#I will probably post something else on white day

[dunmeshistash]

Happy Valentine's day! I totally didn't remember it was today only yesterday. (in brazil its a different day)

Did you know that in the valentine's day comic they're following Japanese Valentine's day? (idk maybe someone didn't know) That's why they keep reminding him of white day, here's how wikipedia describes it.

Apparently it's not as popular as it used to be (especially cause it's based on gender roles) but it's a common trope in romance manga so I see it all the time 👍 (edit: oh yeah in romance manga at least the roles aren't gender specific it still happens in BL and GL)

Someone also pointed out in the notes that what Laios got them for white day are based on Hato Sabure which is a dove shaped sablé (butter cookie) his is shaped like a Basilisk instead of a Dove tho 💖

Anyway, something else about that comic, back when I first posted it seemed like some people thought the figures leaving and saying "that's funny" were the people that gave Laios the chocolate? But I think that's just the party leaving and probably Namari or Chilchuck saying that Laios getting valentine's chocolate is funny?

Especially cause the panel right after is Falin calling him back so it implies they were leaving after talking and she turned back

I think whoever gave Laios chocolate gave it to him genuinely and not as a joke. I mean, he's a handsome guy who is a successful adventurer, people outside his party don't really see him as that weird of a guy (maybe they see him as naive or a little strange/mysterious at most), even his party members didn't really realize how "out there" he can be until they went on the journey to save Falin and he started to be more open about his interests.

[anonity]

seeing

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

hi ladies! happy valentines day <3 i have the flu 😩 the last time i had the flu my ex-gf broke no contact to tell me to take care of myself.. just thought i’d share that.. i meant to post this wednesday but i lost the original draft i had of it and only just now finished rewriting it

WC: 765. supa short, longer fics coming i pinkie promise

summary: paige should look away. she knows she should. but azzi is beautiful and, more importantly, hasn’t noticed paige staring. (or maybe she has, and is letting her look anyways.)

the cabin drums with the white noise of plane engines, accompanied by a stillness unique to the sky — suspended moments paige has only found 35,000 feet in the air. 

somewhere behind them, there’s a flight attendant passing by with a drink cart. it clatters against someone's seat, the wheels making an unpleasant scraping sound.  aaliyah is craning her neck to see if they have fritos, and KK is arguing vehemently with whoever is behind her. paige barely registers any of it. 

because azzi is sitting next to her, leaned into the window seat they’d fought over, bathing in the dim light of the overhead lamp — and paige cannot stop looking at her. 

she’s reading. or at least, she was reading, because the page hasn't turned in a hot minute. it’s a new book (a paperback paige had caught her eyeing in the airport and bought the second she looked away), but the spine is already cracking from use. 

her head is tilted just so, cheek pressed against the cool glass, and the way she’s leaning has the setting sun softening over the curve of her jaw. paige swallows thickly, shifting in her seat. 

she should look away. 

she knows she should. 

because azzi is her best friend, her teammate, the peanut butter to her jelly. and so she should turn away to scroll through her phone, or even watch the moving where-are-we map displayed on the flight screen in front of her. she should do anything but sit there, yearning in the cabin of an avelo airline, and stare. 

but azzi hasn’t looked back yet. and so long as it stays that way, paige figures she can get away with it. there’s something stupidly intimate about watching azzi when she’s so clearly focused on something else, eyes decorated with golden flecks where the sun is catching them. there's something soft in the way azzi hasn’t noticed yet, or kind in the way she probably has but is choosing not to acknowledge it. maybe that is what creates the weightless feeling that only seems to exist in the quiet in-between of being with azzi. the way she’s letting paige look, deliberately allowing her to have this moment.

paige knows the second azzi turns her head, she’ll have to school her expression – pretend she wasn’t memorizing the way azzi tugs her lip in between her top teeth, or the way her eyebrows are knitted together like she’s trying to figure something out.

for how hard paige is staring, you would think she’d notice the way azzi’s eyes have stopped following the paper in front of her.

she doesn’t, though. azzi shifts, paige tracking the way her fingertips slide up the spine of the book, and lets her gaze follow upwards – to the slope of her shoulders, the outline of collarbone where her sweatshirt is falling.

then, azzi inhales softly, speaking without raising her gaze. “you’re staring.”

paige freezes, eyes landing on the digital airplane in front of her. “no i’m not.”

azzi smiles. “you are.”

paige shuffles further back into her seat, rolling her eyes. “you think you got your degree, and you know every fuckin’ thing, huh?” she deflects, grin widening at the reference as she nudges azzi’s knee with her own.

azzi hums. she has that look she gets when she knows something paige doesn’t – like she’s waiting for her to figure it out. “i know what it feels like when you’re looking at me.”

paiges grin stutters, her stomach flipping like it does when there’s turbulence. it’s the first time azzi has ever really acknowledged that paige looks at her. if she’s honest, she feels a little caught, walls she thought were well-built around her crumbling at the mere notion of azzi noticing the way paige watches her (of azzi recognizing the way paige looks at her, seeing it in the pages of whatever romance she’s reading).

paige risks a peek over, but azzi is still staring at those same words. paige’s shoulders slump in relief. azzi’s giving her this – this safe distance, the opportunity to ignore what's sitting thickly between them. 

i know what it feels like when you’re looking at me. of course she does. it’s all paige can do sometimes: stare.

then paige laughs, light and easy like her world didn’t just briefly stop spinning. “crazy thing to say,” she mutters, faking an unbothered yawn. she prays azzi doesn’t catch the way her voice wavers.

azzi finally turns her head, but paige's gaze is trained stubbornly on her phone. not because she’s embarrassed, but because she’s not sure what would happen if she looked at azzi right now – not while azzi is looking at her.

but from the corner of her vision, paige catches it – azzi smiling, soft and knowing.

and yeah. she probably knows.

[scary-grace]

pretty please will you write [bouquet] but reader gives flowers to tomura <33333

Thank you for the prompt! This got angsty and I apologize. Hopefully I can redeem myself with the third prompt! Post-canon, 2.1k, angst.

memory garden

The bouquet you buy gets bigger every year.

You’re in the interminable line at the florist’s, you and a bunch of guys in business suits and wedding rings, identical guilty looks on their faces, and somehow your bouquet is the biggest one. Not for the first time since you picked it up, you wonder if you’ve overdone it. White roses. Red roses – deep red, not bright red. Periwinkle-blue buddleia, ferns, baby’s breath, and ivy. It’s a lot of flowers. A lot of money. And it’s not like the person they’re for is going to appreciate them.

But it’s one day a year. One bouquet, and it’s the only bouquet he’s going to get. You kiss your pastry budget goodbye for the next week and wait for your turn at the checkout counter, feeling like shit for even thinking of buying something smaller. So what if you’ve got the biggest bouquet in line? It’s worth it. You don’t need anybody else to understand, which is a good thing. You barely understand the impulse yourself.

The last few Valentine’s Days, it’s been bright and cold and sunny, a picturesque winter day. Today it’s raining, and you check the forecast on the train with increasing dismay. It’s going to be a swamp by the time you get there, and you’ll be going home cold and wet and muddy. You’re already tired. It was an awful week at work, but when isn’t it, really? You work in Homicide, and in spite of society’s supposed great leaps forward since the war ended, people are still in the business of killing each other. If you didn’t have your quirk, you’d work anywhere else.

But you do have your quirk – Red Cap, which gives you a heads-up and flashback every time you walk over a spot where someone died a violent death. Working Homicide really is the only job you’re good for, although in the aftermath of the war, you were embedded with the national coroner’s office, walking the battlefields to identify victims, perpetrators, and causes of death. It’s not what you want to do with your life, but it pays. Enough that you could probably stand to get more than one bouquet, one day a year. But there’s only one day of the year where you can buy a bunch of flowers without anybody asking why.

As you’re putting your phone away, one of your friends texts you about a last-minute blind date – some friend of her boyfriend’s whose date fell through, who’s going to be a total wet blanket and ruin their night if nobody distracts him. Will you go on a pity date with him? You’re not his type and he’s not yours, but all you have to do is keep him busy for a little while. With an offer like that, how can you refuse? You text back one-handed. Sorry. I have plans.

doing what?? I know you’re single

I have plans, you type again. Even if your plan was to get plastered and forget about tomorrow, you’re not going to go on a date where you’re so obviously the consolation prize. And you wouldn’t be that much of a prize, either – once people hear about your job, and your quirk, they’re usually not interested. Sorry. I hope you can work something out!

The exclamation point feels forced. You tuck your phone away and stare out the window at the rain, the bunch of flowers rustling in your shaky hands.

The view out the window reminds you just how much Japan has changed. It’s been almost eight years since the war, and everywhere that matters to anybody has been rebuilt, bigger and better than before. Every city’s skyline bristles with skyscrapers, every highway has wider lanes – and in between are places that aren’t important enough to merit a rebuild, places that have been patched back together haphazardly or been allowed to fall into disrepair. Bigger cities, empty villages. More pretty city parks, fewer nature reserves. And every so often you’ll look out the window and see a dark shadow across the landscape, a scar that will never heal. Or so they say. People say time heals everything, and sometimes, you almost believe them.

Once you reach your destination, you’ve still got a ways to go. This part is uncomfortable. It always is, not because the terrain once you’re off the main road is rough, but because everywhere you step is a place someone breathed their last. This is the final battlefield from the Villain War. You’d say the number of deaths that occurred here is countless, except you have counted. That’s how you know where to go.

The rain soaks through your clothes as you pick your way across the barren, muddy field. At one edge of it there’s a shrine to all the heroes who fell, not just here but in the entire war, and on important days, there are people queuing up to leave offerings and pay their respects. You keep walking, hating the way your feet squelch in the mud. The longer you stay in touch with a particular piece of earth, the more information you pick up about the death that occurred there, and you saw enough the first time.

The death site you’re looking for is at the far edge of the field, pushed up into the shadow of the mountain that rears up nearby. It’s unmarked, of course. It would be unattended even if it wasn’t. No one mourns the wicked, after all, and Shigaraki Tomura, the Symbol of Fear, was as wicked as they come. Or so they say.

When you found his death site, what you witnessed through your quirk brought you to your knees. That’s not how it usually goes for you, how it usually went by that point. Almost every person who dies is scared while it happens. A lot of them are confused. A lot of them are angry or hurt or betrayed. But none of them are all of those things at once, and empty and lost and hollow at the same time, and while you’ve walked over many death sites, Shigaraki’s is the only one that’s ever taken you down. And when you got back up, you couldn’t see him as the monster he was any longer.

You thought reading the book the surviving members of the League of Villains wrote would help clear your head, or at least remind you who you were really losing sleep over. When that didn’t work, you went to visit the book’s author in prison. Spinner wanted to talk about Shigaraki, his best friend and his only friend, but nothing he said matched what you saw. Deku, who killed Shigaraki, never talks about him at all, and you can’t explain to anyone that you’re haunted by the last moments of a villain who was horrifying and tragic in almost equal measures. So you had to find something else to do.

You reach the far side of the field and come to a stop. You moved a rock a few years ago to mark the death site, so you wouldn’t have to step on it and retraumatize yourself every year, and you stop a meter or so back from where you know the edge lies. And then, like always, you hit a wall. You could keep doing this for the rest of your life, and you’ll still never know the right thing to say as you set down the bouquet. The last few years, you’ve just set it down and left.

But that thought’s in your head again – one bouquet, one day of the year. He doesn’t have a shrine or a grave marker, and you’re the only one who knows exactly where he died. If you only got one visitor every year, you’d want them to say something. Anything.

Anything, from you, is usually a bad idea. “I’m still working at Homicide. The murder rate hasn’t dropped back to pre-war levels yet. I go walking over two or three crime scenes a week, and none of them have ever been as awful as what I felt when I walked over yours.”

So what, you can imagine him saying. You get to walk away. This was my whole life, and I died as I lived. Do you expect me to feel sorry for you or something? “I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. That’s not why I’m saying that. I just – I wanted you to know that it really was that bad. All the pain you felt, all that anger – it’s unbearable. I can see why you’d do anything to get away.”

You wouldn’t do what Shigaraki did, you don’t think. Then again, you don’t have that kind of power. The only person you can torment with your quirk is yourself. “I don’t know why I come out here. Or why I bring flowers. You probably hated flowers,” you say. You can imagine his response to that, too: Yeah, no shit. “I never met you, but I can’t unsee what I saw. I wish I’d never seen it.”

You feel that way about everything you’ve seen and felt through your quirk, but this especially. “I wish I’d never seen it, but I did see it. And it would be wrong to look away.”

That was something you remember from that first flashback, the one that laid you out in the filth on the battlefield. The way the emptiness inside him yawned wide, a gaping void no amount of rage and destruction could fill, a desperate howl that still echoes through your mind –  look at me, notice me, save me – a cry for help that went forever unanswered. It’s too late for Shigaraki Tomura. Whatever you could possibly do rings hollow, and he’ll never see it, anyway. The longer you think about it, the more miserable you get. You need to go, before you spend another Valentine’s Day crying on the train home.

But to leave the bouquet by your makeshift marker, you have to cross the death site. As you hesitate, you hear that voice in your head, cobbled together from every newscast of the destruction of Jaku City or the final battle that took place here: This was my whole life. You get to walk away. You steep yourself and cross onto the death site, and like always, it hits you like a knockout punch. All you can do is stagger to the marker, set the bouquet in its mason jar down at the foot of the stone, and stagger back out, your eyes burning, struggling to breathe.

You’re doubled over, gasping for air, when you hear the voice. “I didn’t think you’d come this year.”

Your stomach lurches. You stagger backwards, foot-first into another deathsite, and struggle to get your balance, searching for a safe place to stand. “Because of the rain,” the voice continues, raspy and rough. His voice. “How long are you going to keep this up?”

You’ve always thought your quirk might snap your mind someday. You just didn’t expect it to happen like this. If you’re already crazy, you might as well answer him. “Until I stop seeing it.”

“Forever.”

It’s been eight years. Nothing else has clung to you like this. “Yeah. I guess so.”

“Forever,” the voice repeats. “I never stopped seeing it, either.”

You’re talking to a dead person. A ghost. You’ve walked over hundreds of death sites, and you’ve never met a ghost before. But if anybody was going to become a ghost, it would be him, wouldn’t it? Unhappy, unable to let go, unmissed and unmourned by anyone but you, and you can barely be called a mourner when the most you do is show up with flowers one day a year. He probably hates flowers, and hates you, like he hated everything before. “I’m sorry,” you say. Shigaraki Tomura’s ghost makes a questioning sound. “I’m sorry no one saved you. I wish it wasn’t too late.”

You turn and leave without another look at the death site, and Shigaraki Tomura’s voice follows you. “Maybe it’s not.”

You’re losing it. You really must be. As soon as you get home, you’re taking a leave of absence from your horrible job and going to therapy, so you can learn how to live with your quirk and not let it cling to you and leave a bouquet at a supervillain’s death site without having a psychotic break. Maybe it’s not too late. What does that mean? It means you’re going crazy. That’s all this was. You walk stiff-legged across the battlefield, sicker with every step, never looking back. If you see his ghost hovering over the death site, you’re going to lose your mind for good.

Curiosity gets the better of you, though. You look back just once, once there are no more death sites to walk over and the only memories in your head belong to you. Shigaraki’s death site is easy to miss if you don’t know what to look for, but you know what to look for – and even from this distance, you can see that the bouquet you left for him is gone.

[dazedhyu]

Backseat 𓂃 🌹 sjn

:¨ ·.· ¨: paring ー fwb!johnny x fem!reader

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ warnings : slow(ish) burn, fwb to lovers, very little angst, smut, johnny spoils tf out of you, unprotected car sex (WRAP IT UP!), pet names (baby, doll, pretty, etc), grinding, riding / cowgirl, i'm probably missing a few oh well :p

★彡 4.5k wc!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ authors note >< : valentines day posttt hehe :3 i saw this edit and knew i needed to write something car related w johnny... ENJOY & HAPPY (LATE, im sorry!!😭😭) VALENTINES DAY!! this lowk isnt my fav.. i kept procrastinating posting but theres such a lack of johnny fics on here i need to bless my fellow johfam 💗. Pls trust the next fic that comes out will be very delicious u guys r gonna love it mwuahahaha (๑>◡<๑) this was proofread at like 4am pls ignore spelling mistakes..

Things were always just meant to be casual. Sure, it wasn't too casual to fuck on a regular basis or talk to each other the way you do, but you always felt a little bad for keeping him in the friend zone for so long, knowing how he felt about you. You and Johnny had known each other since high school; you've always been best friends.

And to be completely honest, you couldn't help but be completely whipped by him. He bought you gifts nearly every day, whether it was something small or something thoughtful. You'd catch yourself admiring a necklace at the store, and sure enough, the next morning, it would be sitting at your front door with a cute note attached. He was like that with everything: the things you needed, the things you didn't even know you wanted, and especially the things that made you smile.

He wasn't just good at spoiling you with things. He always knew exactly what to say when you were upset, how to touch you in a way that made you feel safe, how to fuck you so good you were seeing stars. Johnny knew you better than anyone else. He knew your body, your moods, your every little habit. He could read you like an open book.

But the lingering fear that if you ever crossed that line and took things further with him, things would go south and you'd lose him as a friend was what always kept you in check. You couldn't bear the thought of losing him, and that fear kept you at arm's length.

But even today— valentines day, a day meant for romance and cheesy gestures, you told yourself things were still supposed to be casual. That’s what you kept telling yourself as stepped out of the shower and got ready for the night ahead.

You couldn’t stop thinking about the flowers he had sent you this morning. The bouquet was massive, the kind that looked like it belonged in a romance movie, wrapped in black satin and tied with a sleek ribbon with a cute card tucked into the petals with a simple message:

“Happy Valentine’s Day, baby. Be ready by 9, dress extra pretty for me. -J <3” 

It had made your stomach flip. You hadn’t been prepared for that— not from him. It wasn’t that Johnny wasn’t sweet, but this felt… different. Special. His usual kind gestures and love had turned into something else and you weren't sure if you were ready to handle all of that. But as the day had gone on, you couldn’t help but smile every time you thought about it.

Now, standing in front of the mirror, you add the finishing touches to your hair and makeup. He knows how much you hate fancy restaurants and anything overly formal, so you’ve kept your outfit casual yet still put together. A maroon cropped cardigan draped over a delicate white lace-trim cami, paired with the black skirt you know he loves. Every time you wear it around him, you catch his lingering stares and feel the way his touches last just a second too long, like he can’t help himself.

The clock was ticking, and with each passing second, your nerves grew. You thought you had it all figured out. It was supposed to be casual, after all. But you couldn’t ignore the fluttering in your chest as the minutes passed. It felt like tonight was different.

And before you knew it, you were out the door, the cool night air greeting you as you walked toward his car, your heartbeat syncing with the rhythm of your steps.

The air nipped at your skin as you approached Johnny’s car, and your heart skipped a beat as you saw him standing by the passenger door, leaning against the car with a grin that gave you butterflies. His eyes scanned over you in that way he always did when he looked at you, a look of admiration mixed with something else you couldn't quite describe. 

He straightened up when he saw you, his grin widening as he took a few steps closer. You almost missed the way his hand reached out to take yours; the warmth of his touch was enough to melt any hesitation you might’ve had.

“Hey, angel.” He spoke softly, his thumb gently traced the back of your hand as he held your arm up, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Twirl for me, baby, let me see the full fit.” 

A small laugh bubbled up in your chest, but you couldn’t resist. You spun around once, letting your skirt flare out as you turned. You could hear him take in a sharp breath behind before you faced him again. 

“God, you’re so beautiful, baby,” he murmured, his eyes never once leaving you. His voice was low, almost reverent, as if he couldn’t believe you were real. 

The way he said it made your chest tighten, and a small heat spread through your cheeks. It wasn’t just the usual compliment— there was something more behind it, something deeper, but he didn’t press it. He just smiled, that easy, confident smile that made your heart race.

“Let’s get going, yeah?” Johnny added, keeping his voice light but warm.

You nodded, still feeling the buzz from his words. As he opened the door for you, he moved closer, guiding you toward the seat. His hand briefly brushed against your waist as he helped you into the car, soft and slow, nothing rushed, just enough to send a jolt of warmth through your body. 

It didn’t take long for the night to escalate after that. His constant lingering touches and sweet words, laced with a quiet intensity, were slowly driving you mad. It started innocent— his hand brushing against your thigh every now and then as he drove, his soft chuckle as he teased you, asking about your day. But it was clear that each moment with him was a little more than you could handle. This wasn’t at all the usual for you two, even though you’re very used to his ‘dates’ there was always the friendly demeanor behind them. This one was all a complete shift in the energy, it made you nervous, like this was an actual real date and not just two friends hanging out and flirting. 

By the time you made it to a quiet spot by the water, the atmosphere had shifted. The air around you crackled, thick with something unspoken, an electric current that you could feel building between you two with every glance, every word. You weren’t even sure how you’d ended up in this position, but you didn’t care.

One minute you were sitting side by side in the backseat, laughing, the next you were straddling his lap. The shift had been so gradual, so natural that you didn’t question it until you felt his hands begin to roam.

His fingers slid under the fabric of your cardigan, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine. You instinctively leaned into him, your body reacting before your mind could catch up. You could feel the heat radiating from his chest, the way his breath hitched slightly as his hands slid around your waist.

You continued talking, but your words felt like an afterthought, drowned out by the racing of your heartbeat. Every now and then, Johnny would murmur something that made you blush, his voice low and teasing as he casually slid his hand under your top, his large hands gliding against the skin of your back.

But it was his eyes that truly did it for you. They were still so sweet, full of admiration and affection, but there was something else there now. A flicker of heat, of raw desire, a hunger that made your pulse spike.

“Johnny, you’re looking at me like you want to eat me.” you spoke with a small chuckle, your voice betraying the nervous flutter in your chest. It was a poor attempt to ease the tension and the heat pooling between your thighs, but it was all you could manage as his gaze burned into you.

Johnny tilted his head slightly, the smirk never leaving his lips. His fingers tightened at your waist, sending a shiver up your spine. “Only if you want me to.”

His voice was low, teasing, it was enough to make your breath hitch. His hands slid down to your thighs, his fingers tracing slow circles into your skin before gripping just a little tighter, pulling you in until there was no space left between you.

The subtle pressure of his touch mixed with the feeling of his painfully hard bulge pressing right against your core made heat pool in your stomach, your breath coming out uneven as you bit your lip to keep yourself together.

Johnnys gaze flickered to your lips, then back up to your eyes, and the grin on his face grew just slightly. He was enjoying this, the way you tensed up under his touch, the way your body was reacting to him before you could even find the words to respond.

“You like that, pretty?” His voice was smooth, almost lazy, but the way his hands slowly slid up to your hips sent another rush of warmth through your body. He gently rocked your hips against his, just enough to let you know what he wanted. What he knew you wanted, too.

“You’re being awfully shy tonight,” he murmured, his eyes searching yours. “Am I making you nervous?”

“Johnny…” You barely breathed out, your fingers gripping at his shoulders as a small, helpless whine slipped past your lips when he pushed you further onto his lap.

You didn’t know what was worse, the way your body was betraying you, or the way he was looking at you like he already knew everything you weren’t saying. Like he was waiting for you to catch up to what he already understood. The tension was driving you insane. It wasn’t just the way he touched you, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing he wanted— it was the aftermath. The way he could act like this, make you feel like this, and then leave both of you tangled in that same unspoken confusion the next day. That lingering feeling that always stayed around for days every single time the two of you had sex. 

Longing. Maybe even love.

You wished, more than anything, that you could push past the fear of relationships, of rejection, of getting hurt. But it clung to you, holding you back, even though you knew deep down that Johnny would never hurt you. He cared about you too much. He always made sure you had everything you needed, always put you first in ways you weren’t sure he even realized.

And it made you feel guilty for pretending your feelings weren’t real. For acting like this didn’t mean something. 

The weight of it all pressed down on you, a storm of conflict and confusion swirling in your head. You let out a quiet whine, your frustration spilling over as you looked down at him, torn between everything you wanted to say and everything you were still too scared to admit.

Johnny’s fingers flexed against your hips, and his smirk softened into a small smile. “I know, baby,” he spoke, his voice quieter now. His hands slid up your back, holding you close. “You don’t have to say it. I already know.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and before you could stop yourself, your hands were moving up, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt like you needed something to hold onto. Like if you let go, you’d fall apart completely.

Johnny chuckled, the sound warm against your skin. “Just let me take care of you, yeah?.” His fingers traced slow patterns along your waist, his touch patient, steady. “It’s a special day today, and you’re my special girl. You deserve it.”

He didn’t wait for another word. The second your head dipped in a nod, his lips were on yours, slow and deliberate, he wanted you to feel everything neither of you could say out loud. His hands slid up your back, fingertips pressing into your skin just enough to make you shiver.

The kiss deepened in an instant, all hesitation melting away as his tongue intertwined with yours, teasing, coaxing, making your breath hitch. His grip on you tightened, your hips instinctively picking back up their pace rolling against his. 

A small whimper slipped from your lips, and Johnny groaned lowly in response. The friction you felt as he slightly thrusted up pressing further against you sent a sharp wave of pleasure through your body, you gasped, breaking the kiss for just a second before he chased your lips again, capturing them in another heated, desperate kiss.

“You feel so good, baby,” he murmured against your lips, his voice hushed but dripping with hunger. “Always so good for me.”

His mouth traveled, trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, down your neck, sucking softly at the spot he knew would make you squirm. 

The heat between you was unbearable now, every touch, every movement sending you spiraling deeper into the feeling. You didn’t care about what would happen tomorrow, about the confusion that always lingered after nights like this. All you cared about was him, his touch, his lips, the way he made you feel like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

His hands moved with purpose, slipping beneath the hem of your top, his palms searing against your skin as he slowly dragged the fabric upward. There was no hesitation as he pulled your clothes over your head, tossing them somewhere beside the two of you. His eyes darkened at the sight of you, his gaze drinking in every inch of exposed skin.

His hands were back on you in an instant, skimming up your sides, thumbs grazing just under the band of your bra as he leaned in, kissing along your collarbone, down the valley of your chest.

The anticipation was unbearable, your breath coming in short, needy gasps before the fabric slipped away. The cool air made you shiver, but Johnny was quick to warm you up, his mouth finding your skin again. Kissing softly before latching onto one of your nipples, sucking and swirling his tongue around the perky bud, making you moan and pull softly at his hair. 

He hummed, the vibrations against you causing a whimper to leave your lips. He tilted his head back, releasing your breast with a small pop, immediately diving back into your chest to kiss and mark you in places nobody else would see. His hands moved lower, gripping your thighs and pushing them apart, the feeling of his clothed cock flush against where you needed him most was almost too much to handle. 

Johnny groaned, his head dropping to your shoulder as he rocked you against him with more intent. “You feel that, baby?” he rasped, his fingers digging into your skin. “You want me just as bad as I want you, don’t you?”

The way he said it, the way his voice dripped with need, made you dizzy. Your body answered before your words could, your hips grinding down against him, a desperate moan slipping from your lips.

Johnny’s grip tightened, and he exhaled sharply, his restraint hanging by a thread. “Fuck,” he muttered. “Sit up, pretty girl.” 

Without hesitation, you lifted your hips from his, your hands gripping his shoulders tightly as he worked fast to undo his belt and free his aching cock. You watched as it sprung out, a drop of pre-cum already leaking at the tip. 

Johnny worked quickly, sliding your skirt and panties down your legs with practiced ease. Before you could even process the loss of fabric, he was pressing the tip of his cock against your entrance, dragging it along your slit in slow, deliberate strokes that had your breath hitching.

A frustrated whimper slipped past your lips, your hips instinctively trying to push down onto him, but his grip on your waist was firm, keeping you exactly where he wanted you.

His hold on your waist tightened as he continued to tease you, the head of his cock dragging along your slick folds, never quite pushing in. You let out a shaky breath, hands gripping at his shoulders, desperate for more. 

“Johnny, please..” you tried, your voice soft.

He hummed, tilting his head slightly, clearly enjoying the way you squirmed beneath him. “Please what, baby? At least ask properly.”

Your body trembled as he rolled his hips just enough to nudge against your entrance, sending a jolt of pleasure through you. 

You swallowed hard, your pride slipping further with every second of his agonizing teasing. “Please,” you whined, voice breathless and needy. “need you so bad, please fuck me...”

His smirk faltered for just a moment, his restraint nearly snapping at the way you begged for him. Without another word, he finally pushed into you, stretching you open inch by inch. A small gasp left your lips. 

Your fingers dug into his shoulders, nails pressing into the fabric of his shirt as you tried to steady yourself against the overwhelming sensation of him filling you completely.

Johnny groaned low in his throat, his grip on your waist tightening as he forced himself to move at a steady pace, savoring the way your body welcomed him so perfectly. “Fuck, yn,” he murmured, his voice strained. “Always so tight for me.”

Your head tipped back once again, a broken moan slipping past your lips as he bottomed out, his head kissing at your cervix with just the slightest shift of his hips. He gave you a second to adjust, his thumbs stroking slow, soothing circles against your hips, but the way your walls clenched around him made his patience waver.

“You okay, angel?” he asked, his voice softer now, despite the way his restraint was hanging by a thread. 

You nodded quickly, your body already desperate for more. “Mhm, feels so good..”

That was all he needed. With a deep, satisfied hum, he pulled out just enough to thrust back in, slowly, making sure you felt every inch of him. His hands guided your movements as you rocked against him, your moans spilling into the air between you.

“Just like that, baby,” he praised, his lips grazing your jaw before trailing down to your neck. “Taking me so well.” 

Your fingers tangled in his hair, nails grazing his scalp as you let out a breathy moan, overwhelmed by the way he moved— how every roll of his hips sent waves of pleasure crashing over you. He tilted his head up to watch you, eyes dark, completely filled with a mix of love and lust. 

“You feel so good,” he whispered against your skin. His lips trailing lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your throat, lingering at your collarbone before nipping lightly, just enough to make you shiver.

A soft whimper slipped past your lips as he slightly picked up his pace. He caught your sound with a kiss, deep and unhurried, like he wanted to drown in the taste of you. His tongue traced along your bottom lip before he pulled away just enough to whisper, “You like that? Want more?”

You could only nod, barely able to form words with the way he was unraveling you so effortlessly. The intensity of his gaze never wavered, watching every little reaction, every shiver, every breathy sound that slipped from your lips.

“Use your words, doll, want to hear you.” 

A shaky inhale filled your lungs before you managed to whisper, “Yes… more, please.”

His lips curled into a soft smirk, but there was no teasing in his eyes only devotion, only the overwhelming need to give you exactly what you asked for. His movements deepened, his hips snapping into yours with a bit more urgency, dragging out every sensation. A deep groan rumbled in his chest as he buried his face in your neck, his fingers digging into your hips, guiding you to match his rhythm.

Every thrust sent waves of pleasure crashing through you, your body trembling in his arms as your moans grew louder. He was losing himself in you, in the way you felt, the way you sounded— so sweet, so desperate for him.

“Johnny—” His name spilled from your lips like a plea, your fingers gripping onto him like you’d fall apart if you let go.

His hands roamed your body, both hands resting just under your breasts, his thumbs rubbing small circles at your nipples. He kissed you again, much deeper this time, his tongue sliding against yours with a tenderness that had your heart pounding against your ribs. It wasn’t just desire; it was more than that. It was the way he held you like you were something precious, something he never wanted to let go of.

“Fuck,” he muttered against your lips, his voice strained, almost like he was trying to hold back but couldn’t anymore. “You feel so damn good… can’t help it, baby.”

His grip on you tightened as he thrust into you with more intensity, repeatedly hitting that spot that made your toes curl, but his touch remained gentle, his hands smoothing over your skin, grounding you, making sure you were with him through every moment. The sound of your moans only spurred him on, his breath coming out in ragged exhales as he broke the kiss to bury his face against your neck.

“Taking me so well, angel,” he groaned, his lips brushing against your jaw between each word. “So perfect— so beautiful —just for me.”

Your fingers still tangled in his hair, tugging slightly as another whimper escaped you, and he nearly lost it right then. His hips snapped forward with more force, his control slipping further with every sound you made.

“God, you drive me crazy,” he breathed, pulling back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark, filled with adoration and something raw, something unrestrained. “Need you to know how good you are to me… how much I love you.” 

You couldn’t even form words in response, your head spinning with the overwhelming sensation of him pounding into you. You clung to him, feeling each thrust of his hips, the way he drove deeper, harder, pushing you toward something higher. Your breath caught in your throat. For a moment, everything seemed to stop. His words hung in the air, but your body was too lost in the bliss he was giving you to process them fully.

You couldn’t focus on anything except the way his hips crashed into yours, the delicious pressure building inside of you, the tenderness in the way his hands touched you, each movement making you feel like you were in pure bliss.

“Just like that,” he whispered, his pace faltering as he grew closer, but still, he stayed gentle with you, his hands caressing your skin, as if he never wanted to let go. 

Your body gave in to the intensity of it all, a rush of heat flooding you as you reached your orgasm. His name left your lips in a breathless string of pleas and moans, but still, he whispered praises against your skin, each word a caress, as if he were reminding you of how much you meant to him. Soon both of you reached your limits, his thrusts nearly stopping and cock twitching as he came. The feeling of his warmth seeping into you mixed with your own arousal soaking his length was enough to make your legs twitch and breath hitch once again.

As the intensity began to fade, the air between you was thick with lingering heat, you both slowed, your breaths coming in shaky, uneven gasps. His forehead rested gently against yours, as he soothingly rubbed your sides. 

He kissed you slowly, deeply, savoring the aftermath, his lips soft against yours as he pulled you closer, like he was trying to keep you attached to him.

But as the world around you slowly started to come back into focus, his words played on a loop in your mind, each one like a soft echo against your chest. As much as you tried to convince yourself it was just the heat of the moment, you couldn’t deny it. You knew he meant it.

And deep down, you realized that you really felt the same way. The realization hit you like a wave, slow and steady but impossible to ignore. For the first time, you were tired of parading around the topic of love when it came to him. It wasn’t just the sex, the intimacy, or the wild rush of everything that had just happened, it was the way he made you feel, the overwhelming warmth in your chest that never went away when he was around.

All you knew for sure, as your heart beat in time with his, was that you weren’t going to shy away from him anymore. You weren’t going to play games, or pretend like there was some distance between you. You wanted him. Not just in the way your body craved him, but in the way your heart had always known he was the one you were meant to be with.

You wanted to be his, as badly as he wanted to be yours.

“…I love you too,” you breathed out, your voice full of the same raw honesty that had been in his. The words felt like a weight lifted from your chest, the last piece of the puzzle locking into place.

His breath hitched, and you felt the shift in him— a gentle smile curving his lips as he looked at you, soft with emotion. “Yeah?” His voice was quiet, as if he was still letting the confession settle between you both.

You smiled back, still clinging to him. “Yeah, Johnny, I love you.”

His lips found yours again in a tender kiss, but this time it was slower, more deliberate, like he was savoring the sweetness of your confession. “Good,” he mumbled against your lips, holding you close, like he’d never let you go.

The world outside may have still been waiting, but in that moment, nothing else mattered but the warmth of his arms and the love you had for each other.

Eventually, everything calmed down. He pulled back just slightly, a lazy smile spreading across his face as his thumb traced gentle circles on your skin. “Now,” he spoke up, his voice soft but playful, “let’s get cleaned up and go get some dinner, yeah?”

You chuckled softly, still a little dazed, but the warmth of his words made your heart swell even more. “Yeah, I think that sounds perfect.”

As you both reluctantly untangled from each other’s arms, you shared one last lingering kiss, both of you smiling into it, feeling the weight of the moment settle between you. 

You were his. And he was yours.

Love letter from mae 💌 : ughhshshgsh i need him bad 😭 i rlly do hope u guys like this way more than i do because truly i almost scrapped the whole thing like 7 different times LMFAO

ty for reading!! ♥︎���ヽ(*´∀｀)ﾉ

[goldenlionprince]

In Good Hands

I initially wrote this for @neverenoughmarauders in @sorenphelps The Bodyguard AU because we talked about James' knee injury and the possibility of massages - but I kind of like how it turned out so I post it here too ;)

It's set somewhere in the days after the smut thing I wrote. They have a few days where they fuck like horny bunnies before Peter interrupts their little bubble of bliss xD

So this one is a little bit smutty again. -- tag for @lovelymasks

.

The knee is starting to become a problem. It's not horrible, not yet, James vividly remembers the pain of the not so distant past so it's very endurable compared to when the knee wound was fresh, but still it's uncomfortable.

Maybe the run wasn't that great of an idea. Or running up the stairs.

James refuses to blame it on any other activities. Even if there had been a good few of those.

James stretches out his leg and tries to get a little more comfortable with slight adjustments but Sirius, of course, notices James' discomfort immediately because there is barely anything that slips through his attention. James had really tried in their early days with only medium success.

“Are you okay?” Sirius asks, trailing fingertips along James' spine. “Was the last round a bit too rough for you?”

James can't help but laugh. Of course Sirius' thoughts go there immediately. “Don't worry, Star Boy, you're a pain in my butt but not in that way. It's just my knee being a little stupid.”

“Star Boy?” Sirius chuckles softly. “That's a new one.”

“Can't call you Soldier Boy in bed, can I? Although I have to say you're pretty good at coming to attention.”

“You're a menace,” Sirius says and it comes out a little fond. James would smile like a lovesick idiot but Sirius' words are immediately followed by a bite to where James' neck meets his shoulder and that smile melts into a soft moan instead. “Stay here,” Sirius orders and then he's off the bed and James feels cheated by his distraction techniques.

With a huff, James flops back into the pillows and brushes his messy curls out of his face. They are even more of a disaster than usual.

He doesn't have to wait long for Sirius' return. James is almost tempted to grab his glasses to see Sirius in his full glory again but ultimately decides against them. He won't need them for long anyway and he'll have time for more ogling later.

“Move over a little,” Sirius says and James complies, moving a little more to the middle of the bed to give Sirius some space. Sirius sits down next to him and pops the cap of a bottle that James only notices now.

“What's that?”

“Oil,” Sirius says simply and gets some on his hand before tossing the closed bottle aside. “Give me your leg.”

With a frown, James extends his hurt leg. Sirius takes it between his hands and –

James should have already known that Sirius' fingers can do magic but god, this is a new level. He has no idea if he wants to whimper or moan, curse or beg for more. It's torture and bliss all wrapped into one. White hot pain in some places followed by a tingly sensation that goes straight to James' dick.

He's probably babbling something incoherent, James isn't entirely sure because he's too wrapped up in that sudden assault of too much sensation.

Sirius, the bastard, knows exactly what he's doing. He's chuckling as he squeezes and kneads James through that blissful torture, his fingers slowly moving higher on the inside of James' thigh and James wants them somewhere else, wants them inside of him so bad.

He's not above begging.

“Please,” he pants, head thrown back on his pillow, hands buried in the bedsheets. It should be impossible for someone well above their teenage years to be so ready for another round of sex so soon after they just finished one but gods, James is ready.

He's almost inhaling his tongue when Sirius' oil slick fingers brush along where James wants them the most. He's prepared for more teasing – Sirius loves a good torture – but thankfully he has mercy with James right now. One finger slides in easily, quickly followed by a second, and that turns out to be a whole new torture on it's own since it's good but not nearly enough.

“We should probably keep your leg elevated,” Sirius says and moves closer, pulling his fingers free as he goes and James almost wants to curse him. But then Sirius grabs both of James' legs and throws them over his shoulders and James forgets all about his curses. “Keep the strain from it for a little while. It might help.”

“I'm sure it will.” James nods and grabs the back of Sirius' neck, pulling him closer and into a hungry kiss.

It will do wonders for his knee, James is absolutely sure of it.

[muchimm]

Happy Valentine!!

The original artwork that DcComics posted in 2018 on Facebook for San Valentine ^.^

@wait-whos-batman

[naivety]

not even saying it's a good thing because i am so far beyond checked out at this point but i cannot fathom nailbiting over this election after more than a year of genocide, after every single 395 days of it. like i can but i can't. the truth is americans will sleep just as well tonight as we have every day since october 7th no matter who wins because that's the world we live in. we live in. while the money we generate from shitty 9 to 5s is taxed and sent to keep children and mothers and fathers and brothers and sisters up night after night after night with the sound of drones and gunfire and bombshells. this world is so far beyond americans' worst case scenario already and the solution to it is outside a ballot box on election day.

[mitamicah]

Time to be self centered for a moment:

Me and the guys 🥹🫶

I still can't believe that I was able to meet Bojan, Nace and Jan last weekend (how is it already a week since Malmö OVO) :'D

They were so freaking humble and easy to talk to?!? 🥺🥺🥺

Bojan and I 'are you'ed each other for at least half a minute xD The love is really stored in the Bojan - the way he just gives you his entire attention when you talk to him OVO Plus he remembered my Häärijä cosplay from Helsinki, let me die happy now 😭🥺

Nace is such a lovely turtle dad proudly talking about his babies (I can relate to how much he talks with his hands) and his laugh is even more contagious in person 🥹 Loved that we in Gothenburg ended up wondering over the question 'what is each JO members signature picture pose' together; Nace and I showing off the Jan pose for the last picture x'D

Speaking of Jan, the poor boy had lost his beanie in Gothenburg (not pictured) so he had a scarf on his head :'3 he too was very nice talking to and me and another dane managed to spread the 'please come to Denmark' propaganda 😂

Jan and Nace both got little 2 min. pen doodles from me that I drew with frozen fingers and in a rush (didn't know how long they'd stay) and bless their heart for being genuinely happy to receive them :'D Nace did also get a second Malmö sticker just so I could see his reaction x'D (I'd sent Bojan off with gifts to all the boys during soundcheck and Nace confirmed he had gotten his and it was on his laptop I believe :'3 <33)

(Since I ran to Bojan I was too late to meet Kris in Malmö, and Jure stayed by the bus smoking which I respect)

[lanatusnebula]

Well clearly I am confused.

[icewindandboringhorror]

golf

[aerofbreath]

Actually writing something based off of this post. Y'all really seemed to like it and I got scared LOLOL

(How it will probably go (written poorly written cause it's almost 7AM and I haven't slept yet) . Also I have no idea what I'm doing. This will be rewritten better in a fic maybe.)

Jason sighed as he made his way into Gotham University's gym. It was the middle of the day and Jason was there at a Startup Event posing as a guy who was interested in what people had to offer. He had only had maybe a total of four hours of sleep since he had patrol the night before. Granted, this wouldn't have affected him as much if he was more mentally prepared to be awake. The only reason why he's out here was because Bruce had woken him up an hour ago to tell him a little last minute about what he needed to do today. Originally, the plan was to do absolutely nothing. But now he has to investigate a guy that Bruce had his eye on as of lately.

The person he's looking for is a man named Danny Nightingale. Apparently he's been in Gotham for a couple years and only recently started making a mess of things. How it went under Bruce's nose is beyond him considering how freaked out Bruce was once he did find out.

Apparently, the guy has been making life changing machines. Little mechanical bees have been flying around Gotham really just sucking up all the pollution in the air and just depositing it somewhere. According to the media, they go back to some headquarters and into a bee hive looking structure to deposit all the pollution and sludge. From the photos shown, it's actually pretty impressive. Some guy actually making a change around here.

For Bruce- no. For Batman, this is just highly suspicious. Why would some guy make these positive life changing machines? For the better? No. No genius with the power to change the world would do it for the better. There's got to be some ulterior motive behind it.

At least, that's what Batman thinks.

Jason thinks it's all interesting. Maybe there is an ulterior motive but even then, at a scale so large that it's literally affecting the city in a positive way? You've got to be literally more insane than the Joker if you wanted to plaster your face everywhere at an event like this. Everyone else at this event seemed to show promise but compared to Danny Nightingale's company? They're literally all small fry.

Surprisingly enough, however, no one else seems to be at Danny's booth. Not even Danny. Jason frowned as he approached the booth and just looked at the machines on them. The Bees are kind of just flying in place and the moment that Jason even looked at them, the Bees immediately got to work. They flew around him like a puppy with wings, nuzzling against him and bumping into him so dumbly. And honestly?

It was actually kind of cute. You would think that being on such little hours of sleep and being grumpy the whole morning would really affect the pits inside him but no. He's surprisingly calm.

"Oh my gosh, I am so sorry! They don't usually act like this," a voice stuttered out. A man hastily walked towards Jason as he gently plucked the Bees out of the air and brought it close to him.

"Uh, don't worry about it. I thought it was kind of..." Jason trailed out before locking eyes with the man who spoke.

This was Danny Nightingale. He was much shorter than Jason, only standing tall at 5' 5". His hair was fully black with only a white money piece right on his bangs. And his eyes? An alluring blue with only a hint of green at the center of his eyes. Honestly, the sight of Danny just about took Jason's breath away.

There was a subtle glow to him, almost making Jason think of there being some sort of meta activity going on but looking around the people in the area, no one but him seems to notice. Danny was concerned about Jason, that much is obvious. The way his eyes burrowed in concern then into confusion. It's strange why just looking at him made Jason's heart skip a beat, even though in hindsight, Danny looks much worse off than Jason.

That man looks like he hasn't slept in 3 weeks. But even then he was...

"Cute..." Jason finally finished his sentence a little too late.

Danny blinked in confusion, tilting his head to the side. His bangs fall freely over his eyes. Just the sight of that almost made Jason blush. "My bees were cute?" Danny spoke, the tone of his voice (very tired) sounded like a sweet harmony in Jason's ears. "Oh! You're interested in Nightech? No one else seems to be interested in my stuff yet. I can tell you all about this company and how it works? I put in a lot of work and love into these little guys and I'm sure you would love them too!"

Blah blah blah. Proper name. Place name. Backstory stuff.

Nothing of what Danny is saying is registering in Jason's brain right now. Maybe some. ("I... Love... You...")

"I love you too!!" Jason blurted out.

Danny blinked before widening his eyes. "Wh-What...?" There was that look of concern again but now there's another look. Recognition...

Whatever. None of that right now. This is embarrassing!

"I-I said I love your company. Uh. Do you have a business card? I can let Bruce Wayne know about this."

Wordlessly, Danny gave an information card to Jason before that poor brick of a man just ran out of there, not once even looking back. Honestly, from the way it's playing out in Jason's head right now, he feels like a princess running away from her prince at the stroke of midnight. The earpiece crackled before a voice started to speak.

"Jason? What the hell was that?" Bruce's voice questioned.

It was only when Jason left the gymnasium that he answered, "Me digging my own grave for the second time, old man. Let me go die in peace."

"No, no," Dick's voice chimed in, "Only after we replay that very short conversation about 50,000 times. Thank you very much."

Jason only groaned in response.

Danny, back in the gymnasium, only stared at the door that Jason left from in horror. The only way for people to react that way to him like that is for them to be dead or liminal. Now he has to figure out a way to tell Bruce Wayne that this person that he seems to know is a little bit dead!

This actually is a part of whatever the fuck I'm writing. I'm still thinking of a fic name. But all of the random posts go together in some way.

[nuadaargetlamh]

One is a convicted criminal that wants to:

Institute a dictatorship “on day one only” (with majority support from his party!)

Give a greenlight to Project 2025

Use a weakened Schedule F to install THOUSANDS of cronies

Institute military tribunals for his political enemies (and allies!)

Gun down “enemies from within”

Support Russia in wiping Ukraine off the map

Use the combo of the removal of the Chevron deference/the Supreme Court allowing people to openly bribe them/Schedule F to extend the far-right’s reach into every government agency and deregulate everything to the benefit of his rich capitalist buddies

Has gotten total immunity for “official acts” (what counts as “official”? Whatever his Schedule F appointed judges choose of course.)

Already took away so many freedoms from racial minorities/queer people/women/anyone-that-isn’t-a-rich-white-man that it would take ages to list them all in this post

and so so so so SO MUCH MORE.

The other is a typical neoliberal politician.

Remember also, you’re not just choosing a president, you’re choosing their cabinet, potential Supreme Court justices, federal employees as well. With the above listed ALONE, Trump would do so much more damage than just what he can do himself. That’s not including everything else his Federalist Society Supreme Court would and have given him on a silver platter. Supreme Court Justices are for LIFE, and we’ve already seen the potentially irreparable damage this far-right activist court has done to the fabric of democracy.

Project 2025 really deserves a part to itself just to list some of what it includes: complete abortion/contraceptive ban (no exceptions), destroying worker’s unions and protections, remove Social Security/Medicare/Affordable Care Act, end civil rights protections in government, ban teaching the history of slavery, remove climate protections while gutting the EPA, end equal marriage and enforce the “traditional family ideal”, use the military to gun down protests, mass deportation of legal immigrants (especially Muslims), ending birthright citizenship, pack the lower courts, and plenty more. The far-right wasn’t able to take full advantage of Trump’s presidency the first time since it was so unexpected. They’re preparing so that they won’t make the same mistake again. THERE ARE OVER 900 PAGES OF POLICIES AND PLANS THAT THEY ABSOLUTELY WILL IMPLEMENT IF THEY WIN. READ IT. Anyone that says they won’t is either a liar or already drank the Kool-Aid. Isn’t it interesting that every politician that supports it, including his vice president, wants Trump to win?

Not to mention, if you care about Palestine (like I do, a lot), Trump would be MUCH WORSE for Palestine than the other candidate, supporting Bibi going “from the river to the sea” and already cut off millions in aid to Palestine in 2018 (which Dems reversed!). If you support a free Palestine and don’t vote blue, you have categorically hurt them more than if you did. Even Palestinians themselves want the Democrat candidate over Trump. There is no quick and bloodless peace deal that both Palestine and Israel would ever agree to. The road to an end of the Palestine-Israel conflict is going to be long and difficult, probably decades of dedicated de-radicalization in both states, and will involve far more than one person’s decisions in the end. Unless Trump takes power, and avoids all that by sending enough bombs to turn the Gaza Strip into dust.

There are a few reasons you would choose to vote third party in a FPTP system (support ranked choice voting btw) or not vote “in protest” while ignoring all the state and local elections that affect your area more than the president. Either you’re privileged enough to not be affected by what Trump would bring, you’re ignorant of the consequences, or you care more about doing nothing perfectly rather than doing something, anything that isn’t 100% ideologically “pure” to fight against the far-right fascist movement.

Am I a democratic socialist? Yes. Am I a realist? Also yes. In every single down-ballot race, and through my activism, I will fight for the rights of the oppressed and working-class. But the Presidency isn’t fucking winnable right now, and probably won’t be for decades. Pro-corporatist/anti-worker sentiment is baked into the fucking bones of this country and its people. A majority of eligible voters wouldn’t vote for Bernie, and he’s barely center-left. Voting for anything other than one of the two big parties is a useless feel-good gesture at the moment. Or you’re a dumbass accelerationist, and if you are, honestly go fuck yourself.

Let’s say you want a socialist revolution, full-tilt government takeover. I want that too, in my wildest dreams! We’re on the same page there. So how are you going to do it. How? HOW? What pro-worker activist groups are you working with? Are you encouraging your workplace to form a union? Volunteering for/donating to your local farmers’ co-op? Canvassing for pro-worker legislation? Hell, even something as small as distributing free copies of high-school/college textbooks, so that those of poorer means have a better chance at affording advanced education? Are you doing anything to help? Any praxis at all, rather than typing wishful thoughts of revolution alongside insults to people who aren’t as “correct” as you on the internet?

Every voter that still supports Trump is energized by every cruelty he enacts, while millions of Democrats and third-partyists care more about purity tests and manifesting socialist revolution tulpas than avoiding a fascist dictatorship.

Have a brain, touch grass, and vote blue all the way down that fucking ballot.

[cripplecharacters]

Writing Profoundly Intellectually Disabled Characters

[Plain Text: Writing Profoundly Intellectually Disabled Characters]

While there is a glaring lack of intellectually disabled characters - except maybe big, physically strong, white men who can’t “tell right from wrong” or have a personality - in all sorts of media, specifically profoundly intellectually disabled characters are next to non-existent, with the existing ones being used more often as plot devices rather than portrayed as human beings.

This does make a degree (and not more) of sense considering that 85% of ID people have it mild, 10% moderate, 3.5% severe and only 1.5% has profound ID, the larger group inevitably gets more representation (which doesn’t make it good, but it does exist). However, it hopefully doesn’t need explaining that minorities deserve to be represented too (...and represented well), so this is what this post will be about.

Please don’t treat this as your only source on writing a character like this (even though I’m willing to bet it’s the only one like this, at least on tumblr), do your research and always check other sources.

Also, for clarity: intellectual disability isn't an umberalla term for "mental/brain disability". It's a specific, singular diagnosis that used to be known as "mental [r slur]". It's not the same as brain damage, autism, dementia, dyslexia, and anything else that's not specifically "intellectual disability". It's something that you are either born with or acquire early in life.

How do I Include Them in the Story?

[Plain Text: How do I include them in the story?]

A profoundly ID person will spend the majority of their time either at home or in some sort of care facility since they will require 24/7 help. The easiest role to put them in is probably a family member of another character. I've mentioned on this blog before that the "ID characters always end up as the annoying younger sibling" thing is overdone, but none of these necessarily have to be true for this suggestion to work (especially not the "annoying" part).

A non-ID character could have an intellectually disabled older sibling, twin, cousin, uncle/aunt, the sibling of a grandparent, etc. Seriously - a severely disabled person can be an adult, or even an elder. Just not as a parent, since a profoundly disabled person can't consent (a lot of ID people very much can, but this is the one disability where your level of functioning is baked into the exact diagnosis - profound ID comes with the inability to consent/understand the consequences enough to consent).

"They're a family member" is basically the easiest "excuse" to include a profoundly intellectually disabled in a story (and, as a bonus, you don't have to figure out how the other character would react to meeting them for the first time, since they probably knew each other for a long time already).

If your story isn't about the profoundly disabled character and instead just features them as a character, it would be much easier to not make the other character their primary caregiver. It's simply a ton of work and the character wouldn't have time for fighting dragons and whatnot - it'd be easier to have the abled character spend time with the disabled character at home (or care facility; you can very much visit someone in one) hanging out rather than actually doing the caregiving part.

Outside of a home and a care facility, there are also day care programs that some people might attend. This is the rarest solution out of the three mainly because of financial reasons, but also these resources aren’t as common for people who can’t walk, learn self-care, etc. Going to one takes time (the profoundly disabled person isn’t gonna walk there by themselves) and probably requires a specialized van (that you can bring a wheelchair in, which is incredibly expensive). Most day care programs are focused on people who are moderately or severely ID at most. One made for profoundly ID people would require 1:1 aides, which generally means the programs are much smaller for logistical reasons, but also even more expensive. For most people, too expensive without funding. Basically, this is an option, but you have to consider your character’s financial situation and/or what kind of financial support do disabled people get where they live.

Another way is having the disabled character in some sort of high position - in real life there were quite a few cases of profoundly and severely intellectually disabled royalty. Depending on the place and time there might have been pressure to not let the public see them, but this wasn't always the case. The biggest example of the latter was probably Emperor An of Jin (the first Jin, Eastern one) who was, as his title suggests, crowned at some point. He didn’t actually rule (his uncle did) but yes, you can have a severely disabled person as the head of a monarchy, it’s not without precedent.

In fiction you can do whatever you want anyway when it comes to ableism, you can have it be there, or you can have it not be there - and if it does exist then there are still different kinds of ableism you can portray that aren't the "literally killing-the-disabled-baby/hiding-them-in-some-dungeon level of eugenics" kind. Maybe a rich family who cares about their image would actually be unable to shut up about their kid to show how "saint-like" they are for caring for the disabled - it is unfortunately realistic, and can be a potential way to have the character exist in public, not ignore ableism, and also not go the aforementioned literally-just-murder route that writers usually do to show an ableist family.

Characterization

[Plain Text: Characterization]

Warning; the bar here is somewhere in the Earth's inner core. If your character has a single characteristic beyond aggressive/loud/unmanageable*, they're automatically at the top of most complex fictional representation of severely/profoundly ID characters. Congrats.

* - Some people are those things but, unsurprisingly, they're other things too. A lot of profoundly ID people can actually be completely quiet - you notice people who are loud because they're loud.

As with literally every character, you need to figure out what they like and not like. This can be quite literally anything, but try to think of the basic stuff. Do they have something they really enjoy eating (and conversely - something they refuse to eat)? Do they have some sort of comfort toy or object they don't want anyone touching (and maybe showing them playing with it with a different character could be a way to show how much they trust them)? In more modern settings, do they have a favorite show they always bug everyone to put on? Are they really clingy or do they hate physical contact (again, maybe they only enjoy it from a specific character)?

Another characterization could be comfort objects. A lot of profoundly ID people are autistic (which I'll touch on later) and will have an object that they bring everywhere the same way that non-ID autistic people might. There's nothing really specific here, just another layer of "this character is a Person". Maybe they have a blanket they really enjoy chewing because the texture feels good or some sort of plushie they like to throw around because it makes a sound they find funny. Lots of options. Maybe they have a personal “tell” to let others know they want their comfort object brought to them.

Keep in mind, you have to show this all in non-verbal manner. A profoundly ID person is probably not using any sort of AAC device (the most robust one I remember seeing right now was a low-tech one with "yes" and "no", but there are probably ones who operate on a larger amount of singular words). This is basically another opportunity for characterization - what do they do when they're happy - laugh, flap their arms, make sounds? - and when they're upset - scream, hit themselves, make different sounds? Obviously, you'd have to take other disabilities into account (e.g. many profoundly ID people won't move much, some might not be able to make much audible sound, etc.) but almost anything helps.

This brings us to…

Communication

[Plain Text: Communication]

An important thing (concept?) I'll throw here is "total communication", which can mean different things in different contexts, but here I'll use it to mean "using everything you can to communicate with someone who cannot do so in a ‘traditional’ way".

Communication can be categorized as having two sides; expressive and receptive. For most intellectually disabled people in general, receptive skills tend to be significantly higher than expressive ones, though there are specific disorders where it’s reversed or equal. As mentioned before, most profoundly ID people won’t speak orally, won’t use sign language, and won’t use AAC (though out of all three, AAC is the most likely one). Some might say single words, but that’s about it. It’s not a “physically mute but can write perfectly grammatically correct sentences” situation, it’s more of a “[single noun]” one, if anything. Receptive skills however are pretty decent (in comparison) and they would probably understand their name, the name/title of their carer(s), names of things they see every day, events they have some frame of reference to (e.g. if they grew up Christian, they would probably know what Christmas is), etc. Your other characters could (and should) talk to them like they can understand, even if they don’t catch everything or even most of it. I say a lot of “probably” there, but the people who can’t do so usually have other comorbidities, which I’ll mention later.

To go back to expressive communication, eye pointing can be used to figure out what the character wants. A change in breathing can be used to tell that a character got stressed. Throwing an object can be used as a hint that the character wants to play. Maybe them reaching towards person A means they want to eat, but reaching towards person B means they want them to sing a song for them. Maybe them making a particular face means they just had a seizure and need to be comforted. Whatever their "tells" like this might be, other characters who know them would probably be able to tell more-or-less what's going on - you don't have to go really in-depth, especially if it's a minor character, but figuring out the ways your character communicates with others will make it feel more like a person and not a Disabled Lamp (“if you can replace a disabled character with a lamp or a sick dog, they’re not a character”).

If you read some of these and go "that's a thing that a child would do" then you're not necessarily wrong. A profoundly ID adult might enjoy activities that primarily kids partake in. This is, I can't stress this enough, not the same as "mentally being a child". Otherwise, a whole bunch of adults on this very website would be "mental middle schoolers" based on the shows that they watch - but they're obviously not. A profoundly ID adult doesn't have the "mind of a baby" if their favorite game is throwing a toy, they have the mind of a profoundly intellectually disabled adult. Sometimes people assume that since ID people aren't mentally [incorrect age], they always "act their [actual] age" and essentially end up downplaying how much some people's ID affects them, when the point is that no matter what you do, you are your age. An ID character who is 26 years, incontinent, constantly puts their hand in their mouth, can't speak, whatever, is mentally 26 years old the same way that they would be if they had a wife and a mortgage.

For the last thing from this section I'll circle back to the assumption that all severely/profoundly ID people are loud, aggressive, etc. - as I said, some of them are (just like abled people). The thing is, this is not always an unreasonable response to being unable to communicate with the people who are caring for you. If you had a pressure sore but couldn't explain it to anyone you'd be pissed off and screaming too. That's an extreme example, but still applies. If someone is severely stressed out (for an abled person, this might be inheriting a ton of debt, for a profoundly ID person it can be a change in daily routine), they can lash out. It's an unpleasant but very much human reaction to have, even if what's behind the ID person's behavior is significantly different from what an average abled person might consider "a good reason".

So I guess my advice is, try to show some empathy to the character, even if they genuinely are loud and/or aggressive. Intellectually disabled people - including the profoundly disabled ones - aren't some alien species that is just mean and hates their caregivers for no reason, some just can't process their feelings the way an abled person might because of their disability. That's not to say that caregivers aren't allowed to feel frustrated - because they are - but that very severely disabled people aren't purposefully evil. As mentioned in the earlier parts, all behavior has a cause, just like for literally everyone. So if the character is being "unmanageable": maybe they aren't some cursed burden, maybe they're just stressed out of their mind and now someone they don't know that well is trying to do *something* to them, which they can't figure out because of their disability affecting their receptive language skills.

Resources and What to Keep in Mind

[Plain Text: Resources and What to Keep in Mind]

Some resources you might read about ID can be potentially misleading. Even if you specifically look for causes of the profound severity of intellectual disability, you will get results for mild ID. That's mainly because people with mild ID make up >85% of intellectually disabled people and those with profound ID make like 1%, so they're a minority in a minority.

Basically:

Down syndrome is a very unlikely cause. It's always listed as the main genetic cause of ID, but that's only true for mild and moderate severities. If you choose any of the common causes of ID make sure it actually has the symptoms you're looking for.

Most profoundly ID people will have either severe brain damage early in life (and this can come with cerebral palsy), cephalic disorders (e.g. microcephaly), genetic conditions that you've never heard of (e.g. Pallister-Killian or Emanuel syndromes, 3p deletion), genetic conditions that you've never heard of for a very understandable reason (e.g. X-linked intellectual disability-limb spasticity-retinal dystrophy-arginine vasopressin deficiency… there are hundreds named in this way), or just have it without a known cause. The last one happens much more often than people tend to assume.

For a reason I'll probably discover at some point, most disorders and syndromes that come with ID are said to have "autistic-like features" rather than being "comorbid with autism". In practice, it's the same thing. Your character is probably autistic.

In the same way, a lot of practical resources will assume that ID = moderate ID (since most mildly affected need no or minimal support, and severely/profoundly disabled ones are a small minority) so pay attention if you're looking at the right things. If it's talking about having a job, travelling alone, etc., then you got clickbaited.

Another subsection here will be comorbidities because there are a lot of them. I’ll mention the biggest ones.

Brain damage is the most common one (except autism) and can vary a lot. There is barely anything I can say about this one, it’s an enormous spectrum that for some people causes disability and for others barely affects their symptoms. Cerebral palsy, especially quadriplegic, is seen a lot and might affect the character’s mobility a lot. Some people might be unable to breathe or swallow and need a breathing or feeding tube.

Deafness and blindness are comorbid with a surprising amount of causes of ID. The thing is, you could take advice for deaf/blind characters as-in for a character that has both (e.g.) glaucoma and mild ID and not change much, but this doesn’t really work for a character who’s profoundly disabled like this. The situation that can happen here is that it’s not actually known if the person is or isn’t deaf or blind because they can’t tell you. As mentioned earlier, some people will have absent receptive communication skills. How do you verify if they’re deaf or just not reactive to language? Some people won’t react to even extremely loud sounds, even if they can hear them perfectly well (besides, a lot of deaf people can still hear some). Same for verifying if they are blind - obviously, sometimes there’s something visual going on, but often there isn’t. Especially since the main causes of both blindness and deafness will be brain-based, not ear- or eye-based. Another character not being sure if the disabled character is blind or just very uninterested in visual stimuli is a possibility, especially with less advanced medicine.  This is also why you might see those weird statistics of "between 5-90% of people with [condition] are deaf" kind.

Mobility is almost always severely affected. Some are fully mobile, but that’s simply not common. The average person will be unable to walk independently. It’s not always a muscle or nerve problem (though it absolutely can be), it’s mostly an issue of coordination. Because of this (and understanding physical space), operating a wheelchair (...successfully) might be impossible. This doesn’t mean you should just drop your character in a hospital wheelchair for them to get wheeled around because they will probably need a wheelchair that will actually support them - a headrest, ability to tilt, a harness, all that. This could be done with a powerchair (they can have controls on the back for a second person to operate), a manual wheelchair, or an adaptive stroller.

Now for resources;

One good resource I can recommend is SBSK (which I shared before), to my knowledge this is the only place that interviews severely and profoundly ID people (+their families) and the interviewer is great at actually interacting with many of them. 

Most resources on the practical things only ever talk about caregivers (who are very important) but completely ignore the actual person being cared for which IMO kinda defeats the point.

Good luck writing!

mod Sasza

[steveseddie]

when the clock strikes twelve

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles “midnight” & @steddiebingo 12 days of christmas mini event “carol” | rated: t | wc: 1000 | tags: different first meeting, post season 2, new year’s kiss

read on ao3

It’s five minutes to midnight when Steve steps into the bathroom at Tina’s house.

If he’d known that coming to her New Year’s Eve party would mean welcoming the new year alone in the same bathroom where his girlfriend called their relationship bullshit, Steve would’ve stayed home.

“If it isn’t the King of Hawkins,” a voice says, startling Steve and making him turn around, his heart hammering in his chest. But it’s not a demodog or fucking Billy Hargrove, just Eddie Munson sitting on the sink with his legs swinging back and forth.

“Munson.”

“Welcome to my office, Your Highness,” Eddie says with a dorky salute.

Steve glances around them. “Your office?”

“This is where I do business, you see,” he says, flipping the lid of his metal lunchbox. “Isn’t that why you’re here?”

Steve hangs a hand from his neck. “No, uh, I’m hiding from someone.”

Eddie perks up with interest. “Who?”

“Carol Perkins.”

“Your buddy Tommy’s girl?”

Steve’s nose wrinkles. “He’s not my buddy anymore and she’s not his girl either. And for some reason Carol thinks the best way to get back at him for being a dick is to kiss me at midnight.”

“And you don’t want that?” Steve shakes his head. “Thought you and Wheeler were done– or are you not over her yet? Don’t worry, big boy. There’s still time for that New Year’s resolution.”

“Shut up,” Steve says, a blush creeping up his cheeks. “It’s not about Nancy, I just don’t want to kiss the first girl who throws herself at me, you know?”

“I do not, Your Majesty,” Eddie says with an amused snort. “I’ve never participated in such activities.”

Steve tilts his head in question. “Kissing someone on New Year’s?”

Eddie looks away, nervously playing with a rip on his jeans. “Or you know, ever.”

He can’t see the way Steve’s eyebrows shoot up but he probably hears the surprise in his voice when he asks, “You’ve never kissed anyone?”

Eddie purses his lips. They’re nice lips, Steve observes. It’s a shame no one has kissed them. “No, Harrington. Go ahead and laugh it up,” he says, his voice clipped.

“I’m not laughing! I’m just–” Confused that someone as hot as you hasn’t kissed anyone. Steve clears his throat, his blush getting worse with that thought even if Eddie can’t read his mind. “I mean. Why haven’t you?”

Eddie scoffs. “People aren’t exactly lining up to kiss the town’s freak,” he says. Then hesitates before he adds, “Specifically guys.”

So the rumors about Munson are true. “Oh.”

The confession makes Steve blush, despite Eddie being the one who admitted something. He doesn’t know what to say. He’s afraid he’ll open his mouth and something stupid will come out. Something like– ‘I’m here! I’m a guy!’

So he stays silent, which makes Eddie wary.

“That’s it? You’re not gonna run? Call me names? Punch me?”

Steve can see that his shoulders are tense, his knuckles white where they’re gripping the sink tightly. It’s like he’s getting ready to run in case Steve reacts badly.

But running away or punching Eddie couldn’t be further away from what Steve wants to do right now.

“No, I–”

“Ten seconds to midnight!” Someone yells downstairs.

“I– I want to do something else,” Steve admits, his voice wavering slightly. He hesitantly steps closer to Eddie, who narrows his eyes.

“What?”

“Five seconds!” The same voice yells and the crowd joins the countdown.

“Four!”

Steve stands directly between Eddie’s legs.

“Three!”

He puts his hands on Eddie’s waist.

“Two!”

Steve raises his eyebrows in a silent question– is this okay?

“One!”

Eddie gives a tiny nod.

And then Steve swoops in, pressing his lips against Eddie’s as the crowd downstairs cheers and Eddie’s watch starts beeping.

Somewhere in the distance, fireworks go off but Steve could swear he can feel them inside him when Eddie kisses back, looping his arms around his neck.

Steve tilts his head, determined to give Eddie a good first kiss. He licks softly at his bottom lip, making him gasp. Then he kisses him a little harder, softly touching Eddie’s tongue with his, feeling the way he shudders.

He knows this is probably longer than the usual New Year’s kiss but Steve doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to stop. And apparently neither does Eddie, who pulls Steve closer and drags his teeth across his bottom lip.

It’s only when they need to breathe that they break apart.

Eddie’s eyes stay closed longer and only flutter open when Steve cups his neck and strokes an idle thumb against his jaw.

He decides that dazed and kiss-drunk are a good look on him.

“Happy New Year,” he says with a lopsided grin.

Eddie snorts amusedly. “Yeah, Happy New Year.”

The noise downstairs starts to die down. People are probably going back to drinking and dancing, maybe even leaving. He could easily slip out without running into Carol, but he doesn’t want to, not unless–

“Hey, uh, do you wanna get out of here?” Steve blurts out.

Eddie blinks. “Me?”

He can’t help but roll his eyes. “No, the other guy I just made out with in the bathroom.”

“And here I thought I was special,” Eddie says with pouty lips– fuck, Steve wants to kiss them again.

So he does. Just a quick press of lips.

When he pulls back, he places another small kiss to the corner of Eddie’s mouth.

“Say yes,” he says before doing the same on the other side. “And I’ll show you special.”

Steve hears the way Eddie’s breath hitches and feels a smirk teasing at his lips.

Only for it to be wiped away by Eddie grabbing him by his neck and pulling him in for more than a press of lips.

Damn, he’s a fast learner.

“Yes,” Eddie says once he pulls back, giving him a shit-eating grin.

Steve sends a silent ‘thank you’ to Carol Perkins before reaching for Eddie’s hand to drag him out of there.

[bluebirdsfeathers]

First Day

──────･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

Relationship: Ceo!Wanda X Butch!Loser!Reader

Summery: You are a new intern at Westview paper hoping to make a good first impression with you new boss, Wanda.

Words: 1.5k

Warnings: Classism, use of y/n nothing else

A/N: inspired by this post by @wandaslittlehorns this was meant to be short but I really like this idea, so this is just part one now haha.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

──────･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

──────･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

You shot up in bed, the sound of your alarm belting in your ears. Aimlessly you smacked your bedside table, though you weren’t sure if the collection of cardboard boxes next to your mattress on the ground could be considered one, you eventually found and turned it off. Grabbing your phone, you looked at the time. “Shit…” You groan. Somehow, you’d slept though both of your previous alarms, the one that woke you was intended to let you know it was time to leave.

Today was the first day of your new internship and now you were going to be late. Great first impression. Jumping to your feet you make your way to the bathroom, you don’t particularly smell so some time could be saved by forgoing a shower. You get dressed and drench yourself in axe body spray. Your wrinkled white shirt had a small stain that you hid by tucking it into your jeans. They were black so it wasn’t like you weren’t trying to look professional with your limited wardrobe and budget.

Before long you were riding the cramped subway drinking what was left of the monster energy you’d grabbed before leaving on you way to your first full-time job since graduating college. An internship at the Westview Paper wasn’t something you just got handed. You had worked hard but you were by no means the hardest worker. You did however have a talent for getting stuff done quickly, all the assignments you completed the night before could prove that. It was weird that you had gotten picked for this position, you could think of at least five more deserving people in your graduating class alone. Especially since you thought you bombed the last interview stage. She was in the room for that. Wanda Maximoff, the CEO of Westview Paper. Though she hadn’t spoken a word, just sat at the back of the room occasionally making notes while you were grilled by a very intense man in a far too expensive suit.

As you emerged from the subway, lost in a sea of other commuters, you scanned your surroundings for Westview Tower, the homebase of the Paper’s operations, now your place of work. Checking the time as you rushed through the spinning door you were revealed to see you were only three minutes late. Standing in the lobby you looked around at all the people cutting through clearly on a mission to get somewhere faster than any human reasonably could. Lots shouted down phones while others talked into earpieces, not a single person without coffee in hand. Slowly you made your way to the front desk, “Hi, I’m y/n… I’m part of the new internship.” You said sheepishly, embarrassed slightly you didn’t know where you were meant to be, you were sure it was probably mentioned in an email somewhere. “Do you know where…”

“Third floor, room 43B, you’re late by the way.” The women at the front desk didn’t even look at you, just continued to type on the computer and chew gum. “Right, sorry, Thank you.” You took a few steps toward the elevator before she spoke again, slightly too loud for the distance between you. “Forgetting something? You won’t get very far without this sweetie.” She dangles your employee badge, and you retreat to collect it, cringing slightly at the pet-name.

Finally, you were able to leave the sensory nightmare that was the lobby and enter the elevator. It was just you alone with your reflection in the mirror. Your hair was a mess. Have you looked like that the whole time? Is that why the receptionist was rude? Was she even being rude or is that just how people talk to each other here? You took a deep breath and tried to tidy your appearance, feeling much more self-conscious than you did ten minutes ago. The doors to the elevator opened to the Third floor and you set out on finding room 43B.

The room was easy enough to find and by the looks of things nothing had started yet. The other interns were all just talking amongst themselves, so you grabbed an office chair and joined the conversation. “So, y/n, did you do anything nice between graduation and now?” One of the male interns, the one with the most punchable face although it was a stiff competition, asked with a grating the tone of voice. “Oh well my parents took me to the Cheesecake Factory to celebrate,” the others laughed as if there was some joke everyone was in on but you, “Then we went to the cinema to watch the new Godzilla movie.” Again, laughter and you shifted awkwardly in your chair.

You weren’t left with the feeling for long as soon the door swung open and several very well-dressed people entered. Following what everyone else was doing you stood up and went over to great them. You went down the line of businessmen, each one either smelling like tobacco or overpriced cologne. You weren’t really looking them in the face as you made quick introductions, that was until you reached a hand with deep red nail polish. Lifting your head you met the gaze of Wanda Maximoff. She was dressed in a black suit with her white shirt slightly unbuttoned. Your brain buffered for a moment before you realised how long you’d been holding her hand. “Hi! I’m y/n.” You felt your cheeks heat up and quickly let go, painfully aware of how sweaty your palms now were. “Pleasure to meet you.” Wanda smiled while looking you in the eyes and you quickly became interested in looking at the floor, meaning you didn’t see how her eyes linger on you as she moved to great the next person.

What followed was a boring meeting about company goals for the next quarter, you tried to pay attention but felt your thoughts drifting to the events of earlier. It had quickly become evident you existed in a different tax bracket to everyone in the room. Your joyous memory of dinner and a movie now slightly tainted by comparison to the rewards of ski vacations and new designer goods your peers had received. While lost in thought your eyes found their way to Wanda as she once again sat at the back of the room and took notes. It was clear she’d paused her writing to look at you, catching you slightly slouched staring off into space. She shook her head disapprovingly, making you sit up straight instantly to which she gave a small laugh that only added to your embarrassment.

As the meeting drew to a close, you said your goodbyes to the higher ups, only managing a respectful nod in Wanda’s direction, before heading to lunch with the interns. “So, who do you think she’s going to pick?” Mildred, girl with the whitest teeth you’d ever seen, spoke to you in a hashed tone as you stood just outside the office room.

“Pick for what?”

“To be her personal intern? Were you not listening in there?” She sounded slightly annoyed. “We are all going to be assigned to different departments, so who do you think it’s going to be?”

“Oh, I don’t know…” You found yourself looking back into the room you’d just left; you could see Wanda talking to someone through the internal windows. She was beautiful, you’d love to be her intern, learning from the best. As she exited the room, she gave you one last look and a small wave before heading down the hall in the other direction. “Maybe it’ll be me.” You said without really thinking. Mildred scoffed and mumbled something under her breath before speeding off to catch up with the others.

The rest of the day was spent learning fire safety and being given a tour of the building. Passive aggressive comments from the other interns got less effective as you noticed you weren’t the only one receiving them and before you knew it you were back on the subway heading home. Getting off a stop early you decided to pick up a pizza as a reward for surviving your first day, the streets were a lot calmer near your apartment on the outskirts of the city, and the walk was enjoyable in the cool September weather. Your apartment was small, a studio with only the very basics, it was all you could afford on your previous job’s salary. But now you were going to be earning so much more, and you hand big plans for that first pay-check, like maybe a bed frame.

[osaemu]

GOJO SATORU: ❛❛ MEET ME IN THE AFTERGLOW ❜❜

.ೃ࿐ post-sukuna fight: no victory comes without a loss, and his win came at the cost of his eyesight

contents: fem!reader. some combination of hurt/comfort, angst, and fluff.

author's note: inspired by levi at the end of aot ꨄ︎

7:58 PM

satoru gojo had always had the best eyes. sorcerer, curse, human – you could search the whole world, and nobody else would even come close.

but the aftermath of satoru's fight with sukuna changed everything. after a long, painful battle, satoru came out on top, but at a great cost. his eyes.

dying wishes are powerful, especially from a curse as strong as sukuna. right before the king of curses was done for, he pooled everything he had left into a final attack to ensure that satoru gojo would never be the same. he succeeded.

now, almost a week after the fight, long after the dust settled and peace had reclaimed the jujutsu society, satoru still insists on wearing his blindfold around the clock.

no matter what you try or how you ask, he stubbornly refuses let you see underneath. actually, it'd be more accurate to say that he doesn't respond at all. after all, to your dismay, he's a master at avoiding questions and delaying answers.

you weren't even sure if there was any change to how he looked. maybe he looked the exact same underneath. maybe he had a couple scars. fuck, for all you knew he didn't even have eyes at all anymore.

you just wish he would let you see the new him. he doesn't even have it that bad – thanks to six-eyes, he can still see the silhouettes of cursed energy. and he wore a blindfold most days anyway, so it wasn't too much of a change.

which is why you weren't sure why he wouldn't just take the damn blindfold off.

"satoru, please let me see," you beg, tugging at his shirt sleeve. "i miss your pretty face. and honestly, who wears a blindfold to bed?"

he laughs at your incredulous question, but it sounds forced and unnatural. satoru tugs his arm away and waves you off. "let me take a shower, 'kay? i just got out of work, and i'm probably covered in germs."

you hate this new satoru – the one who won't let you get too close or even see his face anymore. he just won't open up to you, and it's frustrating. "satoru, please? let me in."

at the sound of your pleading voice, satoru rests one hand on the bathroom door and sighs before turning around to face you. he's smiling, but it seems so off – like all his smiles do nowadays.

"you try'n to watch me shower, sweetheart?" he cracks, running a hand through his hair. "i know you love seeing me naked, but-"

"satoru." 

"get off my dick," he grumbles lightly, before strolling into the bathroom and shutting the door behind him. maybe you imagine it, but you could swear that you hear the soft click of a lock turning.

10:34 PM

"good night, sweetheart," satoru mumbles, pressing his lips to your shoulder and rolling over onto his side. he still has his blindfold on, and the almost undetectable glow eminating from his skin shows that he has a very subtle form of limitless active.

it's been like this every night.

"satoru, can we talk?" you whisper, trailing a hand through his damp white hair. "please?"

"is it about the blindfold?"

"obviously."

he sighs and rolls over again to face you, the soft glow fading from his skin. "give it a rest, yeah?" he says, exasperated. "i'm not ready for anyone to see."

"satoru, even you don't know what your eyes look like under the blindfold," you murmur. "and do you really trust me that little?"

he lifts one of his hands and rests it on your shoulder, thumb tracing circles as he leans in and says "of course i trust you."

you shake your head and sit up, pressing your back against the headboard. "no, you don't."

"then why'd you as-"

"why do you sleep with limitless on now?" you interject, crossing your arms. "what happened to 'i never have limitless on around you'?" you whisper, quoting something he told you when you two first starting dating. back when he could look you in the eye.

satoru sighs again and sits up alongside you. "you know why."

"you seriously think i'd do that?"

"i..." he trails off, slipping a finger underneath his blindfold to rub one of his eyes. "i don't know. all i know is that i'm not ready for anyone to see me like... this." 

"satoru, you can't keep running away from everyone forever," you say, shaking your head again. "you-"

"i know, i know," he mutters. "it's not that simple."

he's stubborn – he always has been. and you're mostly used to it, which is why you know that the best way to get satoru to change his mind on something is to ease him into it instead of pushing and shoving.

so you switch gears, and instead of arguing more you reach out and take his hand. "what are you afraid of?"

"nothing. i'm the strongest," satoru replies automatically. the response sounds so automated, so pre-written that you can't help but smile. 

"okay," you say neutrally, trying to reword your question. "why don't you want to show me what your eyes look like? you've haven't even seen them yourself."

satoru smiles sourly and his hands curl into white-knuckled fists around the bedsheets. "and i never will. i'm blind now, remember, sweetheart?" his words are laced with bitterness, even (and especially) in the final word. 

but it wasn't you who satoru was resentful towards. it was himself. 

how could he have so foolishly let down his guard before sukuna was confirmed to be dead? how could he let his characteristic arrogance get the better of him? he made the same mistake when he was a teen, and now he's done it again as the strongest – although this event may have stripped him of his title.

a mixture of emotions crosses what little you can see of his face, and it's now more than ever that you wish you could be there for him. 

but he's the only one alive who knows what it's like to be the strongest.

so as much as you wish you could tell him that everything's going to be okay and that he'll always be the strongest, you know damn well that you don't know and that he might not be.

somehow, this conversation has evolved from your desire to see his face to something more.

a silent, mutual understanding passes between you and satoru, and the thickness in the air slowly dissolves. 

"sorry," you breathe. "i was being selfish, wasn't i?"

satoru shakes his head, a smile growing on his face. "nah, you're right. i don't even know what i look like."

he lifts a hand and slips his thumb underneath his blindfold, and after a brief moment of hesitation, slides it off.

to your surprise, satoru looks more or less the same. his eyes aren't cloudy and they still glow with that familiar bright blue. the only difference, which was expected, was how his eyes didn't quite settle on you. they were pointed in your direction, but his eyes didn't entirely focus on you.

"so?" satoru asks, running a finger over his eyes. "how bad is it?"

"satoru, you look the same."

he blinks and doesn't answer for a second, as if he's processing the information. "really?" he asks, an unreadable expression on his face.

"yep."

"oh. well, that was anticlimactic," satoru says with a lopsided grin. he leans forward and scoots down from his spot against the headboard, laying his head on a pillow and pulling you on top of his chest. "my bad."

"you idiot," you mumble, pressing your face into his neck. "i didn't get to see your pretty face for a whole week."

"ah, i believe it was only six days."

"and satoru, you even turned on limitless at night! the hell would i even do? cut your blindfold off in the middle of the night?" you grumble, looking up at him with narrowed eyes. "and i can't believe that the only reason you didn't want to show me your face is because you thought you weren't pretty anymore!"

satoru grins lazily and rests one of his hands on your waist, slipping a finger under the waistband of your shorts and idly rubbing your skin.  "keep venting, sweetheart. it's cute."

he laughs when you swat him with another pillow and pulls you in for a long kiss. and that's when you know that things might never go back to how they were in satoru's glory days. 

but as the night falls and slips away in satoru's arms, you think that maybe, just maybe, this works too.