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ruershrimo · 6 months ago

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take me back (take me with you) | f. megumi x fem! reader | chapter 8: late

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chapter synopsis:

' “Kugisaki Nobara. Be honoured, boys,” she says, stance confident, “I’m your group’s girl.”

She’s so cool. '

---

You meet the girl of steel, though you've yet to get closer to her. Luckily, you have friends around the corner like Yuuji— and Megumi, too, but it's a little different with him.

word count: ~7k; tws: none for now :)!!

short a/n: hi i’m sorry i was away for so long!! life got a little busy and this chapter took a while to write. I will preface it by saying that this one is quite boring, though, but the chapters to look forward to a bit more are the two next ones!! lots will happen there :). thank you for your patience and i’m so sorry again!

25-6-2018

By the time you’re back in Jujutsu High’s campus, night time has already shed its shadow against the world, black over Tokyo's fulgid skyscrapers like a veil, the sky devoid of any stars. Tokyo is a metropolis of glittery, coruscant lights that litter the land, with parks and crepe shops and cafes galore. And oh, how you love it every time you come back, from its 90s movie mood to its futuristic innovations.

Dr Ieiri really had planned everything, as if she’d always expected you to be here: she’d got you a room near her office, even helped to clean some of it up, and promised you that you’d still be merely a room away from the one other female student currently in the school. Once the last first year— a girl— arrived, she’d be staying right next to you.

“So? How long do you think you’ll be staying?” Dr Ieiri asks, “I know you’re planning on just giving someone something, but you’re going to be here for much longer, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, but I’ll give you a heads up first. Staying here and operating as an actual sorcerer here, or a doctor for sorcerers like me or your father— it’s a far cry from the last time you were there. I won’t force you to help me when I need it, but you’re still going to be demanded of at almost all times, and I know you’d be the type of person to try to save people as much as you can. You have to be ready for that— the strain and all.”

So she knew what you wanted better than you did. “I am.” You’ll ask that of your father later, to tell Sugisawa Third that you’re transferring to a religious school in Tokyo. They knew too little of you to think of whether you were religious or not anyway.

“I’ll help you so you can still take things easy, okay?”

“...okay. Thank you, doctor.”

26-6-2018

Dr Ieiri smokes less than you thought. Really, the night that you first met her was the first time she’d smoked again in five years, according to her. She attributed it to nostalgia and reminiscing on old memories before asking you to just go to bed— it was almost two in the morning. But you thought it made sense that the ones who were made to heal were the ones who mourned what was unhealed the most; you weren’t the only one stuck playing long-gone memories like a panoramic film on loop, a permanent backdrop in your mind.

“You need to get a good night’s rest,” she’d said, but now you’re walking down the desolate hallways again. It’s fine— if there’s one thing about actually going against your parents for the first time instead of solely refuting them verbally in heated, mangled arguments, it’s that it’s insanely liberating. Before this, you’d have never even considered it an option, yet now it suddenly exists— that autonomy; suddenly, there isn’t a need to follow whatever order you’ve been given. And yes, you do respect Dr Ieiri and probably everyone else in your life, but you can choose not to abide by what they tell you just because you don’t want to— you decide it. No justifications, no reasons or polemics. Just pure responsibility and autonomy of yourself. You can’t fathom now, why you’d been scared of it before, or whether you’d even realised you were. It still feels unfamiliar, like a thrill, like adrenaline from treading on a tightrope above pits of deep, all-encompassing water, but in a week or so you’re going to have become used to it.

From your room, if you walked all the way to the end of the hallway, you’d see the first year boys’ dorms. You don’t take the letter with you— that’s a bridge to either burn or cross another time, when you’re not right about to sleep.

Careful to make as little sound as possible, you knock the door, hoping he’s awake.

You hear his groggy steps as he seems to trudge himself along, before the door opens with a creaky whine. “—it’s one in the morning,” he frowns, “What do you want—”

“Hi, Megumi.”

He closes the door. You wait outside for a moment.

Megumi opens the door again.

“...I should’ve told you I was here, actually,” you say.

“It’s one in the morning,” he goes, “Why aren’t…” he blinks his eyes awake a little, groaning as he rubs his temples, “Why aren’t you asleep? —no, why are you even here, really…”

You’re going to regret your replies come morning, probably; they’ll sound stupid by then. Maybe it’s the sleep deprivation, but that doesn’t really bother you. “I’m sorry. It’s just, um, I actually wanted to give you something, I mean— I’ll give it to you tomorrow or one of these days, but I was just bored. I just got here, and I’m just going to help Dr Ieiri with some things, um. …sorry, did I wake you? You should rest, actually, it helps your injuries heal faster; sorry for waking you—”

“—no, not… not really. Don’t worry about that,” he states, “But you should still go to sleep anyway. It’s late.”

“I can’t sleep.”

He opens the door and heads inside. An invitation for you to enter, it seems, because he turns and waits for you, the door ajar as you hesitate in front of it.

You come in.

His dorm room seems quite similar to the one in his old home, actually, the only difference being how his room now is only just a little larger than the one you were in at fourteen. (You wonder what happened to it, whether Tsumiki still lies on her bed with her phone for a maximum of five minutes at the same time every day.) The two of you sit on the foot of the bed, the lack of light unquestioned. Just like things were two years ago. With the lights outside his window, the bustling city still abuzz with their izakayas and night clubs, your eyes can trace over an outline of his sharp face and spiky hair.

“How long will you be staying?”

“Quite a while, I think.”

“...which is?”

“Probably more than a week.”

“Wh— then what about school?”

“Oh, I kind of, um… threw it away. I don’t know, um. My parents knew I’d be here for a long time. I think I’m just going to transfer here. I’ll leave it all behind that way.”

He sighs, “I know, but that… that just sounds like a thoughtless decision.”

“The only part of it that I put thought into was whether I’d run away and live or stay and rot there. So when Dr Ieiri gave me a chance I just took it. And I’ll keep taking what she gives me. If not, then… I’ll be stuck dwelling on it for the rest of my life, I think.” For so long, you’d been trying not to do so; to not take that life-determining chance, to decide to dwell yearningly instead of live, and to appease your parents so at least your mother would have that sliver of assurance, but not anymore. They wouldn’t be in your life forever.

“So you’re doing this just so you won’t live a life of regret? You’re doing this just for yourself?”

“It’s the same thing as doing this so that I can help people. It’s two sides of the same coin. Not everyone has what I do.”

“You sound like Itadori,” he says. The way he does so makes your chest ache slightly and you don’t know why. But nobody is as selfless or as much of an unstoppable force as Yuuji is. Nobody, ever. You turn your eyes away from him even if he can’t see you do so in the dark.

“But Yuuji takes that to the extreme, I’m…pretty sure. I’m just trying to do what I can because I can.”

You move your right hand to the side, fiddling with yourself, empty hands trying to find something to do. It bumps into something— something warm and soft. Skin.

With imaginary chills running along your body, you feel Megumi’s left pinky finger loop itself around yours. He clears his throat, breaking the silence, and you look at him again, at the vague shadow before you. “—that’s…that’s my hand.”

“Oh. Ah, okay,” you say. It feels right this way— comfortable, nervous, jumbled, calm—

Your hands move slowly, your fingers trying to steady it like steering around an old, shaky wooden boat with only a paddle, set and ready to embark on a journey. Quivering, you pull your right pinky finger away before your hand is fully enveloped under the hold of his. The heat from his palm on the back of your hand transfers itself right to your face and neck. It’s summer, but it feels cold and hot in the best way possible. “Do… do you want me to let go? Do you want me to stop?”

“...no. I don’t think so. Do you?”

“No. I want to stay.”

“Okay. Me too.”

He does.

In the silence you sit up, biting your bottom lip, your nerves like jelly and your brain probably fried if not for the lack of sleep. For a moment you decide to look at him, and you see him swifty turn his head away from you as soon as you do so.

(—so he’d been looking at you?)

What wakes you up is the sunrise, an early morning. It’s been embedded into your brain to wake up at seven sharp no matter how late you slept.

He’s sleeping, his face down, water in his eyelashes— you suppose that’s why he has such crystalline eyes, viridian ones that remind you of summer and life and protection. Jade and grass. Shifting into rather uncomfortable positions so as to not wake him, you pull yourself away.

His hand still remains snug over yours.

‘Just friends’ don’t do things like this, you think. But at the same time, ‘just friends’ don’t fight curses or heal those who do so, and ‘just friends’ don’t have a third person they had better relationships with before they broke apart while constantly thinking of each other and decided to at the very least become active figures in each others’ lives again.

This is scary, moving all too quickly. You’re being grabbed by the waist and thrust into a paraglider; you’re flying in the vast expanse of a boundless, unnavigable sky, manning a paramotor with no previous warning or idea of how to do so.

But he's very beautiful like this. Hair so black it’s blue, eyelashes woven of silk, a jaw so sharp yet so smooth. The sun greeting the sky as it ejects itself from the inky-hued horizon. You don’t know if there’s a creator, or if there’s a god— you’ve heard of Christianity and many other kinds of faith, though you’d never really dabbled in any of them. But you’d definitely thank someone like that, because scenes like these are proof that someone like that exists, and that that someone is an artist, a masterful artist. So he must have created you and given you an apt appreciation for beauty and art, too, as well as someone like Megumi who was beauty and art.

‘Just friends’ don’t think like that.

But you still will anyway. You can allow yourself that.

He makes a tired little noise as he wakes up, taking in a deep inhale. “...did we really—”

“Yeah. Um. —wait! I should, um, probably brush my teeth first, my breath probably smells horrible right now, sorry—”

“Oh. No, it’s fine, I should too—”

“Yeah, I think I’ll go back to my room too; I don’t want doctor suspecting anything, ah—”

“Oh— okay,” he releases his hand.

It’s strange to have things like these— little snippets and moments that remind you to just have fun and be a kid. For years— maybe your whole adolescent experience so far— every day hailed with it a new matter to tend to and worry about, and every day you subconsciously wondered if you were wasting your life away, doing nothing but fantasise of a faraway fancy in which you could use the only potential you had for something.

But who knew that it was so simple, yet so profound: that the excitement and memories that you yearned for could be obtained just from wanting to do so? That if you wanted to do something, you could just up and do it?

You like it, though. The paralysing, dizzying feeling of it all, breaths caught in your throat and you can’t say anything without stuttering. The last time you’d felt it, it was Yuuji: you’d had yourself emotionally constipated to the point you choked it all up within you, toned things down and muted the intensity of it all before you even felt it. But it was fun then, and now this is much better. It would seem delusional to hope for anything else. There’s not much of a fantasy for you to look to and put yourself into a deluge of daydreams about, but for once you want to feel something without the implications. That must be what being a teenager is like— you’d seen it time and time again in movies, with cliques and girlfriends and gossip sessions, but you’d never had the luxury to have them yourself and be a girl like that. So this must be what it’s like, at least a semblance of it, with its fun and frivolities and feelings straight from familiar flicks.

Not quite the time to put a name to it just yet, but it’s fun. At least, you can do it a little longer. It feels like a breath of fresh air after chaining yourself down like an anchor to the seabed.

You rush to the door. “I’ll see you later? For breakfast,” you try to smile as calmly as you can while you turn back to look at him again.

Thank goodness Dr Ieiri wakes up at eight whenever there isn't much work for her to tend to.

You set a mission for yourself: hold Megumi’s hand again at least once in your high school career.

Now that’s how to live without regrets, be a teenager, and have fun.

Are you being delusional?

You don’t know what Fushiguro Megumi is to you now, because ‘friend’ doesn’t sum it up well enough, ‘stranger’ doesn’t do the two of you your deserved justice, classmates isn’t the actual term, and ‘boyfriend’ is way too far from the truth.

So to have dreams like that; thoughts like that, you think as you brush your teeth, you’re probably making a fool of yourself again.

There’s something going on here and you don’t know what it is. And even if you’d told yourself you were fine with it, you don’t know how long everything else will be.

It makes you feel like an idiot.

But in your head you're filled with thoughts and, for a lack of a better term, hindrances. Did he sleep well? Do friends do that? Or was it just the two of you who’d do that? Was there even any meaning behind it all, any implications on your relationship due to this? This way you’d drive yourself insane before you could even get to breakfast.

Did he like it, though? Could he have liked it, the sight of you sleeping next to him? Of vulnerability? No, he couldn’t, right? Yet, if he did, then—

You needed to calm down.

(What about the letter?)

Maybe this was adrenaline: you’d run and take a few bites of breakfast before anyone else did, heading back to your room after you had done so. This way, nobody would see you. (You weren’t calm enough to do this, what made you think, in your sleep-deprived mind, that you’d be mature enough to handle this the next morning?)

Just as you’re planning strategies to spend the whole day holed up in your room and avoid contact with anyone for it all, there’s a knock on your door.

“Took so much to talk to the dad alone—” he says, his voice muffled as he speaks to someone else, “I could never stand that old geezer! If he’s like that I’m glad I never had to know how much worse his wife is.”

It’s Gojo, you can tell. There’s a slight mocking tone in the way he does everything, in the way he says and laughs about the most out-of-pocket shit ever— this is one of those times, because you can almost hear what you think is a feral maniac with the voice of an idol laughing like a loon as he bangs against your door as if he’s trying to kill it.

“You probably shouldn’t hit it so hard.” Dr Ieiri’s voice.

You open the door. “Yes?”

“He’s saying that you should come as backup, and I thought it would help you be put on the spot. It’ll teach you how to operate with clarity as you work,” Dr Ieiri explains.

“Besides, you won’t even need to help that much. It’s just that this way, you’ll be able to do so if it’s needed while we’re here to guide you. Think of a baby taking its first steps with the help of its parents. If it gets dangerous for them, I’ll step in and you can heal them, but if you can’t heal them enough, we’ll just bring them back to Shoko,” Gojo cheerfully adds. Dr Ieiri nods along with him.

“Ah… okay.” Your first “actual” lesson as an “apprentice”, then.

“But first, you should change,” Gojo tells you, handing you a set of clothes, “Here. It’s a spare standard uniform that we keep for special cases. Now you can match with Megumi!”

Your eyes widen, unsure of whether to laugh nervously or slap him or dash in the opposite direction— shawty a runner, she a track star.

“I’m so sorry that he’s like this,” Dr Ieiri goes. Joking or not, she’s right. You’re sorry she’s dealt with him for so long, too.

“...thanks.”

“Don’t bully my student, Satoru,” Dr Ieiri orders, and you kind of like the sound of your new title.

You wonder how Gojo got used to teleporting with his cursed technique, but you suppose that it comes with the innate ability to switch from one scene to another so rapidly without feeling at least a little sick— like how the shift from the quiet of the dormitories to the bustle outside of Harajuku has you feeling right now. The brightness of the summer sunlight feels like an intrusion as Gojo sets you down and you open your eyes again.

“Wow.”

“Oh, it’s [Name]!”

Megumi looks away. He’s probably embarrassed to hell and back right now— angry at you, even, maybe. You weren’t sure anymore; you couldn’t even think. You try to let the heat rising up to your face subside without fanning it, steadying yourself beside Gojo, swearing that you’d like to be invisible just this once.

“Sorry for the wait! I had to take up a call. I brought [Name] over here for backup too to get a grasp of the on-field experience.” Gojo says, waving at them, “Oh! Your uniform made it in time.”

“Yeah! It fits great! Though I noticed it’s slightly different from Fushiguro’s. Mine has got a hood.”

It does fit him, you think, as you look at Yuuji. It looks better on him than it did when he sent you pictures of it over text. It’s easier to look at him now than Megumi.

“That’s because the uniforms can be customised upon request.”

“Huh?” Yuuji tilts his head to the side, “But I never put in any requests.”

“You’re right!” Gojo smiles, “I was the one who put in the custom order.”

“Huh… oh. Well, cool!”

“Be careful,” Megumi goes, “Gojo has a habit of doing that kind of stuff. So why are we meeting up here in Harajuku?”

“Because,” Gojo clarifies, “That’s what she asked for.”

“Oh!” Yuuji starts as the four of you walk out of the station, “You’re wearing the uniform too, [Name]. Looking good!”

“Really? Thanks. I mean, I like the skirt. The uniform makes me feel like a fancy princess in a fancy school or something, but the skirt looks a little like it belongs to an elegant office lady.”

“Uh, yeah,” Megumi follows, “You… look good. In the uniform, I mean.”

You force out a laugh— “Haha, uh… you too. I mean, everyone would look good with these uniforms, right?” Wow…

“...I guess so,” Megumi replies, looking in the other direction.

If you see Gojo stifling his laughter in front of you, no you don’t.

“We- we should get popcorn. I read online that said you could get really tasty popcorn at one of the shops in Takeshita Street.”

“Yay, popcorn!” Yuuji exclaims, “I want some!”

“Sure,” Gojo chuckles, “The shop’s pretty near here anyway. This is your guys’ first time in Harajuku, right, [Name] and Yuuji?”

“Ah… yeah, and now that I think about it, Yuuji had never been out of Sendai until recently, actually. Right?”

“Yeah, but I thought you’d have been to Harajuku before.”

“I mean, I used to live in Tokyo, but I didn’t really move around. I think the most famous place I’ve been to is Shinjuku-Gyoen. Really pretty garden…”

“Oh… then we should go around Tokyo one of these days!”

“Yeah,” you smile, “We should! But you could spend a whole week exploring and you still wouldn’t see all of it,” you remark, “It’s a good idea, though.”

“Fushiguro, wanna come along?”

“Uh, sure…” Megumi goes, avoiding eye contact with you. You do the same.

“...hey, is everything okay between the two of you? How come you’re so shy with each other all of a sudden?”

“H-huh? Ah, no, no, it’s okay.”

“You said ‘no’ twice. You usually only repeat words like that when you’re really worried about something,” Yuuji says. Curse his affinity for knowing you.

“But it’s fine, though. Don’t worry.”

“Uh… yeah. What [Name] said.”

“You sure?” Yuuji asks again, a bit concerned. “Okay, then.”

The rest of the walk mostly goes in silence— Yuuji excitedly heads for things to buy, from funky accessories to buckets of snacks. By the time it’s over and all of you are near the 400 yen corner, he’s decked out in all the Tokyo tourist gear, there’s popcorn in his hands, and sunglasses with frames spelling out “ROOK” on his face. (Maybe because he’s a rookie?)

There’s a well-dressed girl in front of you— you wonder if it’s her, but she isn’t wearing the uniform, so it probably isn’t— and a man most likely bald and wearing a wig with his black-and-white business suit. “Well, hello, there!” the man says to her, “Are you on the clock right now?”

“No, not right now,” she replies.

“That’s great! You see, I’m looking for potential models. That’s what I do! Would you be interested?”

He’s scouting for models?

There’s a sliver of hope in you that he looks at you next and asks you that question. You’re sure it isn’t going to happen, but you suppose you would like being told you were pretty by having a job associated with people who were— there was no chance, though. In Tokyo, the vast metropolis that it is, there are so many with better looks; better faces, prettier hair, nicer bodies— or people who dress better, walk more confidently; people who are adequate in all the ways you aren’t.

The thought slightly shocks you, in reality— you haven’t thought about how you may not be able to compare with others since the time when you really did realise that Yuuji would never like you (not in that way, at least, and it still hurts to think about it). You never thought you’d feel that way again, and you never thought you would have to be surprised by such thoughts that had been brought in by something akin to envy or jealousy.

“I’m in a hurry right now,” the girl denies.

At least she probably knows just how beautiful she is.

“Hey, you!” another girl calls. This one is just as beautiful— prettier than you, with brown (probably dyed) hair, and pretty brown eyes to match. She’s wearing the same uniform as you save for some titivations at the skirt, and she looks way better in it than you do. “What about me?” she asks, pointing at herself, “For that modelling gig. Hey, I’m asking what you think about me.”

She’s so confident, it’s so cool…

“Oh, well uh… I’m in a hurry at the moment,” the man says. Little bitch boy.

“What the hell?” she asks, holding the man by the collar, “Don’t run, come out and say what you think!”

“Wait, she’s the one we have to go and talk to? This is real embarrassing,” Yuuji says.

Megumi mutters under his breath, “Yeah? So are you.”

“I think she’s an icon,” you express.

Gojo waves at her, amused, “Hey, we’re over here!”

The girl slams the locker door shut after she places her backpack— a really tiny, cute pink one— into its pit of shopping bags. Probably to buy pretty clothes. She’d look really good in them.

“Right, so now we have our three students! Oh— [Name] here isn’t really a student, by the way, I’ll explain later,” Gojo informs the pretty girl, “I’d like you to meet—”

“Kugisaki Nobara. Be honoured, boys,” she says, stance confident, “I’m your group’s girl.”

She’s so cool.

Oh, she’s judging them, you think as she stares at the boys.

“I’m Itadori Yuuji. I’m from Sendai!”

“Fushiguro Megumi.”

“Ugh,” she lets out, “This is what I get to work with? Great, just my luck.”

“She took one look and sighed— that can’t be good,” Yuuji says.

“Are we going somewhere from here?” Megumi asks.

“Well, we do have all three—”

“All four—” Megumi interjects.

“Ack— no, no, Megumi, I’m not a student, hold on—” You don’t want to be something other than a ghost, not right now, because then you’ll have to deal with whatever you’ve done in the last twenty-four hours that you’d rather beat around the bush and eventually forget about than anything.

“Okay, we do have all four of you together, and since three of you kids are from the countryside, that means…” he pauses for effect— were you really “from” the countryside, though, if you’d moved around so much that you had no sure idea where your roots were? “...we’re going to Tokyo!”

You and Megumi watch as Kugisaki and Yuuji chant the city name over and over in unison before arguing over where to head to. But this is Gojo— so there may be a catch somewhere that you just haven’t found yet.

Megumi looks as annoyed as ever, much like the expression his younger self used to have when his eyebrows crinkled in exasperation from your antics.

“If you quiet down, I’ll announce our destination,” Gojo begins, and the newly formed pair quiet down, “Roppongi!”

It’s probably just something like an abandoned building in Roppongi, not Roppongi in all of its glamour itself.

It’s an abandoned building in Roppongi.

Gojo explains the situation after Kugisaki and Yuuji’s outrage— “There’s a big cemetery nearby. That, plus an abandoned building, and you’ve got a curse.”

Kugisaki stops her raging when she finds out that Yuuji is still learning about how curses are formed. “Wait, hold up here. He didn’t even know that yet?”

“To be honest…” Megumi starts to explain.

She looks horrified after.

(If you could, though, if you were anything other than a ghost right now— you’d tell her of how selfless and brave Yuuji is, of how incredible he is that he stopped at nothing to help his friends. You’d tell her that this was what made liking him as easy as breathing air.)

Before the two of them head into the building, Gojo hands Yuuji a cursed tool— you’d never actually seen one before. You wonder if he’ll be able to wield it well enough: you know he has it covered, but you’re still worried about him anyway. (You always are.)

And he gives Yuuji a challenge, too, though it’s more like an ultimatum. “Don’t let Sukuna out, okay?”

Soon the three of you sit down near the building— there’s a block of concrete that you wonder why it was placed there for, and Gojo gestures for Megumi and you to sit down there.

“Hey, you should be sitting here. I’m fine with standing.”

“Nah, just take a seat. I’ve got to be on standby anyway.”

“But you’re the teacher. You should get a better seat. And I’m not injured like Megumi, so I’m fine with standing.”

“Pft,” he snorts, “You think I actually care about that sort of stuff?”

You pause. “I… guess not. Thank you. Sorry again.”

Gojo squats down instead, only his feet on the floor. “See? It’s better this way. Just you and Megumi in your own little world—”

“—please stop.”

Megumi turns away from you again in embarrassment.

“Anyway…ah, Kugisaki is really pretty,” you state, “And she seems really strong. I’m still worried, though. What if the curse inside is stronger than anticipated…”

“...I think I’ll go in too,” Megumi says, “Someone needs to keep an eye on Itadori, right?”

“You should rest and let your injuries heal, though. I mean, I could help you with that, but I’m supposed to wait for their injuries first—”

“Well, the one we’re testing this time is Nobara,” Gojo highlights, “That Yuuji… he’s got some screws loose: he’s fearless— these things take the form of terrifying creatures who try to kill him, yet the guy has no hesitation at all. And he doesn’t have the familiarity with curses that you have. We’re talking about a boy who used to live a normal high school life. By now you’ve seen plenty of sorcerers and you’ve seen them give up because they couldn’t conquer their fear or disgust, right?” he explains to Megumi.

He’s right, though. For someone who had no idea what curses were just a bit more than a week ago, it’s amazing how he can acclimatise himself to such a new life so quickly. When you’d first learned about curses and jujutsu sorcerers, the only reason your life stayed that way was because actually becoming a victim of it seemed like merely a faraway hypothetical, something that couldn’t affect you— up until your father revealed his cursed technique and you exorcised that curse in the store a while after. That was when the ghastly figure of reality that was jujutsu society reared its head and pricked you with its cold finger. As happy as you were after you’d exorcised it, you could feel that empty pit forming in your gut— you did it, thank goodness, but what now? And as your heart raced while you helped that lady, you didn’t address it.

You supposed the benefit of your position was not having to at all.

“Hasn’t Kugisaki already dealt with curses before, though?”

“As we know, curses are born from human minds, so their strength in numbers grows in proportion to the population,” Gojo teaches, “Do you think Nobara understands? Tokyo curses are of a different level than those in the countryside.”

The curse you handled before would be on the weaker side, then. “In what way?” you ask.

“Their cunning— monsters that have gained wisdom will force cruel choices upon you where the weight of human life hangs in the balance. [Name], when you fought that curse last time, did it seem to be sentient or self-aware?”

“...I mean, I guess it seemed like it couldn’t really see the other person there. It was just me and the lady who worked there, so… no.”

“Well, to put it into perspective, [Name], the curse, had it been one from the city instead, could have done something like take the lady hostage to sort of threaten you and keep itself at large. So this test is to see if Nobara is crazy enough.”

It wouldn’t matter, though— you were the healer, the medic, the doctor. Whatever level of martial prowess you were supposed to have didn’t concern you.

“And speaking of tests, [Name]…” Gojo begins, “One of these days, you’ll have to get one too. As someone about to take Shoko’s role, this is your first test as a medic— every mission you get sent to will be a test in that aspect. But as a sorcerer…”

“Hey. I’m not an actual sorcerer, though, remember? And you should speak with Dr Ieiri first if you want me to expel curses like one and all.”

“Well, I didn’t speak to Dr Ieiri. I spoke to your dear old dad!”

“What?”

“Took a lot of convincing, but—”

“He didn’t tell me anything about this. I’m sorry— I know you just treated me well and gave me a better seat, but why didn’t you think to ask me first? It’s not like I ever really wanted to fight, either. And they were on-board with that. It’s just— why would you change that?”

Megumi sighs exasperatedly, “Seriously, what is this?”

“Yeah! What is this, Gojo?”

“Okay, okay: I’ll share a secret with the two of you, then. You’ve always been tied together, so there’s no use in me telling either of you just to not tell the rest. Keep it between yourselves, okay? Think of it as another part of your shared bond,” Gojo says.

You purse your lip. (Your mother did that a lot. There is nothing you can do that your parents are not entwined in even now; the roots of them have been planted so deeply into your life, ingrained so deeply into your psyche.) “Look, I just want you to answer me, Gojo. Why did you do it?” Why ruin a consensus that took years of compromise and arguments to settle on?

“...because you can. I mean, it’s your philosophy to be like that, right? If you have the ability to help someone, do it.”

“I mean, in essence, yeah, but what kind of point are you trying to make here?”

“That I think with that mindset you’d make a pretty good teacher. You know,” he sighs with a faux furtiveness, “Your father had that same mindset, with his strength and his intelligence and his kindness, and he was one of the best teachers you could ever have. He wasn’t an actual teacher, but… he was the kind of geezer who people thought were wise and would seek guidance from. A great guy, actually. But to cut to the chase, what I’m saying is that I want you to be a sorcerer who knows how to fight, too, instead of just the doctor in the corner that you believe will be the peak of your potential. I think you can do better.”

“So? I mean, as bad as it sounds, I don’t want to.”

“That’s why I just want you to try. I want you to have that test and become an actual student here. Shoko doesn’t mind you not becoming one because she thinks they won’t send you on missions if you’re considered ‘too valuable’ by the higher-ups. But I want you to become my student— I’ll give you time to think about it, but look at this way: you have abilities that exceed what you think of yourself— imagine how it sounded to other sorcerers when they heard of you back then, a thirteen-year-old with a late-blooming cursed technique grasping control of it instantly and defeating a grade two curse, even healing the person left behind. Face it: you’re technically a prodigy. The only thing that separates you from others like you is your humanity that troubles you with a reluctance to believe you can actually do anything.”

Harsh. “...I’ll think about it. But why spring it up on me now?”

“Maybe you know too little. O-kay, children, listen carefully. Little [Name]’s father would be a relatively famous sorcerer just because of his partial position as a healer, right? For all your life, you were sheltered and protected by your parents who never wanted you to enter into the jujutsu world. I even spoke to your mother herself, remember? Told her that you’d probably be a window but that you could still use cursed energy. You hadn’t shown signs of a cursed technique yet, but we hadn’t considered that it was because prior to that you never had to use it— the countryside areas you grew up in were practically devoid of any curses that your mother and father wouldn’t have already killed themselves. So, with your father’s quote-en-quote ‘fame’, what makes you think that people wouldn’t have wanted you as a jujutsu sorcerer from the start?”

Just like that the worlds in your head have had worlds of meanings added to them.

“So? What do you think, [Name]?”

You turn to Megumi. When you’re backed out into a corner, your eyes scrambling for a place to put them, you turn to Megumi.

His hand moves hesitantly to your shoulder, ghosting over it like a teapot over a china cup. “...whatever it is, you’ll do well. Gojo just likes to pull stuff like this.”

It feels warm. You won’t be in trouble if you don’t run away from this. It’s nice. It’s calm, his steady hand on your shoulder as your heart feels like it’s about to take a nosedive. “...thanks.”

“Give me some time, Gojo.”

Yuuji and Kugisaki come back with a little boy in tow.

“Ah— you’re back!”

“No injuries, [Name]! We’re all scratch-free! The kid has a bruise on his knee, though.”

“Oh. Can I see it, please?” you ask the boy, kneeling to his height.

The boy pulls the left hem of his pants up, revealing a fresh violet blot on his skin.

“Would you be okay if I touched your knee? I can take the bruise away for you.”

He nods and soon it’s gone, his skin pristine and new. “Woah,” he goes, “Thank you! Was that magic?” he asks, eyes full of childlike wonder.

You giggle. “Something like that. Could you keep it a secret?” you make the best welcoming and kid-friendly grin you can as you place your index against your lips.

“Okay!” he whisper-shouts, smiling wide.

Kugisaki and Yuuji rest by the building while Gojo, Megumi and you bring the kid back home.

“You know, I wanted to say, big sister,” he starts, looking up at you, “You’re really pretty!”

(So cute!!) “Ah, really? That other girl is really pretty too, though.”

“You too! You could be like a model on a poster!” he exclaims, “Oh wait— I live over there! Thanks again!” he points to the turning on the left.

“Haha, thank you,” you reply as Gojo waves at him, “Take care of yourself!”

“I will! Bye-bye, big sister!”

“Are you hungry?” you ask Gojo and Megumi. “Ack— I feel lightheaded.”

Megumi turns to you in an instant— “You didn’t eat enough for breakfast?”

“Guess so,” you reply, “I should be fine, though. I think I just had something on my mind the whole day and I couldn’t feel the hunger or something.”

He whips his phone out.

“Oh, there’s a famous tonkatsu restaurant back in Omotesando,” you suggest as he scrolls through restaurant options. “I think Yuuji may want to eat something like steak, though, and I don’t know what Kugisaki likes. Is there anything you want in particular?”

“I’m fine with anything,” he says, “But it’s Gojo’s money we’re going to be using, so we should probably make the most of it.”

“Mm… we can eat beef steak in Ginza, I think… ah— Yuuji’s grandfather always called it beefteki. I’m surprised I can still remember.”

27-6-2018

“Hi. It’s one in the morning, Megumi,” you greet him as he stands outside your room’s door, “Can’t sleep?”

“...yeah,” he admits sheepishly, “Sorry about this.”

He sits down on the bed. “Nah, it’s fine. It’s like we’re going to keep doing this,” you start, “Our special ritual. Something like that. I mean, we help each other in this way, right?”

Your hand strays upward a little, nervous as it inches toward his shoulder.

He brings your hand there and places his own hand on top of it. “Yeah,” he replies contentedly, “But I… wanted to ask,” Megumi begins, “What Gojo said. Are you going to become a student?”

“I don’t know. I mean, looking at how things are going now, I may. It seems like things are leaning more towards me being a full-fledged sorcerer. Haven’t had the time to think about it.”

He seems to pause for a moment, to reconsider something one last time like a record in his head.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I should take you to see Tsumiki first.”

You nearly gasp. “She wants to see me?” After all this time? “I’m happy, but… wouldn’t she be busy, though?”

“No… I mean… you really should take a look at her first. Then you’ll see what I’m trying to say. I’m sorry, but I just— I really should have told you sooner.

“Told me what?” you frown. Learning of this feels a bit like restarting and going back to square one somehow.

“I’m sorry, can we just… do something else for now? Just… please be patient with me a little longer. I’m sorry you have to do that so much.”

“…okay.”

You wake up to his figure being illuminated shyly by the light of dawn. In the tiny bubble that the two of you share— of intertwined paths, secrets, lives— and the sensation of waking from a late night, you realise just how much you want to stay there forever.

This morning, you don’t rush back to your room and hastily go through your routine. All you do for a while, for what feels like it lasts for a century yet lasts for too little time, is look at him, at his steady, quiet breathing as his eyes are shut comfortably tight.

taglist:

@bakananya, @sindulgent666, @shartnart1, @lolmais, @mechalily, @pweewee, @notsaelty, @nattisbored

(please send an ask/state in the notes if you'd like to join! if I can't tag your username properly, I've written it in italics. so sorry for any trouble!)

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a-star-that-burns-brightly · 5 months ago

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Y'know, for a series that's themed so heavily around deception, misplaced trust, and things not being as great as they seem, it's so interesting to me how we have a total of three characters who have stories that involve a powerful, wealthy individual manipulating them and causing them or their loved ones harm during times of financial struggle or straight-up poverty XF-Ture Tech greeted the impoverish Jeung family with the offer to pay off all of their expenses, only at the cost of their daughter, Min, becoming the Ultimate Student 12 years down the line. This led Min from ages five to seventeen to work away her entire life to achieve this goal, turning her into the perfect image of an Ultimate that Hope's Peak Academy wanted to see, at the cost of her childhood and her autonomy.

Min: I don't know why that man would sponsor some random child, nor why it would be me of all people. And I never had the time nor space to figure out the answer to that question. Min: Failure was not something I even considered, because if I failed, then there would be no future for me or my family. Min: I had simply accepted for my whole life that I would be the Ultimate Student, and I lived my life accordingly. That's why the Academy chose me.

The Lacroix family was sent into a river of debt by their daughter Rose, and when all hope seemed to be lost, Richard Spurling offered to clear her charges and pay off her fines if she decided to work under him as a painter for the Spurling Foundation. Any semblance of herself in Rose's works has now dissipated, her sense of identity only tied to the contract she signed with an angelic devil.

Rose: Forever working to pay off my mistakes, and never being able to call my art my own... This isn't the life of an artist that I wanted. It's not what anyone would want. Rose: All I do is make paintings on others' beck and call. It's been so long that I don't think I remember how to paint something original anymore. Rose: That spark of vitality is missing from anything I make. Like this painting. And I can't help but feel like I'm missing a part of myself.

Little is known about the details of Xander's story at this time, but we know enough to know that he falls into this category too. The Matthews family lived in a town with an understaffed hospital and a river as their only water source, leaving them unprepared for an incident that would gruesomely wipe them out. Meanwhile, Duke Spurling, a wealthy man in extreme power being a politician, who instead of using his power for good was, from what we can tell, sitting on his dollar bills while the innocents around him lost function in their limbs.

Xander: I read that it was like rotting from the outside in. Xander: Your limbs would stop working before your organs did, and you would lie there and feel yourself die and be unable to do anything about it. Xander: There was only one dinky understaffed hospital for miles, one that could barely handle a minor flu outbreak, much less that 'incident' Xander: I read that it took weeks before they even figured out what to do with all the bodies. They left them where they died. After all, there was no one left to move them. Xander: It was during May, that time of the year there when the temperature quickly grows to be excruciatingly hot. Xander: You know what that does to corpses, right? I'm sure the smell was unbearable--

It's just really interesting to me how this is a theme across all three characters, and I can't help but wonder if this will carry over to some of the other characters as well.

#{🍀It is an equal failing to trust everybody and to trust no one at all. and to trust no one at all.🌟}#~💫 a constellation!💫~#danganronpa despair time #drdt #min jeung #drdt min #rose lacroix #drdt rose #xander matthews #drdt xander

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fatuismooches · 5 months ago

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Dw hahahaha I'm still alive just dying over ( why did I chose to study a PHD 😭 ) But im on a break from school so except so a lot more brainrot from me lmao, also sorry if this is jumbly kinda just put my words out there hahaha

I know we always talk about fragile reader during the illness but what about after? Fragile reader was plauged with this illness for hundreds of years so they deffinently adapted. Like typically when walking then would shuffle their feet a lot cause it took less energy so sometime they shuffle their feet and don't even realize. They didnt have the ability to do tasks such a pouring liquids into cups so whenever they're about to pour themselves a glass of water then to do collect themselves because what if their illness comes back? What if there dreaming and they'll suddenly drop everything. All of Zandik's work is reverted. So often times segments will just find reader staring intensely at a simple task. And of course they'll go comfort reader. Whilst they wish they could do it they know how much reader wants their autonomy back after such a restrictive few centuries.

But let not ignore the segments and Prime cause they've picked up a few habits also. They've gotten used to treating reader as fragile as glass so whenever they fall or trip post illness they freak out. It would require some comfort from reader to bring them back to earth and remember that reader is no longer ill. But you KNOW that they're pulling out every healing treatment they've got. They're all evil and sadistic doctors but for you they'll be good. <4

But regarding Zandik himself... Well he was so excited to finally have cured his lover that he completely forgot about the effects you'd suffer after. So when a few segments report of you not being completely free of your curse he's immediately trying to figure out how he can help you. He decides that the best thing to do is to be there for you. It typically is unusual to see the Doctor away from his work but now it's the norm for Il Doctors to be with his lover.

- Jellofish Anon

After being sick for so long, one would think you'd be ecstatic to finally be cured, to be free of the illness that plagued your body and life so much. And well, they were right, but the happiness still came with its anxieties. Change was never an easy thing, even when it was the good type. After dealing with this for so many years, you were bound to still be nervous about doing certain things. To not have the confidence in yourself to carry out the task. You worry that you'll mess up or fail and waste your time trying to do so and just end up making more of a problem for yourself and others. Even though you know that's illogical now, it's hard to get out of a mindset you've been stuck with for so long. Of course, your inner conflict doesn't go unnoticed by your lovers, and each segment would provide their own kind of comfort based on who they are, whether gruffly or soothingly, to give you the courage to take back your life.

You can't exactly blame Dottore and the segments for being overbearing, after all, they've witnessed your weak state for numerous centuries, and they've seen you hit your lowest many times too. They can't help but worry about their darling too. It's endearing at first but you have to hold them and help them realize that was the past you, the new you is someone different thanks to them. You can be strong and safe and independent without them now, even if it sort of makes them crazy knowing the situations you put yourself in now. Still, they observe you very much even when you least expect it.

Of course, the cure is not without its drawbacks - you still have to deal with the lingering effects of your illness sometimes. Which definitely aren't as bad as before, but they still serve to remind you of your old life. But you know that regardless of what the future may bring, you'll always have Dottore by your side to ease whatever pains you have.

(Dottore post-illness would be such a cutie. It's such a rewarding feeling, to see the one he loves no longer burdened and free to pursue what they want just like he does. He would sit and listen to all the stories you have for him each day, all the exciting things you can do now, the days of pain in the past. Of course, the segments would be extremely excited to finally have a worthy assistant - you - but there's only one of you after all. Unfortunately, they have to share, and bear the painful curse of having you to themselves once nearly every two weeks.)

(I've been planning to make this a full fic for like a year...)

#smooches talks #jellofish anon #dottore love notes <3 #fragile reader <3 #ate!!! i love this sm...#GOOD LUCK ON UR PHD JELLOFISH ANON!! U ARE SO STRONG AND SMART FOR THAT!!#i respect u thoroughly for that #i already die inside from getting a bachelors.

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itsmadamehydra · 1 year ago

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Doll Face 2 | Fezco Euphoria

part 1 part 2

Pairing: Fezco x Latina!Mouse sister! reader

Summary: Mouse's sister was an excellent girl, a good student even, until life happened and she had to leave every dream behind. A particular friend was left behind too in the process. Years later, they meet again, but they aren't the kids they once used to be.

Warnings: 3k+ words, mouse sister, drug life, language, non-desired-sexual situations, sexual assault, forced sexual labor, exploitation of young girl, abuse, abusive household, vulnerable situations.

A/N: So happy to keep going with this story! Thank you for those who ask or wanted a part 2! Hope you enjoy it! If anyone thinks any other warning should be included please let me know, thank you!

Fuck

Shit

Your body went cold. You had stopped moving and just stared at him, eyes locked. He kept an unfazed look, just looking up at you with his drowsy eyes. He wanted to know, he needed to know if you were his doll face. The little girl he had befriended all those years ago.

You regained your autonomy over your body and resumed your movements, praying that no one had heard or gotten suspicious.

“Doll face? You know sweetcheeks, carrot boy?”

Shit

Fuck

You looked up at him with pleading eyes.

Please don’t, please don’t, please don’t.

“Nah, just confused her face.”

“She is a good one, isn't she?" You heard him say again. The redhead nodded slowly.

“Yeh, she is.”

Mouse’s laughter reverb over the place, making you feel the pressure of not stopping. Not looking at him.

“Yeah, she is a sweet one,” he took a sip of beer, “I promise, you can’t even imagine the number of guys that have cum in that same seat, my man…little sweetcheeks here making them cum with just a dance!”

Your jaw clenched, wanting him to stop talking about you like that. It was already an unpleasant enough experience to live as for to relieve it by word. Although the man beneath you seemed to not care at all.

He looked past your face and opened a beer from the many near. Raising his brows, making him seem like he couldn’t believe Mouse’s words.

“Really?” lacing his tone with fake astonishment.

“Yeah! Word is, little sissy here gives the best head around the neighborhood,” he comes near you, slapping one of your ass cheeks.

You had to grip the redhead's shoulders to prevent you from shuddering.

Please stop talking. You kept repeating in your head, with your eyes closed. Desiring to disappear from the embarrassment and just not having to face the look on the man’s face beneath you.

It wasn’t like you liked to do that. You just had to. A job is a job. Those words kept you going and stopped you from falling apart.

At first, you had managed to keep up with your weekly quotas by just dancing, but when word got around, Mouse decided to higher his commission. Forcing you to look for more ways to make money.

And any time you tried to get a job that didn’t involve this word, your brother was back at you with threats and violence. You had tried so many times before, you ever gave your first blow job and had some bills thrown at your face.

You had felt disgusted with yourself and scrubbed your tongue. After that, you brushed your teeth for eternity. It took you long enough to insert in your head that it was part of your job. That it was just a job.

But word got around. Again. And as always, Mouse found a way to benefit himself. And now he had you dancing for his people and sucking them off. You didn’t even get privacy having to do everything in that same chair.

It was disgusting. It made you cry a lot. And it was something you definitely didn’t want him to know about.

Fez

Your Fezco

Only God knows how hard you prayed for so long for this day. Day, noon, night.

Your imagination had been the only thing that had kept you happy all this time. In the middle of dancing, upstage or private, between jobs, the only thing that kept you going and smiling was thinking about the different scenarios in which you could meet again.

Your favorite one was where you find yourselves at the university. You are walking around, maybe at the start of your first semester there. You are still a little lost and getting used to the installations that it takes you a while to get around.

You had your math class next and were absolutely lost with the indications that the office gave you. So, you asked a group of people sitting at an outside table.

They were friendly, and one of the girls even offered to take you. You thanked them all and left with the girl. And then, she would say something like, “Oh my GOD, you are going to love this class. The teacher assistant is so cute. Everyone loves it just because of him.”

And you wouldn’t believe her, oblivious to what was coming next. But when she left you at the door, and you had chosen your seat, it was going to be his voice that would have made you look up. And there he would have been, being a math teacher assistant. A great one.

Then, you would approach him, he would remember you, of course, and your encounters would increase following that day.

That was your favorite scenario because it just seemed right. It felt right. That was how life should have been for both of you.

But it never occurred, and you were stuck here. Being pulled by your hair by your brother’s hand brings you back to your reality.

The force that he pulled you with made you moan from the pain.

“Yeah, right," he laughed. “She loves it when you pull her like this, just like the slut she is, right little sissy,” he shoveled your head to the side with force and left the room, probably going to look for someone to deal with him.

Any female who would have been forced to have him couldn't help but make you feel bad.

You felt a soft hand go behind your head, taking it softly and caressing your skull. Fez, oh Fez. Still looking at you with those same eyes. And the same look he always had on for you when you were just kids.

He looked around discreetly, and when he was sure no one was around, he grabbed your hips and stopped you from moving.

You suddenly became shy under his sight and smiled nervously.

“Hi,” you muttered, failing to contain your nervousness and focusing your eyes anywhere else than his face.

Yet, he cradled your face softly. Inciting you to rest your cheeks in his hold, making you feel warm, safe, and delicate.

“My pretty doll face,” he couldn’t believe his eyes, “You were here? All this time? How did I never see you?”

“I keep to myself mostly. When not working or with…Mouse,” you doubt a little at the end. You see his eyes harden at the name.

“What’s he of you?”

You clench your jaw, embarrassed at the situation. At first, you were a little doubtful, but you finally told him, “My brother.”

“No brother should be treating his little sister like that,” his eyes soften at your sight. For him, you seemed fragile due to all the abuse and violence surrounding you, and it was wrong. You had always been full of confidence in yourself. You never seemed scared and always smiled at the world. That was you, he remembered, the little girl that had been the focal source of inspiration all this time.

He wanted you to become her again, your true self. Not what these people wanted and were forcing you to be; scared and oppressed, abused.

“Women should be protected, adored. No matter their job choice or anything,” he murmured against your forehead, leaving his lips pressed, trying to comfort you without being too excessive with his touch.

But you wanted a hug, you caved touch from him. After all these years without any glimpse of gentleness, you had forgotten what it felt to be warm.

Slowly, your arms went around his middle, and he secured you between his arms, eyes closed by both parts. Just two people savoring the moment.

“Why have you not you left,”

“I can’t. I’ve tried so many times,” you felt the tears starting to form.

He strokes your hair and kisses your head crown.

"Whenever you pack your things and leave, one day. Find milk," he sighs. It's a convenience store. Ask for me if I'm not in there. Tell them that I sent you.

“Fezco, you don’t have to,”

“Too bad, I want to,” he smiled at you.

“Fezco,” you said softly.

“I want to, doll face. Okay?”

“Okay,” you rested your head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

Now this has "Whenever you pack your things and depart, one day. Find milk," he sighs. It's a convenience store. Ask for me if I'm not in there. Tell them that I sent you.

Now this has effortlessly turned into your favorite memory.

Sadly, all good things have to end, and this moment too.

“I have to go, little girl,” he murmured against your hair.

“Just…5 minutes more, please?”

“I wish, but not wanna risk getting someone mad at you,” he said as his arms prepared to let you go, but you snuggled closer into his chest.

“I don’t want to let you go,” you tighten your grip on him.

He laughs softly while exhaling. You are not letting me go, ma." He kisses the crown of your head, saying, "We'll be together again. Where're you working at, pretty girl?"

You press your lips together in a tight line before you let out a sigh, “At the neighborhood’s strip club.”

“Alright, now I know where to find you,”

“We’re not losing contact anymore?”

He exaggerates his hold on you while kissing your crown, saying, "No more, pretty one," which causes you to chuckle. "You won't be free of me, you hear me? I have to give this gorgeous one a lot of visits.

You nod, euphoric by his words. But wasn't enough for him. He wanted to hear you say yes and laugh. For you, let yourself be carefree for a second.

He moves his lips down to your ear and repeats his question with a funny tone, “You hear me, ma? You hear me!?”

“Yes! Yes, I do!” you laugh, looking up at him, just for him to be already staring back at you with his hooded eyes and a cute smile. He kissed your forehead one last time before getting up with you still in his arms and letting you down in the chair gently.

He strokes your face, taking some strands off and tucking them behind your ears. You smiled at him, and he had never stopped doing so. He walked backward for most of the footpath until he closed that door, and you were back.

Aware of your surroundings, feeling the disgust coming back and curling up on the chair, starting to count to 10, trying to control your breaths.

Nights and days went by, and you had to keep up with your life. Your work and your dancing. But you couldn’t help feeling some sort of hope filling you. You felt motivated for a better future. That there might be a future out there after all.

You felt yourself changing and even started dancing in between your dances. It felt unbelievable how powerful a moment can become, no matter how short.

Your shift had ended, and you were putting away your things in your bag when one of the security guys entered the room. You side-eye him, “You want to head? If you do, the price went up.”

“Your brother’s guy is here. They are waiting for you. Outside.” he gruffed, leaving just as he entered.

You froze. The only time this happens is when your payment is due. And you were not due until the end of the week. You walk through the people until going through the back door and waving goodbye to the early morning shift guys.

You kept your head down, walking silently and with an iron grip over your bag. You recognize the man standing out of the vehicle, one of your brother's buddies.

He opens the door without making a sound, giving each other a nod, closing it after you. You stare at him through the tinted glass. The car was empty beside your brother’s presence beside you.

“I’m not due,” you muttered.

“Well, little sissy. You know what happens to people who earn more than they deserve?” He pulls out a blunt and inhales a long puff before filling the car with smoke. You shook your head.

“Their payment goes up,” he releases smoke. Right to your face, making you hold your breath by reflex.

“I don’t have more money, Mouse.” you try to reason, “Between you and my employer, I barely have any more money left.”

He chuckles breathlessly, "Heard your blowie price went up. Who knows? 'Might be the time you start using your pussy. I know a few who would pay big grand for a taste."

“I’m not doing that,” your hand grips the seat.

“Well, I tried. Now pay, or you’ll be working with a bruised eye.”

“I don’t have any money, Mouse.”

“What about tips?”

In my locker, safe from any trash like you.

“Boss keeps them,”

He sits still for a few seconds with the blunt between his lips.

“Liar, liar, pants on fire,” he grabs a fist of your hair, pulling from it, making you look at the car’s ceiling, hurting your neck by the sudden movement.

You moan in pain, and he grabs you in a chokehold, “Careful there, honey. My buddies here might think you like that and wanna try doing it themselves.”

“You wouldn’t”

He yells out a name and yanks down your strapless top with a questioning, "You sure?" Someone unlocks a door. "Miralas. A que no son bonitas? Tocalas, she likes it." Mouse plays with and massages your boobs while encouraging his buddy to do the same. The hands then shift shortly after. (Look at them. Aren't they lovely? Touch them)

The guy starts by playing with your nipples, pinching and twisting them. Your brother pulls your hair, making you moan in pain again.

“You hear that, bro? Told you she likes it,” he laughs.

You feel the tears forming in your eyes. This had never happened before. You had never felt so vulnerable. Feeling unable to move or even react to any slight movement. Your grip is stuck on the leather seat. And your breathing turned erratic.

You notice the guy taking his finger into his mouth and then back at your nipples, wetting them. Your body shakes in fear and disgust. You pray for everything to stop or for you to just black out and not remember anything.

“They feel nice, bossman.”

His hand moves down, rubbing your genitalia, and says, "Let me tell you what, in a few days, this pussy could be all yours." He licks your neck, "Think of it as a present from me, a sneak peek before it goes on sale, huh? What do you think, little sissy?"

You were going to vomit. You could feel it coming. Your body was sweating cold, the ringing in your ears overpowering his words. You felt as if you were out of your body, being able to see everything happening to your body as if you were a viewer.

It was as if your mind and body had separated from one another. Your insides were shrinking by the feeling of their wandering hands.

Please stop.

Jesus Christ, you are my brother.

Please stop.

Stop. Stop. Stop. Stop.

Help, please, someone.

God, please listen. Please.

The man had taken over your brother's hand, placing it down on you, palming you, tracing your lips with his middle finger.

The tears started to drop. You hadn’t even noticed until they started laughing loudly about it.

“Mouse, that you, my man?”

Your eyes move, looking for the voice owner. Locating a shadow hovering over your brother's side, opening the door.

“Carrot boy! What you doing ‘ere?” Fez looked past him, focusing on you and your position. His heart dropped. Having to see you like that was not pleasant. It took every ounce of his willpower to not take you right there and run away and leave everything behind.

He had to take you out of that situation and fast.

“Sweetcheeks here left me desiring for more, came ‘round looking to test if her sucking skills are good as they say,” he faked a smile. “But with that view. I’ll pay anything for a titty fuck, giving me a hard-on,” he chuckles, grabbing his crotch area

Mouse palms his shoulder laughing. “I like this boy! He just understands,” he looks over at the dude over you, “Take your hands off. She’s about to get real busy.”

Mouse grabs you from the back of your neck and throws you at Fez, who immediately cradles your body, trying to give you safety.

“Take her to my crib when you finish with her, money in hand, carrot boy.”

“Don’t be up waiting for ‘er! Gotta make that money worth it. If you know what I mean,” Mouse nods at his words smiley. And looks for something in his pocket, giving it to him.

“Just give her some if she fights. You know how it is.”

“As long as she’s not a spitter,” he takes the bag from him and waves them goodbye. Waiting for them to be out of sight before he could hug you properly.

“Fuck, fuck. Fuck that motherfucker,” he curses against your hair, kissing it between words, “I’ve got to get you out of there, ma.”

You felt something in you click with those words, making you return from the trance you had entered.

You started crying almost immediately, sobbing -hard- a river flowing down your cheeks. You didn’t even care about being half naked in a parking lot; if Fez could feel you up, you just cared about the warmth that hugged you.

Your hands held on tight to his shirt, taking the fabric in a fist, unable to stay still in that hug. Grabbing him by the shoulders and neck, pulling his cloth. You wanted comfort.

Fezco could feel the tears trespassing his shirt, the buggers coming out onto his shirt. You're sobbing, making him feel tears forming in his own eyes.

He made a promise to himself that night, a vow. He would become your protector and do whatever it took to take you out of there and ensure you never return.

“Just wait a little more, and we’ll be together before you know it,” he kisses your tears, and you nod wanting to believe his words.

@myamamahdi @starzsworldsblog @billyhargrovesprincess @itzlochnessie @ethereallocs <3

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heron-breeder · 19 days ago

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If you follow any transfem supremacy intlectuals, you’ve certainly seen anonymous asks from subby transfems asking what their place would by in the glorious utopia of our inevitable transfem supremacist future. “Am I allowed to be owned as rape meat with the cissies of if I want to”, “do I need fuck cis girls if I just wanna get topped?”, “is me being subby a detriment to transfem supremacy?” Things like that. These are almost universally met with the leading voices of the movment asruing these slutty subs that of course they can be submissive, even rape meat, if that’s what they want in our future.

And while that’s well and good, I want to be proactive in reaching out to our submissive sisters. If you long for the cuter where dominant trans woman run the world, but you still want to be owned by a superior t dominant trans woman, here are some of the roles you might have in the future, and how they in no way detract from the truth of transfem supremacy.

Favored Toy: You’re inatly suprior to the cissies and fakeboys your Mistress fucks, and that entitles you to special treatment. This could be more time and attention being fucked by your Mistress, more comfterble quarters and clothes, whatever is needed to make sure you’re a happy sub

Jealousy Fuel: While proper Mistresses will certainly be raping indoors into submission, plenary will also be openly addicted to Supiror transfem cock. And that dosn’t mean they don’t still need to be shown their place. And you can help in this by being used in front of the ungrateful cunts until they beg hard enough.

Aftercare: while I’m sure there are transfem subs who would like to be as horribly abused as Cissies, being a transfem still entitles you to safe words, aftercare, and the softer treatment. Certainly, you will be spanked, fucked, and used like the submissive slut you are, but if it becomes too much, or you want soft treatment afterward, you can revive it. And this sets an excelent example to our inferiors. While the rape meat is lying their battered and brain broken, they see that even the quite and submissive transfems are infinitely above them though the special treatment you get.

Gender presentation and bodily autonomy: While a all cissies are indoor, plants of thought-leaders for the movment have talked about their their gender presentation, or even their gender, while be dictated by their transfem owners. Detransing fakeboys with hormoans and planstic surgery, force mascing androgynous non-binary twinks, rounding up cis woman, whatever pleases us. But you, as a submissive trans woman, will be in full control of your body and how you present. You’ll be given HRT, bottom and top surgery, anything you like. And it will all be at your pace, and your discretion, unlike the inferiors, who will have their bodies changed at the behest of their owners.

Trained rape machine: Say you want to have a more active role in enforcing Transfem Supremacy, but you don’t nessisarly want to be making the desitions that a dominant need to. Well, I think that there is still a solution for this. As discussed by noted thought-leader @t-girl-breeder in this post, transfems who want to be useful but don’t have the will to do it themselves can be trained as “attack dogs,” trained mindless rapists to be set on cissies who need to be shown their place, but the near by trans mistress can’t be bothered.

Changing your mind: And most importantly, your relationship with your Mistress will be purely on an at-will basis. If at any point you decide you would prefer to serve a different mistress, take a break, enter a different kind of relationship, or even become a dominant yourself, you are free to do so.

I hope this helped any sunny transfems see that even if you want to be rapemeat yourself in our gtransfem supremacist future, there is a sultry a place for you, and you’re in no way holding back the cause of transfem supremacy by being a submissive slut. I hope this was informative!

#transfem supremacy #r@pe fantasy #detrans kink #cw: rape #tw: rape #fantasy

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slyandthefamilybook · 11 months ago

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they're not dismissed because they live in "the bad country" they're dismissed because any solution they might pose, for the vast majority of them at least, will fundamentally involve preserving the state apparatus of israel, which is an inherently oppressive force. the two state solution is not justice. don't twist this into a call for the murder of the israeli population. that is explicitly not the goal. it is a demand to dismantle the fucking government system of a settler state that has spent 75 years committing genocide. if your leftism was worth anything you would believe that israel should be abolished. if you don't, your allyship is shallow and will only lead to electing people who will still do genocide, but with better pr so you can go back to ignoring it. if you really give a shit, genuinely ask yourself if the solution you have in mind would actually stop the genocide of Palestinian people, or if it would just slow it down a little, and answer the question honestly. if you can't do that, fuck off

I predicted this. I saved this to my drafts 3 days ago

here's that response

there are a lot of people who seem to think that peace would be bad because it would involve Palestinians cooperating with the Israeli government. They believe the government should be spurned at every moment. Any action taken by the Israeli government is inherently one-sided and therefore it's categorically impossible to reach an agreement that's mutually beneficial and respects the dignity and autonomy of Palestinians

I hear this a lot in discussion of the UN Partition Plans. "Oh, so you want victims of violence to just roll over for their oppressors? You can't just steal someone's land and then offer it back to them!" To which my response is always "this is better?". Can you honestly look me in the eye and say that whatever lopsided colonial apartheid agreement you're imagining would've been made in 1948 would've been worse than the situation we have now?

It displays a really limited understanding of how geopolitics works. Countries aren't just a government and a set of borders. A country is also a people and a mechanism through which that people can interact with other peoples. You can't just point at a country and say "they're doing bad things, we should get rid of them". That's how America has functioned for the past 150 years and I thought we all decided that was bad. Dismantling a country doesn't solve your problems, it just creates new ones. "Burn it all down and start over" won't bring back the dead. It won't honor their deaths or make them any more worthwhile

Every time Hamas attacks Israel, Israel gets stronger. The right thrives off of conflict. It's why they don't want to give people free healthcare. When people suffer, it strengthens their positions. Every time Israel is attacked it generates more support for the military, in the people and in the Knesset. The IDF gets more soldiers, more rifles, more tanks. It drives the Overton Window further to the right. The Israeli government starts borrowing more money from the US, starts getting sent more foreign aid, further entrenching their economic dependency. The only reason Netanyahu has stayed in power for so long is because Israel keeps getting attacked. Israel gets hundreds of millions in military aid from the US, a country that has made killing people a science. You're not going to defeat them in open battle. People have been trying for 75 years with no success

I dislike the Israeli state as much as I dislike every state (which is a not-insignificant amount). But I also understand that states are massive webs of economy, policy, international trade, and agreements and treaties. If every member of the Israeli government stepped down tomorrow with no plan, the country would be thrown into chaos and millions would die. You can't say you want to destroy the apparatus of a country that is currently at war, while also claiming you want its citizens to be safe. That's not how that works. You claim that the majority of Israeli leftists want a two-state solution (something I don't believe I've ever said I support), but if that the case you don't have to throw your weight behind those people! There are also leftists who want anarchism, and a no-state solution. There's a vast diversity of thought and pretending that there isn't doesn't help anyone

I notice that in your decrial of people who are actually trying to help, you don't offer an alternative solution. You say you want to dismantle the Israeli state, but how do you plan to do that? I assume from your tone that you're not yourself Israeli, so how do you plan to affect change? You can pressure whoever is the leader of your country to stop sending aid to Israel, but Israel has a domestic economy as well. The worst you'll do is send them into a depression. And if you are somehow successful in cutting of Israel at the windpipe, what will you do when people begin to starve? When people are kicked to the curb because they lost their job? Will you be proud of yourself for sending 9.5 million people into a humanitarian crisis? Does your plan to end suffering involve making other people suffer instead?

We live in a statist world. As much as you or I dislike it, that's the reality we have. You can aspire to a better system, you can set your sights on a world in which there are no states, no governments, no militaries, and no borders. But you can't work within that framework before it's applicable. You can't eat raw cookie dough because you want it to eventually become a cookie. Liberalism won't save us, but it might stop the bleeding

#ask #anonymous #also I never said anything about Palestinian liberation being a call for Israeli genocide? people just love to make up a guy to get mad at

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quillkiller · 28 days ago

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seven scenes from a marriage

a bellareg marriage au & house of black study

— cw: incest, abuse, unhealthy relationships, 1.2k words.

Sirius leaves, is disowned, and no one knows what to do with you. You hear your mother spouting curses and traitor, traitor, traitor, and she looks at you like you’re dead weight, now. And you understand her, you do. You’ve always pitied your mother, looked down on her for giving birth to three daughters and not a single son.

You’re not a son (that’s your curse), but at least you would’ve always been a Black; and now you’re dead weight.

You hate him, your favorite cousin, the one you taught how to hold his wand right. Your co-conspirator at miserable family functions, your own flesh and blood— a traitor.

ii.

Regulus is made heir, your soft spoken baby cousin. Sirius’ little brother, his constant shadow, always one step behind him unless you could manage to steal your older cousin away for a few hours.

It’s strange seeing Regulus without his brother in front of him, covering him like a shield, and you think it’s the first time you’ve properly seen your baby cousin. He looks wobbly on his knees, like a weak comparison to his older brother. It’s strange following his gaze and not finding Sirius at the end of it.

Your mother doesn’t want you to marry him and your father strikes her with an open fist to remind her of her place. He says, you’re not a Black, and then, you don’t decide who my daughter marries.

Regulus is heir, now, after all, and you’re just a girl despite having eight years on your baby cousin.

He’s malleable, though, like clay, and you’ve got strong hands and sharp teeth.

You give him the Black smirk and a wink. He flushes a pretty pink at that, lips parted and long eyelashes fluttering as he tries to hide behind an imaginary body.

You think, sweet little lamb, as you crowd him like the predatory wolf that always lived inside you.

iii.

He looks at you so sweetly, your baby cousin. As if you’re his guiding star, like he needs you; like he used to need his big brother— and you struggle a little not to see him as a blushing seventeen year old kid instead of the heir of house Black.

Regulus has always watched you, mostly whenever you interacted with Sirius, as if you were standing in his way or, sometimes, as if he wanted what belonged to his brother: you.

You let him touch you and he’s so gentle, like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands or where to put them. So you do it for him, your back against the wall in his childhood bedroom. He calls you pretty, so pretty, and it’s easy to believe him when his lips are trembling, his hands shaking.

You were never pretty, that was always for your younger sisters.

It’s Regulus’ birthday so he goes down on one knee and puts a ring on your finger. His gray eyes never leave your gray eyes. His lips taste like home, like solidity, and you bite down to taste some of your shared blood. Sealing the deal.

You tell Narcissa about it over tea, showing off your ring, and you’re both laughing. You tell her how sweet he was, as if he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to touch you, stars in his eyes and bending to your every will. Narcissa can’t stop giggling, that’s our baby cousin! And you laugh, too, and say, he’s my fiancé, actually, and you give her a wink.

Regulus writes to you every week while he’s doing his last year at Hogwarts. He finishes the letters off with kisses every time. He complains about Sirius and you roll your eyes.

He writes, I can’t wait to be yours, and you forget, for a moment, that you’re the girl.

You write him back, you wanna be my wife, cousin? because you can’t help yourself. It’s going to your head.

He writes, please.

iv.

You’re a married woman and you can’t help but resent how well it suits you. It was your biggest nightmare growing up, the end of your delusions about autonomy that you never really had in the first place. You’re a girl, something to be handed over and dealt with. First you belong to your father, then you’re supposed to belong to your husband.

All girls grow up just to become their mothers. At the hands of husbands like their fathers.

Regulus isn’t like his father. Or your father. He’s not even like his brother. He’s heir, and you’re his wife— and people respect him more than they respect you. That’s to be expected.

It’s different behind closed doors, though. As if the roles are reversed. Regulus looks to you, as if asking you to take the reins. Like he’s a marionette and you’re holding the strings.

It’s a heady feeling, being man of the house.

Regulus looks to you, so he takes the mark because you ask him to, because it’s what’s best for him. And you want what’s best for him.

He doesn’t ask questions, only gives you that look that goes to your head before he straddles your lap and says, you take such good care of us, and you pull him closer by the waist and say, I’ll always take care of you, darling.

Because you do, you take care of you and yours.

vi.

There are whispers of a cave, the sea, but they get smothered with ink and death. As if they’re whispers from another life, far from here.

Sometimes you wake up in the middle of the night, and it’s cold and dark, and you’ll panic for just a second, like you might never feel happiness again. Then you turn on the lights.

You rise to the top, hand in hand, Mr and Mrs. Black. The Dark Lord speaks directly to you, like you’re a person, like you’re worth listening to. Your husband stands at your back, you cover him like a shield— and he’s always one step behind you.

The Dark Lord takes a liking to you both. He lets you sit the closest to him, your husband to your right. The others give you strange looks whenever they forget themselves.

You don’t let them forget themselves.

vii.

It works— you’re happy and it works.

You’re enough like Sirius that Regulus can fall in love with you, and eventually he stops giving you that searching look of his. He stops trying to find his brother in your eyes— until all he sees is you.

It’s easy to dote on him. He’s soft and pliant, you lead and he follows. It’s almost love, for you. You love him because he’s your cousin and because he let you remain a Black. You love your marriage, the power, being man of the house.

You’re a good match and you remember cursing Sirius for abandoning you, and now you wouldn’t trade this for anything.

You take care of you and yours. He stays faithful and submissive like a wife, and he smiles so sweetly when he smells another woman’s perfume on your robes; like he’s just grateful you came home to him, because that’s what matters.

Your mistresses mean nothing to me, he says, you’re my wife, so you kiss him to let him know who you belong to.

He keeps you out of Azkaban, you make him a believer.

It works— you’re happy and it works.

#THIS IS HOW WE SAVE REGULUS BLACK #AND BELLATRIX #!!!!!!!!!!#sorry. i’ve been crazy about them.#can you tell ive been obsessed with the targaryen lineage…#im about to targaryenify the entire house of black..#also. should i post this on ao3……??#i might..#bellatrix black #regulus black #bellareg #bellareg marriage au #jen’s microfics

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lucrezianoin · 1 year ago

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i took this screenshot for my "astarion saying that is what you want" but i do not remember the context haha

I think it is ascendant astarion tho

Ah yes, found it

This is if the player tells them that all they wanted was for Astarion to love them. And astarion is like sure i love you, that is what you want to hear.

Other instances of Astarion talking about what YOU want, from memory:

If you break up with him, he says if that is what you want then we will leave it at that

If you break up with the other flirt and tell Astarion you could try being together for real he will reply with "we could try, if that is truly what you want"

Of course the romance ending where he stresses on "is THIS what you want"

The whole seduction from act 1 is FILLED and saturated with "what you want"

Of course the bad scene from act 2 where he says "if this is what you want I shall provide", but realizes how wrong it was at the end ("No matter what I say, it doesn't matter. Not if you get what you want.")

I will make a full list tho. I NEED IT. It is so interesting.

There are, as far as I remember, only three instances where you can ask him "what do YOU want" one for each act.

First sex scene, you can ask him what he wants, to which replies "pleasure, our collective ecstasy, That's what you want, isn't it? To lose yourself in me?" masterfully turning it around again

In act 2, during the drow-potion scene/confession scene you can ask him "what do you want to do" (about your relationship) to which he says "I... don't know. It's been so long since I've had to decide what I wanted"

The cemetery scene in act 3, where he finally realizes he has not really been able to have the autonomy to want "Now I need to figure out who I am. What I want." to which the player can ask "what do you want?" and Astarion replies with full on honesty

#astarion #spoilers #bg3 spoilers #meta incoming #when i noticed i was done for because i love this kind of recurrent themes #spoilers astarion #meta #i guess but i iwll write a real one later

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micahthemoon · 3 months ago

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Summer 2024

The Are You Tattoo Saga

I have been fascinated by tattoos for a long time. I love the fact that you can make yourself into a work of art quite literally showing your passions and story on your sleeve. There’s autonomy in getting tattoos as well; taking back our body that may or may not give us dysphoria (or other senses of discomfort) and decide what it shall look like for ourselves. Body parts that otherwise would make me uncomfortable have been made a source of pride (on good days) or at least I can look at it with content indifference (on the lesser days). All because of some ink. This might be why I have been getting more and more tattoos that – in some cases- may be seen as a spontaneous decision. This tattoo I’m gonna talk about now however is far from one of those.

If you read my previous entry about how Käärijä accidentally validated my gender, you may remember that I mentioned a comfort stim sentence: Are You.

It can be linked back to the Eurovision preshow days where Bojan and Jere were just starting to get to know each other which the two idiots did by fooling around on a date. This saying has not only become a way for the two of them to show endearment (or the fans getting to interact with each other and the boys), but it has also been what finally learned me how to roll my r’s practicing the right cadence alone in my room for the simple fact that saying it made me feel warm and fuzzy inside. It was also one of the things I became known for meeting up with fans irl for the first time between Käärijä’s Stockholm and Berlin gigs last year.

And so it didn’t take me long to daydream about getting it tattooed. Which ended up becoming a whole saga when Joker Out announced that they’d visit Malmö on their upcoming Europe tour (which is basically Denmark) and where I later – with a lot of people cheering me on from the sidelines – got Bojan to write the phrase down to me in two different fonts. To this day the concert is amongst my favourites.

Yet things don’t end there because one comment later about the possibility of getting Jere involved as well and I was off making a new sign. I tried getting Käärijä’s attention in Böle to no avail (other than making myself more stressed than I’d ever been at a concert). So, this summer going to Backas and Allas Sea Pool I had let the sign stay at home. Jokes on me, because suddenly in a rush of bravery I made myself a new sign out of half a pizza lid box left behind in the queue for the Allas Sea Pool gig. Low and behold if not Jere saw and reacted to this sign during the concert!! Getting by with a little help from my friends (especially this one finnish fan I’d met at Backas) I went home from the gig with Jere’s handwriting. A little over a month later on August 13 2024 the Are You tattoo saga concluded when I got a local tattoo artist (I’d already fanboyed too back in March when getting one of those spontaneous tattoos of mine) to make the little three way conversation permanent on my skin.

I have no idea how long the brainrot will continue. Maybe I will stop being this much of a fanboy in a year or two. But even so I don’t think (or at least I hope not) this tattoo will lose its meaning. Because It’s so much more than just a fan tattoo. It’s a story about a time I was foolishly brave no matter if it went well (Malmö) or it didn’t (Böle). It’s a story about the importance of interpersonal connections (the fan in Allas), the power of a found family through a fandom (or two) and also just a time in my life I was actively a participant in pursuing my own happiness.

I’ll say it again: I freaking love tattoos.

#transgender #transmasc #nonbinary #tattoo #body modification tattoo #the are you tattoo saga #my gig #malmö gig #backas gig #allas gig #käärijä #jere pöyhönen #bojan cvjeticanin #joker out #late entry #entry

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medusa-fem · 4 months ago

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As a bisexual woman in an opposite sex relationship I feel like I should speak up about my experience for the sake of those who don't feel like lesbians can understand.

If you discovered radical feminism while in a opposite sex relationship, that's already hard enough. If you discovered it in a loving long term relationship where everything has been going well? It's a devastating feeling knowing you could be in danger. I cannot imagine being heterosexual as well, so I'm sorry if this post still doesn't represent all aspects of this issue. All of this to say I have empathy, complete empathy for all of those who simply cannot see separatism as an option right now. Maybe you're too in love, maybe you're tied financially, maybe you have kids or simply want children some day. It can feel impossible to leave, and honestly I don't think it's a realistic expectation to hold all women to that they should pick up everything and leave when they are currently happy.

Above all else, even if you are happy right now, have a plan in place for if something happens. If you are choosing to not participate in separatism for any number of reasons, you have to keep yourself safe. Even loving, kind, amazing men and fathers are still part of the patriarchy, and therefore are inherently more dangerous than females. Some may hate to hear this, but this absolutely applies to if you are dating trans women as well. I have seen it first hand.

These are some ways I'm keeping myself safe within my current relationship:

• Keep Finances Separate

Even if a divorce/break up is amicable, not having separate funds is a risk to yourself, and to your kids if you have any. Not knowing how you could afford to leave, will be the first step to convincing yourself you don't need to even if a boundary gets crossed. Keep savings to yourself, even better if he doesn't know about it. Keep your bank accounts and credit cards separate. Even if you don't consider yourself a separatist, keeping your autonomy within a relationship with a male is key to your safety.

• Decide Where Your Boundaries Lie

Make a list of things that if a single one happens, you're done. Hold yourself to it too.

The obvious things are

- Any violation of consent. Especially in regard to sex.

- Any threats. Be it financial, physical, or emotional, a threat is a reality waiting to happen.

- Cheating. It might not be a big deal to you, but it is a clear sign he doesn't respect you, and that is dangerous.

- Buying sex. This may not be a common one, but 100% this is paid rape, and he is not a safe person to be around if he is willing to pay to rape a woman.

- Watching (especially violent) pornography. If you have explained to him all the ways pornography harms female people, and he is still choosing to consume this kind of media, it is fully your right to consider this grounds to leave.

Add literally anything else that is a hard limit for you. If any one thing happens, proceed to quietly prepare to leave the relationship.

• Know Your Local Women's Shelter and Women's Trauma Support Groups Contact Information

Even if you think you will never need it, keep their information in your phone. If a crisis happens research will add time where you can't immediately leave, and it can absolutely be too overwhelming. If you have been through any sort of trauma in your past, I highly recommend being a regular in your local support group if you can. Having a community can keep you safe.

• Keep Women in Your Life

Do not let yourself become isolated in your relationship. If it's a red flag when a man intentionally isolates you, you certainly do not want to accidentally isolate yourself. It can be hard to make and keep friends, but try to make sure you have at least 2 people you trust to call if you need someone to talk to or somewhere to crash.

To this note...

• Gossip Gossip Gossip!

Men have demonized gossiping, but it might save your life. Tell your trusted female friends about your relationship, good and bad. They might see red flags before you do, and if anything happens they can have your back. The best way to avoid falling for gaslighting is to gossip, because even if he convinces you you're wrong, your friends will know what you told them, and they will remind you what really happened.

• Stay on Birth Control Until You Can Independently Support a Child

Obviously if you already have a child, this is in regard to having more children. If you want kids, be smart about it. If you aren't able to financially support yourself, make sure you are taking preventative measures to avoid a pregnancy. Men like to accuse women of baby trapping them all the time, but the reality is we are the ones who get trapped when we love our children but can't afford to leave and support them on our own. I've seen friends go through it, friends who wanted kids and would have zero regrets about having children if it wasn't for being stuck with their fathers.

• Stay Educated

Stay aware of things such as common red flags of abuse, DARVO, types of gaslighting, and signs of depression in yourself. Never stop reading and learning about how these things play out. If you want a happy, loving, safe relationship with a man, a big part of that is having the knowledge to see when it is no longer a relationship with those qualities.

If anyone would like to add anything else, it would be greatly appreciated. I know in an ideal world, separatism would be the choice of all women, but that's not the world we live in. I want to look at ways to support women in opposite sex relationships, especially supporting them in getting out when the time is right.

#rad fem #radical feminist #radblr #radical feminism #female oppression #radical feminist community #female experience #radical feminist safe #fuck the patriarchy #male violence

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percervall · 11 months ago

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Mamma mia, here I go again {pt6}

Summary: A summer of poor decisions leads you to having to face the consequences of your actions —and the men involved. Pairing: Kevin Magnussen x fem!reader, Lewis Hamilton x fem!reader, Mark Webber x fem!reader Warnings: girly pop having a realisation or two, mentions of a previous (toxic) relationship Word count: 1.9k Taglist: @ashy-kit @averagef1fansblog @barcelonaloverf1life @bradfordbantams @dannyramirezwife-simpaccount @doofenshmirtzevil-inc @exotic-iris13 @goldsainz @iloveneteyam @jaypreshpresh @laura-naruto-fan1998 @monzamash @norrisleclercf1 @opheliaas-stufff @roseseraj @szobosz @vellicora

Part 6 of the Mamma Mia series

Early morning sunlight filters through the curtains, waking you from a dreamless sleep. Sighing, you snuggle back into the pillows, not quite wanting to get up yet. Yesterday had been emotional for sure, but it felt good to have it all in the open. Somehow you felt lighter, knowing that Mark could see where you were coming from and at the same time helping you understand why he had felt the need to make those choices. You find yourself surprised at the excitement of what kind of date Kevin might plan for you next. There’s also a part of you that’s hesitant; last night’s conversation about the end of your relationship with Mark and the ramifications of that has made you realise a couple of things about the way you approached your relationship with Kevin. As you get out of bed and turn on the shower, you think back to that night in Spa. Kevin had grown tired of you keeping him at an arm’s length, of your hesitancy to commit. You knew he was right, but him seeing right through you, questioning whether you loved your job more than him, rattled you more than it probably should. Now looking back, you can see it so clearly - the way you had dealt –or more accurately, hadn’t dealt with that break up years prior affected how you approached new relationships. You hate that you had allowed that experience to taint everything else, but more than anything, you hate that, in doing so, you hurt Kevin.

You sigh, closing your eyes as you let the water run over your face. Despite the fact that the two of you decided to call it quits, you still have love for him. Kevin is the complete opposite of Mark: he treated you with such care, giving you an autonomy you had not previously experienced in a relationship. There was a warmth to Kevin that was unfamiliar in the best way, and had never seen reflected in your parents’ marriage. It was Sunday mornings spent over cups of coffees and pastries from a bakery down the road from Kevin’s house in Denmark, going for long walks in the biting cold; he’d always want you to do things together. In the beginning you enjoyed it, but it soon came to feel stifling in a way. You can feel yourself frowning as you think back to those early days. Why did it feel that way? Kevin wasn’t a clingy person at all –if anything he had been so understanding every time you said you needed some time alone until your relationship had been stripped down to nothing more than text messages and hook ups in hotel rooms. At the time you figured it was just down to the both of you living in different countries, but maybe your fear of letting a man become all consuming made you put up a wall so high, nothing could touch you. You single handedly destroyed that relationship.

That truth sits uncomfortably in the hollow of your chest as you turn off the shower and reach for a towel. A part of you misses those Sunday mornings, misses being made to slow down. If you close your eyes you can still smell the scent of cinnamon mixed with something more earthy, the taste of Danish coffee on your tongue whenever Kevin kisses you. The memory makes you smile, even though the nostalgia tugs on your heart.

Do I even have a Danish bakery near me? you ask yourself as you get dressed, the memories making you crave the cinnamon buns Kevin would get. When you sit down at your desk with a mug of tea, you remember that Kevin used to live in the UK, back when he drove for McLaren.

“Worth a shot,” you mumble as you pick up your phone to message him.

Your teeth drag over your bottom lip while you consider his invitation. It would be nice to get out of the city for a few days and relax before the hectic schedule of a race week takes up all of your time. A quick look online tells you that there’s still a ticket available for tomorrow morning for a flight from Birmingham to Copenhagen. Without giving it a second thought you book the flight and send Kevin a message agreeing to his plan.

As promised, Kevin is waiting for you at arrivals.

“Hey,” he says quietly as he hugs you. You relax into his arms, sighing deeply. He lets go of you and takes your suitcase in one hand while the other is stretched out for you to take. You give his hand a squeeze and allow him to navigate the two of you to his car.

“How was the flight?” Kevin asks as he puts your bags in the boot.

“It was good, managed to finish the last bits for work so I won’t have to open my laptop until Monday.” You keep your eyes on Kevin as he closes the boot and notice the grateful smile he gives you.

“Do you want to drop your things off first? I don’t know if you booked a hotel or not, but if you feel comfortable, I have the spareroom set up,” he says as he climbs behind the wheel of the SUV.

“I did, but I’ll gladly take you up on your offer. And if it’s not too much trouble, I would feel better knowing my laptop is safe. I know it sounds silly, but with the amount of data and information on it, I can’t risk getting it stolen.” Kevin nods and while you cancel your hotel room, he drives to his house so you can put your bags inside.

The drive to the harbour doesn’t take long at all after that. There’s a box from a local bakery on the backseat and the thermos flask you gifted him for Christmas last year is peeking out from the side of his backpack. It does something funny to your heart, seeing him use something you had picked out for him, even after everything that had happened this summer.

“It’s gonna be chilly out on the water so I brought an extra jumper. You used to steal it all the time, so I figured it’d be a safe bet,” Kevin says, looking at you with half mirth and half tenderness.

“Thanks,” you murmur, that funny feeling only intensifying at him remembering how much you loved to wear that olive green, quarter zip jumper whenever the two of you did any outdoor activities during this time of year. Kevin parks the car and you help him carry the bags into the cabin on his boat. It’s not long before muscle memory kicks in and you’re helping him with checking the lines. The two of you easily fall into the rhythm of checking everything is in order, moving in synchronicity, and before you know it, you’re leaving the harbour behind you. Sitting cross legged on the deck, you tilt your face up to the sun, letting the wind play with your hair. You’ve always found peace out on the water, and this time was no different. Inhaling deeply, you feel yourself relax, your running to-do list finally being pushed to the backburner –at least for the time being. You feel the boat beginning to slow down as Kevin adjusts the sails and kills the engine. Looking over your shoulder, you can just make out the Danish coast line. This is how the two of you would spend most of his summer break: just floating around in the Øresund with a picnic basket filled with pastries and sandwiches.

“Here,” Kevin says, holding out two mugs of coffee, motioning with his head to take one. You gratefully accept it, taking a careful sip. Kevin sits down next to you, leaning his body against the railing and sets down the box of baked goods as well. You lift the lid up and pick one of the cinnamon buns. They’re still a little bit warm and the scent makes your mouth water. You can feel Kevin’s eyes on you as you take a bite, letting the taste of cinnamon, cardamom and sugar transport you back to simpler times.

“Oh, how I’ve missed these,” you mumble around a mouthful before swallowing. Kevin smiles at that, but there’s a wistfulness to his expression. You can tell that there’s an ache in him, and you’re responsible for that.

“I’ve missed this, missed us,” Kevin says quietly. His admission sits heavy in the hollow of your chest. Placing the cinnamon bun on your knee, you turn to look at him.

“I know,” you reply quietly, “and I realised that I have been unfair to you –that I hurt you for no other reason than that I was scared.” Kevin remains quiet, giving you the opportunity to say what you should have told him months if not years ago.

“You know how Mark and I ended, and I thought I had gotten over him but the reality is that it made me terrified to let someone get so close to me ever again, to let a person take over my life like that. And so I kept you at an arm’s length. Shut you out. I’ve begun to realise that I need to work on that; I want to work on that. Because I know what a healthy relationship can look like –you’ve shown me that Kev, and instead of appreciating you for it, I hurt you. I hurt you by not talking honestly about my fears, by falling pregnant with a 66,66% chance that you’re not the father and I don’t know if I can watch you get your heart broken by me again,” you say, tears now rolling down your cheeks, “How you still want me is beyond me,” you add quietly, looking down at your mug of coffee. You feel Kevin’s hand on your knee, making you look up at him.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, “this is the openness I need in a relationship. I am sorry that I didn’t ask you about what made you pull away, that I questioned your loyalties. I know how much you love your job and I shouldn’t have made you choose between your Mercedes family and me. I should’ve come up with a compromise so we can still hang out even if work keeps you busy. Because truth be told, I just want to spend time with you, doing whatever, as long as we can be in the same room. And I know there’s a good chance I am not the baby’s father, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be the baby’s dad. A family isn’t determined by biology, a family is made. And when I picture my future family, I picture us –whatever that us might look like, but us. So I will keep holding out hope that you feel the same way about me as I do about you until you tell me otherwise; I will keep loving you, and maybe that makes me an idiot, but I don’t care because I’d rather get my heart broken a thousand times over by you than not have you at all.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, not knowing how else to respond to him. Part of you feels overwhelmed by just how willing all three of them are to simply love you, without any hesitation and a part of you desperately wants to allow yourself to love them in return. But how can you in good conscience do so if that means hurting two of them in the process?

Oh Kev, this poor, poor cinnamon roll of a man 🥺 girly pop has a choice to make, but who will she choose? (Who would you choose? 👀)

Massive thanks to @curiousthyme for being the best beta reader I could ask for

Please let me know what you think! Your comments, tags, and likes truly mean the world to me and, combined with the engagement on the polls, makes me want to keep writing this fic so thank you 💜

#f1 fanfic #kevin magnussen x reader #kevin magnussen x you #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #mark webber x reader #mark webber x you #mamma mia fic

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