turns to you, lazily.
"I could tutor you, if you'd like."
…
"That's not fucking funny, Miguel."
_
_
Miguel taglist: @d1lf-loverrr, @afro-hispwriter @ilovemiguelohara @weedxgirlx420 @ladydovahkiin180 @aaliyuh3 @sweetanimebakery @vvitcxen @rosecoloredlenses708 @daikondal @magikmina @impettywhenyouare @alonelygirlsuicidenote @plushyplants @javi0ca @rheeves @starrfruit @nikirikii @marsbars09 @foxglove-grove @mimooyi @crosshairclown @dead-by-light @kynamitedessert @naarra @wanderlustingcastaway @sagejin @cookielovesbook-akie @tangerineloverrr @gobblegluckgluckgod @wolfiepirate @jxxey3 @ebrysteria @elliemm @manchuria @youngghostpeachslime @weasleybuns @ilovemuppets @vauriz @bonbyon @aimno256 @ancientbeing10 @tvije @venus1224idkpleaze @neteyamsbulletwound @chickenjefferson-blog @maki-z @jasjasthings
_
edit: the full fic xx
#i am very very close to making this a full fic#(implying that this isn't alr basically a full fic lmfao)#miguel o hara x reader#miguel o'hara x reader#across the spiderverse#kat_writes😼#miguel o'hara#miguel o'hara smut#miguel o'hara headcanons#spiderman 2099 masterlist#spiderman 2099 x reader
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everyone’s asking for a part two so here is more angst bc cedar by gracie abrams is perfect for this [ also inspired by what @shotmrmiller said in their reblog :)) ]
part one here
part three (aka version 1 of the ending) here
part three (ending version 2) here
it’s odd coming home to an empty house. unnerving, even. he doesn’t like it— dislikes it even more than he did your celebrations. fuck, he’d kill for those damn streamers right now.
“love?” his voice is soft as he calls out into the dark, once lively little flat. it hasn’t felt this big since before you had moved in.
he takes a few more steps inside, toeing off his boots and letting his backpack fall to the floor. by now, you would’ve been launching yourself into his arms. where were you? you’d never missed the day he came home. ever. you would have it marked on your calendar from the day he left, exclamation points and stars decorating the date.
“love?” he calls again, his voice a little louder. he keeps moving; notices there’s no smell of freshly baked goods or a home-cooked meal.
he rounds the corner, his eyes instantly finding the little note propped up on the dining table. eyebrows furrowed, he approaches. it’s addressed to him, clearly in your handwriting.
he reads it, and he really should’ve seen all of this coming.
he doesn’t cry. doesn’t even feel sad, really. it’s not like he hadn’t loved you— he had, but sometimes you made it really damn difficult to. your constant touches and words, doting on him, talking his ear off about this and that. he’d loved it at first, then came to tolerate it, and eventually he found himself hating it.
it wasn’t fair to you. he didn’t hate you, he hated the naivety. the unconditional love. partners were supposed to show each other that kind of love, were they not? so why did he come to despise it?
perhaps it was some deep rooted self-hatred. something dark and twisted inside of him that had done too much and taken life. killed and killed and killed. watched his comrades die in a number of ways. slowly. quickly. suddenly. brutally.
it hollowed him out, but it was his job. it was his job to do what he could for the damn world— get his hands dirty so people like you would never have to worry about a damn thing.
he should’ve seen it coming. you had been acting a little odd the last time he was home, he realizes now. detached, almost. quieter. he had cherished the quiet then.
now it was weird. he didn’t know how to feel.
he placed the note back down onto the table before making his way into the kitchen. some utensils were missing. some plates and bowls. the colorful dishrags you’d hung from the stove handle. the little plant you’d stationed in front of the window above the sink.
all the pictures of the two of you remained on the fridge. he could see in the photos how he slowly became detached. but you— god, you wore that dazzling smile in every photo.
he turned around and headed towards the bedroom.
——————————————————————
there wasn’t really any defining closure. you’d left the note, sure, but he hadn’t gotten to speak his piece.
would he have begged you to stay? told you to leave?
he didn’t know. all he knew was that it wasn’t fair to you, how he acted. what he did.
he also knew that if you called, or if you showed up and said you forgot something, or hell, if he saw you on the street, he’d say something. apologize at least, because that’s the least you deserved.
but you didn’t, and after a few days, he stopped thinking about you. what you’d be telling him right now if you were there. stopped thinking about how you sang when you cooked dinner. how you would reach for his hand when the two of you were in the grocery store.
how you would throw those damn ‘welcome home!’ parties.
he fell back into who he was, and your memory became nothing but a minuscule dot on a large piece of paper.
but for you? you had been miserable when you’d shown up at your friends apartment. cried into her shoulder as you told her about the note. sobbed as you realized that he didn’t care about you, and how you’d wasted so much time on this man who didn’t give a damn.
but even still, when you stirred in the middle of the night, you expected to feel his hands around your body. expected him to press a kiss to your head as you drifted back to sleep.
you woke up and expected him to be there. you forgot that he wasn’t yours. you found yourself missing him, even though you’d starting doing that far before you actually left.
it took the man you loved days to move on. it took you months— almost a year. he put you in fucking therapy, for god’s sake, because that shit messes with someone.
loving someone so completely, so wholly, only to finally realize it’s one sided? it’s crushing. he crushed you. but you picked up the pieces, and you put yourself back together.
you move on. find someone who actually cares for you— someone who communicates and doesn’t lose interest. someone who appreciates your enthusiasm. someone who returns it.
and when the man that broke your heart several years ago tries to stop you on the street one day,
you keep walking.
#simon riley angst#simon riley x gn reader#simon riley x you#simon ghost x reader#simon riley x reader#simon ghost riley#simon riley#john price drabble#john price fic#john price x reader#john price#captain price fic#captain price x reader#captain price#angst#ghost x y/n#ghost x gn reader#ghost x you#ghost angst#ghost call of duty#ghost x reader#ghost cod#john price angst#price angst#cod mw2 fic#cod mw2#cod mw2 angst
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