#Non-standard Elevator
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meangan-thee-lesbian · 1 year ago
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It's just wild to me how That Study about lesbian domestic violence literally just said that lesbians are more likely to be victims of it & somehow everyone took that to mean lesbians are the main perpetrators of it🤔
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blunderpuff · 4 months ago
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idk, i think the Yemen sitch and the Columbia sitch are the same thing: rabid insane jewhatred that was given permission to fester without intervention bc it was politically inconvenient to intervene... and now the yeehaw dumbfucks in charge of the country are looking at this low-hanging fruit (that should have been nipped in the bud) and they're dealing with it in the stupidest, most objectionable ways possible... but at least someone is fucking dealing with it
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cera-chem · 2 years ago
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muletia · 5 months ago
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-`♡´- 𝐰𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐮𝐬
orion pax x human!reader x d-16 and a sprinkle of platonic x elita <3 pocket spouse au
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summary: finally, the time has come to meet your spouse! after joining the Pocket Spouse Program — an Earth-Cybertron friendship pact allowing humans to become partners to bots who wish to have their very own human to love, cherish, and treat as their soft, squishy spouses — you’ve been waiting for so long for your turn to come. and as it turns out, this long-awaited day is full of pleasant surprises <3
cw: fluff, canon divergence because tfo takes place bazilion years before humans, a little bit of jealousy and obsessive thoughts, possessiveness, implied polyamory, implied nsfw thoughts (nothing explicit thought)
word count: 3900
shot out to all the anons and non-anons who gave me a lot of great ideas for this au <3
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Armed with a travel bag filled with the most useful items and a backpack stuffed with supplies, you stand before the capsule-shaped elevator. You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself before stepping into the tight, enclosed space, and enter, sealing your fate. The doors close behind you, and without giving you even a second to prepare, the elevator descends rapidly, taking you towards your new life but not granting enough time to fully shake off the old one.
Not that there was much to shake off, considering you had willingly made the decision to join the Pocket Spouse program. Nothing was holding you on Earth, least of all luck, so you decided to seek it elsewhere. And as it happened, you chose to start your search on a planet inhabited by sentient, enormous, transforming robots who, apparently, had quite the fascination with humans. An extreme new beginning, but after hearing only good things about the living conditions and the way humans were treated with care, you figured — why not, if it meant living in luxury?
Of course, you had considered various scenarios in case the rumors turned out to be a sham. You could end up with anyone. A fetishist, a collector of exotic pets, a hoarder of toys. That was the unknown, stressful factor that the speed of the elevator gave you no chance to tame. The decision of which robotic spouse you would be assigned to also did not belong to you, so all you could do was hope for a stroke of luck that you’d end up with someone normal.
You don’t even have time to take another deep, reassuring breath when the capsule comes to a sharp stop, and almost immediately its sliding doors open.
You’re greeted by a metallic face with distinctly feminine features. Beautiful in its strange, alien way, but also serious. One look is enough to tell you that you’re dealing with a bot who is strict and has no tolerance for nonsense, but your first impression naturally shifts when your eyes and her optics meet. Her metal face softens almost instantly, easing your stress just enough for you to regain feeling in your legs. You step out toward the bot, onto a small platform designed specifically for a species of your size, and with each step, the bot seems to grow to an unsettlingly immense scale.
The room is small — or at least it seems that way as you try to translate its dimensions into the standards of the giants who inhabit this planet — and carelessly sterile in dark gray tones. There’s no doubt it was put together in a rush, without much thought, simply to exist and serve its function. Its barrenness is unsettling. So much for a luxurious life of doing nothing?
The bot straightens and pulls a datapad closer as she finally speaks. “[Name] [Last Name], I presume?” You still can’t get over how easily the metal of her face bends and flexes when needed, as if it were made of rubber.
“Exactly.”
She nods her helm. “My name is Elita One. I am the head of this mining sector, and I also hold responsibility for every pocket spouse assigned here. And unless there is a change in management, you answer to me, you listen to me, and you bring all future requests or orders to me.”
Oh. So you got assigned to the working class. Fine, you’ll adjust as soon as you get proper living conditions. “Alright.” The lack of warmth in her demeanor discourages you from wanting to engage in any future interactions, but if she’s your only lifeline to protection from potential mistreatment, you’ll treat her words as gospel. “Nice to meet you.” You smile and extend a hand toward her. She stares at you hesitantly for a moment before finally reaching out a single digit to complete the greeting.
“Likewise.”
Elita doesn’t withdraw her servo, though; instead, she straightens it and clasps her digits together, gesturing for you to climb onto her palm. “For safety.”
“Oh. Thanks.” You accept the invitation, though a red flag starts waving in your mind. You don’t remain on her servo for long, as Elita smoothly and carefully transfers you onto her shoulder.
“I advise you to be careful,” she warns. “Miners rarely interact with pocket spouses, so they might try to touch you or snatch you up in their servos. Do not try to stand, do not lean over, and above all, do not excite them. A simple wave of your hand is enough to send them into a frenzy. Understood?”
Alright, now the stress is back. You hadn’t expected such strong reactions towards humans, especially since this trend od getting pocket spouses was no longer new. “Wait. I thought pocket spouses were already a well-established concept on your planet.”
“Not in these parts,” she sighs. “On the surface, the sight of humans may not cause much of a stir, but things are different down here. For us miners, pocket spouses are a rarity. Only the best can afford them.”
Oh, so even among a highly advanced race of sentient robots, there was still a harmful caste system in place. “Oh, I’m sorry,” you stammer, because what else is there to say in this situation? When she shoots you a sour glance, you decide to change the subject, hoping to save your image from seeming callous and naïve. You clear your throat. “So, I assume you already have your own pocket spouse?”
She gives you a pointed side-eye. She saw right through your plan.
“Of course, I do. Do I need to repeat myself about being careful, or is everything clear?”
“Clear as day.” You don’t need to see her faceplate to know that this human phrase is unfamiliar to her. Feeling her impatient side-eye on you, you awkwardly correct yourself, “Yes.”
“Good. If you have anything else you’d like to know, now is the time to ask. I assure you, you won’t have time later.”
“My spouse. What are they like?”
“Spouses,” she corrects nonchalantly, not even looking up from her datapad, throwing you completely off.
“Spouses? Do I get one for free?”
Elita does not appreciate your attempt at humor. She sends you a sharp look.
“In a manner of speaking. Officially, a pocket spouse is assigned to a single bot, but there are cases of sharing. Or, if by some miracle, a human ends up with a conjunx. But I haven’t heard of such cases.”
Conjunx? That’s a new word, and it means absolutely nothing to you, but you decide to store it in your memory for later, too distracted by the fact that you’ve been assigned to a pair.
“Okay, I definitely wasn’t expecting that.”
“Does that make you uncomfortable?”
“No. I think? I don’t know yet, you caught me off guard.” You take a deep breath. You’ll manage. Somehow. “So, my spouses. What are they like?”
Elita’s expression darkens, and that, in turn, unsettles you. That couldn’t be a good sign.
“What is it? Did I get assigned to some creeps?”
“Worse,” she huffs. “D-16 is a decent mech and an exemplary miner, and officially, he is your spouse. But Orion —” she grips the datapad tighter as if restraining herself from an outburst “—Orion is the most foolish, irresponsible, and reckless bot on all of Cybertron. And if you think I’m exaggerating, you’re gravely mistaken. He attracts trouble like a magnet and throws himself into it because he is incorrigible. I almost pity you, really, because you couldn’t have gotten a worse match. Even Darkwing would have been a better spouse.”
But… as if fighting her own thoughts, she adds, “For all their recklessness… they worked very hard to have you, and I know they will treat you well. Perhaps clumsily at first, but well. That doesn’t change the fact that Orion has an empty canister instead of a processor, so if he does something idiotic, and he will, you are to report it to me immediately.”
Galncing at the datapad, she adds "Do you want to know anything else? We don't have much time for idle chatter."
"Just one thing. You mentioned that there's already a human in this sector. Can you arrange for us to meet sometime soon? It’d be nice to have occasional contact with someone like me."
"We'll see what can be done," she replies warily, clearly displeased with the idea. Her answer makes it obvious that there's a high chance you’ll be left hanging rather than meeting your fellow human, but you’re not giving up that easily.
"Thanks," you say. Out of politeness, feeling an even stronger urge to stay on her good side.
"Shall we begin?"
You take a deep breath. You’re doing this. You’re meeting your extraterrestrial partners, cementing your future on this planet. Your hesitation lasts only a moment — just a brief weighing of pros and cons, an instant of fighting the urge to turn around and run back to the elevator. Less than a second is all it takes for you to give your answer.
"Yes, I want to meet them."
"Be careful," she warns sharply, one last time. "I've worked too hard for this job to lose it now because of human irresponsibility."
Elita takes a step forward, and you have to grab onto her helm to keep your balance, but thankfully, an exaggerated optic-roll is her only reaction to the excess contact. The next steps aren’t as shocking; by the third, you’ve adjusted to the rhythm of the giant leading you to a set of sliding doors, which she opens with a button on the side.
Your pocket spouses certainly know how to make… an intriguing first impression.
Caught off guard by the sudden opening of the doors, they literally tumble into the room and land on the floor, shooting you a lightning-fast glance before scrambling to their pedes at record speed, straightening up as if nothing happened. Their excited grins grow quickly and they’re clearly contagious, because you feel your own lips curling into a smile.
They look masculine and young, as much as you can say that about beings whose tissues don’t age. What grabs your attention most is the bot with yellow optics. You haven’t seen such a unique color among their kind before. Maybe you haven’t met many bots yet, but you could swear most had blue optics. Interesting... You make a mental note to compliment those bright, captivating optics later.
Your gazes meet, and the mech with the unusual, beautiful optics parts his lips slightly. You get the feeling he wants to say something, but excitement completely paralyzes him.
"Well, that was a stunning performance. Was eavesdropping worth it?"
"Ahem, no... we weren't eavesdropping," Orion defends himself, though his gaze remains fixed on you.
"Forgive us, Elita, you just caught us off guard when you opened the door so suddenly," D-16 adds, having suddenly regained control over his body.
They step closer, as if hypnotized, drawn to minimizing the distance, but Elita halts them with an outstretched arm. They stop, but their lovestruck expressions make it clear that their minds are already revolving solely around you.
"Ugh, pull yourselves together," Elita scolds. "You won’t lay so much as a digit on your pocket spouse until you’ve listened to the protocol, so focus."
"Mhm, yeah, yeah."
"Now do you understand what I was talking about earlier?" she directs at you. "I wish you Primus' patience with these two airheads."
"Oh, come on, they’re quite charming," you remark — but it turns out to be unnecessary, as the eruption of joy at hearing your voice is nearly impossible for even Elita to suppress.
Both of them surge forward, their excited cheers and cooing echoing through the empty room, bombarding you with loud adoration.
"Didn’t I just say something about getting them worked up?!" Elita hisses at you, but the sharp tone doesn’t sit well with your partners, their expressions suddenly sober as they feel the instinct to stand in your defense.
"Elita, leave them alone," Orion intervenes. "They’ve done nothing wrong."
"I knew this would happen," Elita sighs. "Enough. Let me recite the protocol so we can all go our separate ways, because I don’t have time to babysit all of you."
She looks at the two mechs before her to make sure they’re listening, but it quickly becomes evident they have no intention of cooperating today.
"Primus, focus! Do you think I have time to waste? Unlike you, empty cans, I have a ton of work to do and I'd like to finish it before my shift starts."
Still seeing their dazed, absentminded expressions, Elita decides to escalate.
"Do I have to take your pocket spouse away for you to finally pay attention?"
Orion snaps out of his trance first, alarmed at the idea of you being taken away.
"What? No, no! We’re listening now, boss."
"Next time, there won’t be a verbal warning. I’ll smack you both on the helms, and that’ll be the end of your pocket spouse respecting you."
Of course, a reprimanding servo-to-helm contact was unavoidable when it became clear they were drifting off again. But after the protocol was recited, a datapad signed, and you were informed that regular supplies of human fuel and clothing would be delivered to you, the long-awaited moment of your "eviction" from Elita’s shoulder finally arrived.
She steps closer to the two bots, who extend their servos with interlaced small digits toward you so you can transfer safely. Grabbing your bag, you carefully step from her shoulder onto their servo, at last entering physical contact with your spouses.
"You have a few clicks of free time before your shift starts," Elita informs them. "And if you’re even a nanoklik late, I swear you’ll be pulling overtime."
She gives you one last soft, almost sympathetic look, so out of place with her previous authoritative tone before leaving, closing the door behind her.
Two pairs of optics focus on you.
You gaze into them, sinking into the moment, finally understanding what Elita meant about their fascination with humans. Because looking into their dazzling optics, brimming with excitement and adoration, you find yourself experiencing that same fascination with their alien race, even though you’ve met other bots before.
You can truly call yourself a pocket spouse now, completely leaving your past life behind. And you sincerely hope this one will be better. That Orion and D-16 will make it so, though you have no guarantee.
"Hello," you say warmly.
"Hi," they reply almost simultaneously.
D-16 can’t hold back any longer. He extends his servo toward you, eager to finally acquaint himself with the texture of your body, but he hesitates the moment he feels you shiver ever so slightly, struck by your fear.
"Ah, I’m sorry, don’t be afraid," he says.
A bad start. A very bad start. He worries he’s already tainted your budding relationship, that his reckless excitement has scared you enough that you won’t give him a chance to open up. But you quickly soothe his fears.
"It’s okay, really. You can touch me if you want."
Their youthful, boyish excitement returns, softening their handsome metal faces — and your heart along with them.
"Just be careful," you remind them. "Humans are quite prone to accidental squishing."
"We’ll remember," D-16 promises. "We’d never hurt you. Right, Orion?"
"Of course. You’ll be completely safe with us."
"Alright, I believe you." Not entirely. You want to believe them. But if what Elita said was true, then they would stay true to their word if they worked so hard to be assigned a human. Only fools would deliberately destroy the fruits of their labor. "So? Do you want to touch your pocket spouse?"
Your pocket spouse. Your. Theirs. Theirs and only theirs.
It’s a dangerous thought for a miner, because the concept of ownership had been limited to just a recharge station and the locker next to it. Everything else was shared. Shared washracks, shared habsuites, shared berths for resting. There was no room for theirs.
But you were theirs. Truly, undeniably, and tangibly theirs. Only theirs. And they wanted it to stay that way. Theirs to touch, theirs to give attention to, theirs to talk to and compliment. Not for Jazz, not for Wheeljack, not for Sideswipe, and no longer for Elita. Theirs. It was beautiful and terrifying at the same time because you were burdening them with responsibilities they had never known before. Theirs. They couldn’t rely on anyone else anymore.
They exchange a brief, knowing glance. Theirs. They cannot ruin this. They cannot make mistakes. You have to like them, just as they instantly fell in love with you, and see them as good spouse material. They will show you that they can take care of you. Their pocket spouse. Theirs. Only theirs.
"What’s wrong? You don’t want to?" you ask teasingly, snapping them out of the traps of their own thoughts.
"Oh, Primus, of course we do. Very much. You have no idea how much," Orion confesses.
They were both brave, but it’s Orion who makes the first move. His servo finds your back, pressing against it with a single digit. Soft. Oh, so soft.
Once, he asked Elita what her pocket spouse felt like, and that was the answer he got. He didn’t understand it then. What was softness? What kind of sensation was it? What could he compare it to? But now… now he knew that softness was you, and you were softness. And if he could, he would never let you go.
"Wow, incredible. D, this is incredible, unlike anything else. You’re… extraordinary!"
He gently strokes your back, and you allow yourself to wrap your hand around his massive metal finger, which Orion welcomes with a beaming, delighted smile. How was it possible that your servo was even softer? Or maybe somewhere else, you were even softer still. He’d heard that humans and Cybertronians were compatible, and though he knows it’s not exactly proper to let his mind drift into impure, carnal territories so early in the relationship, cannot stop himself from dreaming of drowning in your softness. Wants to be surrounded by it. Wants to be suffocated by it. Wants to feel it after every shift, wake up in it and recharge.
Impatient with his partner’s sluggishness and selfishness, D-16 clicks his glossa.
"Move your digit, Pax, it’s my turn now."
It takes Orion a few nanokliks to pull himself away from his indecent thoughts. He doesn’t want to let you go, doesn’t want to be more than a few centimeters away from you ever again, but he knows D will smack him on the still-fresh sore spot left by Elita on his helm if he doesn’t pull his servo back. So he does. And immediately, he is consumed by an overwhelming sense of loneliness and emptiness, as if his life has suddenly become incomplete. He already wants to come back to you.
D-16’s reaction is similar. Awe at the new but pleasant texture manifests in his slightly parted intake and quick strokes across your back, searching for and discovering softness. Where your hand meets his digit, an incomparable warmth spreads, giving him a sense of completeness. You, him, and Orion. Three puzzle pieces that fit together perfectly, finally reunited after years of separation.
"I’m glad you like me," you laugh. "That’s a good start, huh?"
"It was good the moment we saw you," Orion says. "Really, we couldn’t have imagined a better pocket spouse."
"You’re too kind," you reply. You know they’re speaking from excitement, their minds weaving intricate visions and fantasies about life with a pocket spouse — visions that might not be so rosy in reality — but you don’t want to ruin it for them. Especially since you want to find a good life here, too. You want to be happy, regardless of the expectations they unknowingly place upon you. If they want to play house, you’ll join them. If they have a human fetish, you’ll indulge them in that too. "I think we’ll be happy together, won’t we? I’d like that."
"We will, for sure!" Orion assures enthusiastically.
"We know we’re just lousy miners, and you won’t have any luxuries," D-16 adds, earning a sharp elbow to the side from Orion. "I wasn’t finished, Pax." He elbows him back. "But we’ll do our best to make sure you have a good life with us. We’ll do everything for you. We’ll get… almost anything, but if you need something from the city, just say the word! Orion or I will get you food, clothes, whatever you need."
"Thanks, you’re sweet," you say, touched by their words. "I know I can’t do much, but maybe I can repay you somehow?"
"Just having you here is enough for now," D-16 says, smiling softly, enchanted by your question.
"Will you touch us again?" Orion asks, only to immediately receive a frustrated elbow. "What? They asked first."
D-16 pinches the bridge of his nose, unable to believe his partner’s tactlessness. Orion’s talent for making things worse had to affect you, it just had to. Just like every fragging time, it would fall on his shoulders to get them out of trouble, and in this case, to make sure you saw them as normal and worthy of being your spouses. They cannot mess this up. At any cost.
Which is why D is surprised when he hears your soft laughter. He lifts his servo from his faceplate and looks at you hopefully. So their relationship wasn’t ruined by Orion’s loose vocalizer?
"Of course. Come closer," you say, encouraging them further by crooking a finger.
Two massive faceplates move toward you simultaneously until they finally touch. They’re so close that you can stroke their cheeks, and so you do, slowly running your fingers over warm, living metal, drowning in their proximity. Orion and D-16 press into your hands, leaning into the comforting, though foreign, softness — now only theirs. Not for perching on Elita’s shoulder anymore. For them. Theirs to be petted, theirs to be embraced.
They could spend a lifetime in this room if it meant constant cheek-stroking and being spoiled by you. Oh, how they couldn’t wait for your shared life. Waking up with you. Coming back to their recharge stations after a hard day’s work, knowing someone was waiting for them. Spending time together. Telling you about Megatronus and Sentinel, showing off their merch, sharing every detail of their lives, and begging you to tell them about yours. About your planet, your interests, your human life — so they could make your life here as good as possible, desperately vying for your affection.
You will like them. You must. Because they already adored you, unconditionally devoted to their beloved pocket spouse. Theirs.
Relaxed and overwhelmed with contentment, they let their engines hum louder.
"Oh? You like this that much?" you ask, totaly not planning to exploit the bots’ ability to purr purely for your own selfish pleasure.
"Very much," Orion rumbles.
"You’re the best," D-16 adds.
For a moment, they open their optics, their gaze focused on you. And the trust flickering within them, the fervor of emotions burning away reason convinces you that you chose well by deciding to become a pocket spouse.
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artbyblastweave · 29 days ago
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Here's one change made by Watchmen (2009) that's basically a microcosm of everything I dislike about the film. After the reveal that Comedian was Laurie's father, Manhattan espouses the idea that in spite of his search for thermodynamic miracles in contexts devoid of life, his detachment from humanity blinded him to the chain of remarkable circumstances necessary for Laurie to exist; he returns to save earth because Earth produced Laurie, specifically, his ex-girlfriend and superheroine extraordinare.
In the comic, Laurie points out that the unlikelyhood of her own specificity isn't actually less unlikely than the circumstances by which billions of other people came to exist- and that, exactly, is Manhattan's point. He expressly extrapolates this logic to the rest of humanity- Earth is a miracle factory by virtue of being the one place that can support humans, all of whom have the exact same kind of contradictory history and interiority as Laurie, all of which he was paradoxically blinded to due to his power-induced self-absorption.
This, in turn, ties into one of the biggest ideas that the comic has regarding the superhero genre, which is that it's necessarily myopic, because it's very difficult to tell a superhero story that doesn't on some level implicitly buy into the idea that the superhero specifically is uniquely worthy of attention- the world contorts itself around the person who's name is on the cover. Structurally, non-superhero characters in superhero stories find themselves in an orbit; supporting cast members, love interests kept in the dark, civilians to be saved. Cape stories that deliberately defy this dynamic exist- Watchmen itself is one of them!- but are visibly positioning themselves opposite the standard assumptions of the genre by doing so. Many of the other characters embody this myopia. Rorschach's whole opening spiel is about how intellectually and morally elevated he is over the teeming masses, and his mask killer theory is fundamentally motivated by an ego-flattering desire for the neutered institution of costumed heroism to be relevant enough to sit at the center of a widespread conspiracy. Comedian's gleeful amorality is a means of justifying his horrible actions as the work of a man who's fundamentally above and smarter than every convention and concern of the little people. Dan is the most "normal" and in ways the most cynical about the change-making potential of heroism, but when he finds out about Hollis's murder it takes less than a second for him to start throwing his weight around and threatening Comedian-tier atrocities against the entire neighborhood- because Hollis was one of the characters who mattered. And, of course, Ozymandias, who positions himself as above the sophomoric dynamics of traditional superheroism, is nonetheless still pursuing a plan by which he, the Big Man Of History, unilaterally sacrifices countless nameless NPCS in order to trick the rest of the unthinking hordes into behaving themselves, eschewing anything remotely involving collective action. Almost everything untoward that happens in the book can be directly tied to a failure to internalize what Manhattan did- that other people are important. That everyone who gets blown up at the end of issue 11 could have been the subject of a whole comic book themselves.
But in the movie- which, for space, axed most of the supporting cast even in the ultimate cut- Jon's epiphany stops and starts with Laurie. She's not a microcosm of the miraculous phenomena of humanity at large, no, she specifically- a badass superheroine played by a Hollywood starlet- is just so very special and worth saving the planet over. The scene is adapted almost word for word, right up until the part about "you and everyone else." I guess you can infer that bit, given that from there Manhattan is still out to preserve human life in general, but nonetheless the scene now feels like it's reinforcing the exact logic that it was supposed to be arguing against- that only superheroes matter, and that only the interiority of superheroes can move the needle.
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blackstarlineage · 5 months ago
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25 Essential Principles for Black Conduct and Empowerment: A Garveyite Perspective
From a Garveyite perspective, Black people must uphold a code of conduct rooted in self-determination, unity, discipline, and economic independence to reclaim sovereignty and build a powerful Black world. Marcus Garvey emphasized that the liberation of Black people requires not just awareness but action, structure, and collective responsibility. Without a solid foundation of principles to guide conduct, Black people remain vulnerable to external control, disunity, and stagnation.
This analysis outlines 25 essential principles that Black people must adhere to for collective empowerment, ensuring that every aspect of life—from personal discipline to political strategy—aligns with Black self-reliance and Pan-African unity.
1. Prioritize Black Unity Over Petty Divisions
Black people must reject tribalism, nationality-based elitism, and class divisions that prevent global solidarity. Whether African, African American, Caribbean, or Afro-Latino, all Black people share a common struggle and destiny.
2. Be Loyal to Black Institutions, Not External Systems
Economic, educational, and political systems designed by non-Black entities often do not serve Black interests. Black people must build, support, and defend their own institutions to ensure self-governance.
3. Maintain Economic Discipline and Group Economics
Black people must spend, circulate, and invest money within their own communities rather than enriching non-Black businesses that do not support Black liberation. Wealth must serve the collective, not just the individual.
4. Reject Begging and Dependency
Garveyism teaches that self-reliance is the key to sovereignty. Seeking validation, reparations without self-building, or constant dependency on non-Black systems keeps Black people weak. We must create solutions, not wait for handouts.
5. Strengthen the Black Family Unit
A strong Black nation starts with strong families. Fatherhood, motherhood, and communal responsibility must be honoured. The intentional breakdown of the Black family is a tool of oppression, and reversing it is a revolutionary act.
6. Guard Black Cultural Identity Fiercely
Black culture must be protected from dilution, appropriation, and distortion. The global media industry manipulates Black culture for profit while degrading its revolutionary potential. Black people must reclaim their spiritual, artistic, and historical identities.
7. Reject Hyper-Consumerism and Materialism
Black empowerment is not measured by luxury brands, flashy lifestyles, or European standards of success. True power comes from ownership, land, and industry—not consumer status.
8. Develop Financial Literacy and Generational Wealth
Black people must prioritize financial education, investments, land ownership, and cooperative economics over short-term spending habits. Financial discipline determines power.
9. Master Self-Defense and Security
Black communities must be physically and strategically protected. Knowledge of self-defense, martial arts, and security strategies is essential to prevent exploitation, gentrification, and violence against Black people.
10. Respect and Elevate Black Women
Black women have always been at the forefront of liberation struggles. They must be honoured, protected, and empowered, while rejecting both misogyny and feminism that devalues traditional African family structures.
11. Reject White Validation and Seek Black Excellence
Seeking approval from white institutions, corporations, or governments weakens self-worth. Excellence must be defined on Black terms, not Western standards.
12. Eliminate Self-Hatred and Colourism
Black people must dismantle anti-Black programming, including colourism, texturism, and Eurocentric beauty standards. Loving Blackness is a revolutionary act.
13. Be Politically Aware but Not Emotionally Manipulated
Black people must engage in politics with strategic awareness, rather than blind emotional allegiance to parties that do not serve Black interests. Power is taken, not asked for.
14. Prioritize African Spirituality and Indigenous Practices
African spiritual systems have been demonized and replaced with religious systems that pacify Black resistance. Black people must reclaim ancestral knowledge and reject systems that promote blind obedience over empowerment.
15. Train Black Youth for Leadership and Legacy
Black children must be educated in liberation philosophy, economic empowerment, and self-discipline from an early age. The next generation must be trained, not just inspired.
16. Reject Degenerative Media and Narratives
Music, television, and films that promote self-destruction, hypersexuality, and violence against Black people must be rejected. Media that elevates, educates, and empowers Black minds must be supported.
17. Demand Accountability from Leaders
Black leaders—whether political, religious, or social—must be held to strict ethical and strategic standards. Personality cults and blind allegiance lead to betrayal and stagnation.
18. Build Pan-African Alliances Instead of Isolating Movements
No single Black community or nation can thrive alone. Black people worldwide must work together to secure land, resources, and industries.
19. Promote Self-Discipline and Mental Strength
A weak and undisciplined mind is easily controlled. Black people must master self-discipline in thought, habits, and actions to create a powerful global presence.
20. Reclaim the Warrior Spirit of Our Ancestors
African history is filled with warriors, revolutionaries, and empires that resisted colonization and slavery. Black people must embrace the warrior spirit rather than glorifying passivity.
21. Master Technology and Control the Digital Space
The future is digital, and Black people must own, develop, and master technology rather than being just consumers. Controlling media, cybersecurity, and AI is critical for sovereignty.
22. Protect and Defend Black Land and Resources
Black communities and nations must protect their land, agriculture, water sources, and raw materials from foreign control. Land ownership equals power.
23. Reject Integration as the Ultimate Goal
Integration into white society is not liberation. The goal must be nation-building, sovereignty, and Black self-governance, not assimilation.
24. Reject Criminality and Sabotage from Within
Internal destruction—whether through gang violence, betrayal, or corruption—keeps Black people weak. Code of conduct, integrity, and accountability must be upheld.
25. Make Black Consciousness and Excellence the New Standard
Mediocrity, victimhood, and aimless entertainment must be replaced with a culture of Black excellence, Pan-Africanism, and mastery of knowledge and power.
Conclusion: The Path to Black Sovereignty Is Discipline, Strategy, and Unity
From a Garveyite perspective, the liberation of Black people is not a dream but a responsibility. Without a strict code of conduct, discipline, and self-determination, Black people will remain vulnerable to exploitation, division, and external control.
Marcus Garvey built the largest Black organization in history because he understood that power comes from order, strategy, and a clear set of guiding principles. These 25 rules serve as a modern framework for achieving Black sovereignty, economic independence, and Pan-African unity.
The question is: Will we have the discipline to follow them?
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sunrisecaminus · 5 months ago
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Ultra Magnus x Government Agent Reader SFW
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Summary - Ultra Magnus falls in love with an human Agent after realizing she has a sweet side to her personality.
Warnings: Light Hurt/Comfort
Never have you ever thought you would be seeing real aliens when you first met the Autobots. Being one of the Agents from the US Government, you were assigned to see if Agent Fowler was doing his freaking job. That man has not gotten anything done to defeat the Decepticons that are trying to destroy the world. Now, you have been best friends with Fowler ever since college, but dang from what you have been hearing from your boss, he has been getting lazier and lazier. It was your job to see if he should be fired or not and get a replacement.
After a few months at the base, you have realized two things. One, the Autobots don't have enough recourses to even kill one Decepticon. Two, Fowler has been working his ass off for everyone to survive. Optimus was very kind to you when you arrived and introduced everyone to you. Ultra Magnus was professional, but you can tell he did not like your presence. The US government have been yelling at them about sitting on their afts, while also not providing anything for their survival. He has been warned by Fowler and Prime that humans don't understand what they were going through and so they will be very uncooperative if the bots even tried to explain themselves. "Prime sir, we should not be having anymore interference with these human leaders. Non of them have even came up once to listen to reason." He stared at Optimus with a pleading look, he didn't like to be similar to Ratchet, but he understood why Ratchet hated almost all humans. Optimus looked up from the data pad and gave him a stern look. "Ultra Magnus, I understand your lack of faith my friend, but you have to remember the humans that have helped us so far. Agent Fowler is one of the reasons we have not been kicked from this planet, the children have saved our lives, and Agent Y/n is here to help us get more supplies from the human's government if we give her reason that we are efficient enough."
Ultra Magnus hated that Optimus was right, but he was a bit suspicious of the last sentence. "I am sorry sir, but Agent y/n has not even once reported to the government in three month. I don't think we are up to her standards at all." Optimus closes his eyes to think. Magnus was right about that, you have not been really doing anything around the base except observe everyone's movements and work. Hell Ratchet has been quite annoyed by your presence since he has to stay at the base for most of the missions. He is holding on to you though, giving you hope. Only one person has been supportive of you, and that was Fowler. He told Optimus whole stories about you saving his sorry ass from college professors all the time. He told him many stories of you supporting him and even giving him a place to stay when he needed it the most. Fowler has said though you were a calculated person, and never really showed your emotions a lot. It was hard to tell if you are being nice or just straight cold. "We shall see Ultra Magnus, though I cannot confirm if she is as troubling as you say. I will talk to Agent Fowler once more, so please look over the kids."
When Optimus walked off, Magnus stayed around to make sure Miko wasn't going to prank Ratchet and helped Ralph with any questions he had about Cybertron. He than starts to hear the clicking of heels from the elevator. You had a clip board in hand and was already writing something down. Your h/c (hair color) hair looked all neat and your outfit seemed nice and custom made. Walking over to Ratchet, you ask for his latest findings from last night's mission and both of you started to talk about work. Honestly if Ratchet had a scale for which human was more annoying, you were probably around in the middle. He was able to keep a conversation with you, but from far away he would grumble about things he didn't like that you did. After a few minutes you walked over to Ralph and Ultra Magnus. You stood behind the couch and watched as Ralph was making a nice online form about his cultural findings. Of course, it wasn't public for other humans to see, but if he ever forgot about something he could always click over to his notes and see what he put down. "Ah, you are doing so well Ralph. Although you spells that wrong, the symbol you put down actually has a small line going across the bottom." You pointed out something on Ralph's computer and he gasps. "Oh crap! Your right! Dang I thought I studied that!" Magnus sees you smile for the first time. "Oh it's ok. It's impressive to see you learn so much already after only a week. Better than what I could do."
After you turn around, walking back to the railing from across the base to keep writing in your clip board, Magnus looks at Ralph confused. "What were you and Agent y/n talking about?" Ralph looks up at Magnus and shares his screen for him to see. "Oh? Y/n is teaching me how to read your alphabet! She knows a lot about Iaconian and helped me learn so I can surprise Optimus later! Don't tell him though." He couldn't believe what he was hearing. You knew Iaconian?! When did you have the time to learn such a difficult language?! Magnus couldn't help, but be flabbergasted by the fact you took the time to learn Iaconian and finally had enough. Did you like them or not? Why were you not reporting to your bosses and why haven't you left yet? You were only here to stay for a week…why haven't you left yet? He was getting to the bottom of it one way for another. He excuses himself and walks over to you. You see that a shadow surrounds your body and looks up. "Oh, good evening Ultra Magnus." You put your pen away and stood up straight to give your full attention to him. Magnus narrows his eyes and leans down just a smidge to be a bit closure to your frame. Look he may not like you, but at the very least he did not like intimidating people who are not Decepticons. "I need to speak with you Agent y/n. You have been keeping secrets from Prime and the rest of us, but now all of sudden you are learning Iaconian? What is your motivation?"
The smile that grew on your face made him a bit taken a back by the reaction. The smile looked nice on you, but he wasn't going to tell you that. "I have been monitoring everyone's work so I can give a long report to the government if they should give you their energon findings." WHAT?! The government had not only supplies, but they had the one resource they have been dying to get this whole time?! He clenched his hands into fists and looked angry. "You have energon is your procession? That stuff is useless for your species. Why didn't you report us being useful sooner. We could use those energon cubes to help give us more energy to fight for your planet." Before he could get even more angry, you put a hand up to shut him up. "Do not worry, I have already reported to them about you all working your hardest even with such little food. They needed a better report from me just in case you were pretending to be efficient for a week, so they have extended my stay for five months. At the end of my stay I will be in a very important meeting with all the higher ups to give my findings. Then they will happily give you all the crates they have by helicopter or by truck, just matters how much they are willing to give you." He could not believe this right now. This was the worse news he could get from you and he is trying not to go ape shit. "I understand this could be frustrating right now, but understand I am trying to poke them as much as I can to give you what you need. All of you have past the bar. In my book I would have given you everything by now after the first week. Right now I can't do anything but listen to their orders so you can be granted free supplies. Oh, and Optimus told me about where he lived back on Cybertron, I was curious about your culture so I had Bumblebee and Ralph help me learn. I am now known as one of the only human translators for Cybertronians and Humans. Luckily it seems you all already know English, though I would not have minded to be your spokes person."
This kind of made his anger fade…Your voice was not cold to him anymore. It seemed…sweet. This was the most care he has heard from you and it made him feel things he didn't want to feel. "W-well I appreciate you trying your best from what you have." Did he just stutter?! Oh Primus no, he needs to control himself. Why was he feeling such lovely feelings for you now?! He was just pissed a moment ago! You snapped him out of his staring and giggled. "Awe you are too kind. I need to go to Fowler now. I will see you before you all charge for the night, ok?" He nods and watches you leave. Your laugh was so cute. He needs to stop himself from feeling this way before he says something he is going to regret.
...
Bonus: Ratchet glares at Ultra Magnus while he scans him. "So a professional lady who works at the top has taken an interest in our species, her personality is a sweet yet serious person who gets the work done before she does anything else?" Sighing, Ratchet grabs his data pad and walks over to Ultra Magnus who looks at him for an answer to his condition. "You are not sick, you are just an idiot who fell in love with a fleshy."
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fiamat12 · 3 months ago
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Legal Anon back by Fia's request. Fia asked that I clarify several aspects of a proper NDA.
1. Length of the NDA- Non disclosure agreements have a length of time they last depending on the nature of the relationship and confidential information or both. Standard NDAs are 2-5 yrs. but others can last decades to a lifetime. The duration refers to the amount of time the person who signs it is required to stay silent on the matter (s). It does not refer to how long the person whose information is being concealed will need to continue to meet demands. Even when the demands are met, the person who signed the agreement is required to stay silent until the agreed upon date (usually several years). That's why you have tell all books long after there is public interest in a subject.
2. Obligations- what has become known as Luke's obligations are what is called a consideration legally. A consideration is what Luke offered to Antonia for her to sign the NDA. A consideration can be money, favors or anything of value including a promise, or an action. In Luke's case, it is believed he offered Antonia publicity to help her career. This type of consideration takes time to execute, so it was likely set to occur over several months. He has taken her to a number of celebrity events, provided social media support to attract traffic to her profile and facilitated press articles centered on her industry skills. I've discussed in other Asks how I believe the stipulations were extended beyond their initial end date, which can happen if a contract is renegotiated.
3-PR relationships. A PR relationship and a PR relationship as part of an NDA are distinctly different. A standard PR relationship is to generate media attention or promote a project, or to hide bad press and divert negative attention. It could be a one day stunt, a couple month dating situation or a longer term contract. The terms are typically flexible and one or both parties have an option to end it. A PR relationship as part of an NDA is a favor to the person being silenced. It is usually short term, lasting until the promised favors are given. The goal is to prevent the person from spreading untimely or unseemly information as opposed to covering up existing bad press. There is usually no project to promote rather, one person's image being elevated. The terms are typically rigid.
4- The Sohos NDAs. Signing an NDA after a breach of privacy issue, in this case after the Sorrento trip is unlikely. Luke would have needed to offer a consideration ahead of time where he agreed to pay for the vacation or give other favors in exchange for them not posting his location in real time or keeping his privacy as part of an NDA stipulation. It is not something he could impose on them afterwards for "bad behavior". His best option would be a breach of privacy lawsuit, and suing all your friends is costly, excessive and not the way to keep friends. His next best option is to get new friends.
Hope this is helpful! Thanks for letting me join in on the discourse. Hope to see Luke and Nicola together soon ❤️
Thank you! You covered it all. Just to add, I think if L could've paid A off, he would have. With that, I don't believe this 2nd round of obligations will last as long as the 1st, and we'll see Lukola at the Baftas 🥰
As for the length of the NDA, my guess is at least through the S4 release & rating periods. I think Lukola wanted to get out from under being the S3 leads and then the season after, there's always still attention on the former leads... but the more time goes on, the less important it will be, and people will forget A - as if people other than the fandom know who she is anyway 🤭
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bennetsbonnet · 1 month ago
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I think many people take the whole 'Darcy had not looked at Elizabeth properly before insulting her' as canon because it helps to explain what happens later. After all, Darcy finding Elizabeth too ordinary for a dance, and then later doing a complete 180 in a short space of time is absolutely non beliavable, imo
I suppose this is a response to this post about the 'tolerable' comment and why people seek to defend it. Not sure if you're agreeing that Darcy had not really looked at Elizabeth before insulting her (which is debatable, it could be argued as a snap judgment though even that would not excuse him) but regardless, Darcy not immediately being attracted to Elizabeth and subsequently changing his mind is evident in canon.
In isolation, you could say that Darcy's insult at the Meryton assembly was more of a snide remark about not wishing to elevate Elizabeth in the social pecking order rather than a lack of attraction on Darcy's part. However, the text tells us otherwise.
So, while I do think how he can make such a comment and still end up 'bewitched' by her is partly explained by the fact that Darcy hadn't actually looked at Elizabeth properly, and his overarching emotion at that moment was a refusal to have his pride hurt by being seen to be dancing with a plain country lady, who simple country gentlemen (far less illustrious personages than Darcy!) have already snubbed... combined with a snobbish belief that if he did dance with Elizabeth, it would be the most consequential thing that had ever happened to her and she would always be known in Meryton as the lady who danced with Mr Darcy (and we know he could not have been more wrong about Elizabeth, which makes it all the more satisfying)... there is more to it than that.
Darcy admits that he wasn't initially attracted to Elizabeth himself. I tend to believe this is credible, as though Mr Darcy does not always state exactly how he feels, it's reported by another and he does not refute it.
The evidence for this lack of initial attraction is not solely due to his comment at the Meryton assembly. It's found much later in Chapter 45, though evidently reporting on events shortly after the Meryton assembly, when Caroline says:
'... I remember, when we first knew her in Hertfordshire, how amazed we all were to find that she was a reputed beauty; and I particularly recollect your saying one night, after they had been dining at Netherfield, "She a beauty!—I should as soon call her mother a wit." But afterwards she seemed to improve on you, and I believe you thought her rather pretty at one time.' 'Yes,' replied Darcy, who could contain himself no longer, 'but that was only when I first saw her, for it is many months since I have considered her as one of the handsomest women of my acquaintance.'
So we have an account from Caroline of Darcy making a joke about Elizabeth's looks and Mr Bennet's lack of decorum, and Darcy seemingly admitting that he indeed did not think much of Elizabeth at first.
Now, I would say that could be excused away as a joke at Mrs Bennet's expense if it had occurred perhaps immediately after the Meryton assembly... but this is clearly after at least a second meeting, which we know happens, as Elizabeth tells Charlotte during the party at Lucas Lodge in Chapter 6 that Jane and Bingley have met 'tolerably often,' that Jane 'saw him one morning at his own house, and has since dined with him in company four times, and expands that they have spent 'four evenings' together which 'have enabled them to ascertain that they both like Vingt-un better than Commerce.' We can assume that Elizabeth and Darcy would also have been present on these evenings.
The joke also is unlikely to have occured Elizabeth stayed at Netherfield and dined with them during Jane's illness, as Darcy had already admitted that appreciated Elizabeth's 'pair of fine eyes' and called her pretty to Caroline, and he did seem to be making more effort with her then (by his abysmal standards).
So, I think it's pretty clear that Darcy indeed didn't think much of Elizabeth initially in regard to her looks. Which I suppose is no great shock, given that Darcy will have been exposed to the crème de la crème in London. But it further demonstrates how dazzling Elizabeth's personality was that she stood out to him. Also, it's no reflection whatsoever on Elizabeth that she didn't stand out at first, because a) Darcy is a snob who finds a reason to dislike almost everyone and b) Darcy would have been used to seeing far wealthier women dressed in the latest fashion trends, with access to better materials than Elizabeth would have been able to obtain from Meryton. So even though he doesn't seem particularly fond of women that try too hard (in his mind) he's still a snob who has a certain notion of how ladies should dress.
The exchange I cited where Darcy finally stands up to Caroline regarding Elizabeth illustrates not just his changing attraction towards Elizabeth, but also it demonstrates his growth as a person as he would've joined in with Caroline's remarks months ago but now he is disgusted by her behaviour. It's one of the many ways, in my opinion, that Jane Austen did an exceptional job of selling his redemption. She did not making him so irredeemable that it is impossible to root for him and think him unworthy of Elizabeth. Both of them were flawed and had to grow as people.
Personally I actually adore that Elizabeth and Darcy were not instantly drawn to each other, (though, of course, not at all how Darcy went about expressing it) as to me it shows it wasn't merely lust at first sight, they both had to work through some things. Plus, given their obstinacy, such a courtship seems, to me, the natural way both Darcy and Elizabeth would have chosen their spouses and ultimately, it also feels like the kind of relationship that you really believe will last. They know each other's flaws and they still love each other regardless. Very romantic and believable, to me!
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reasonsforhope · 1 year ago
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Interior Department Announces New Guidance to Honor and Elevate Hawaiian Language
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"In commemoration of Mahina ʻŌlelo Hawaiʻi, or Hawaiian Language Month, and in recognition of its unique relationship with the Native Hawaiian Community, the Department of the Interior today announced new guidance on the use of the Hawaiian language.  
A comprehensive new Departmental Manual chapter underscores the Department’s commitment to further integrating Indigenous Knowledge and cultural practices into conservation stewardship.  
“Prioritizing the preservation of the Hawaiian language and culture and elevating Indigenous Knowledge is central to the Biden-Harris administration's work to meet the unique needs of the Native Hawaiian Community,” said Secretary Deb Haaland. “As we deploy historic resources to Hawaiʻi from President Biden’s Investing in America agenda, the Interior Department is committed to ensuring our internal policies and communications use accurate language and data."  
Department bureaus and offices that engage in communication with the Native Hawaiian Community or produce documentation addressing places, resources, actions or interests in Hawaiʻi will use the new guidance on ‘ōlelo Hawaiʻi (Hawaiian language) for various identifications and references, including flora and fauna, cultural sites, geographic place names, and government units within the state.  The guidance recognizes the evolving nature of ‘ōlelo Hawaiʻi and acknowledges the absence of a single authoritative source. While the Hawaiian Dictionary (Pukui & Elbert 2003) is designated as the baseline standard for non-geographic words and place names, Department bureaus and offices are encouraged to consult other standard works, as well as the Board on Geographic Names database.  
Developed collaboratively and informed by ʻōlelo Hawaiʻi practitioners, instructors and advocates, the new guidance emerged from virtual consultation sessions and public comment in 2023 with the Native Hawaiian Community. 
The new guidance aligns with the Biden-Harris administration’s commitment to strengthening relationships with the Native Hawaiian Community through efforts such as the Kapapahuliau Climate Resilience Program and Hawaiian Forest Bird Keystone Initiative. During her trip to Hawaiʻi in June, Secretary Haaland emphasized recognizing and including Indigenous Knowledge, promoting co-stewardship, protecting sacred sites, and recommitting to meaningful and robust consultation with the Native Hawaiian Community."
-via US Department of the Interior press release, February 1, 2024
--
Note: I'm an editor so I have no idea whether this comes off like as big a deal as it potentially is. But it is potentially going to establish and massively accelerate the adoption of correctly written Native Hawaiian language, as determined by Native Hawaiians.
Basically US government communications, documentations, and "style guides" (sets of rules to follow about how to write/format/publish something, etc.) can be incredibly influential, especially for topics where there isn't much other official guidance. This rule means that all government documents that mention Hawai'i, places in Hawai'i, Hawaiian plants and animals, etc. will have to be written the way Native Hawaiians say it should be written, and the correct way of writing Hawaiian conveys a lot more information about how the words are pronounced, too, which could spread correct pronunciations more widely.
It also means that, as far as the US government is concerned, this is The Correct Way to Write the Hawaiian Language. Which, as an editor who just read the guidance document, is super important. That's because you need the 'okina (' in words) and kahakō in order to tell apart sizeable sets of different words, because Hawaiian uses so many fewer consonants, they need more of other types of different sounds.
And the US government official policy on how to write Hawaiian is exactly what editors, publishers, newspapers, and magazines are going to look at, sooner or later, because it's what style guides are looking at. Style guides are the official various sets of rules that books/publications follow; they're also incredibly detailed - the one used for almost all book publishing, for example, the Chicago Manual of Style (CMoS), is over a thousand pages long.
One of the things that CMoS does is tell you the basic rules of and what specialist further sources they think you should use for writing different languages. They have a whole chapter dedicated to this. It's not that impressive on non-European languages yet, but we're due for a new edition (the 18th) of CMoS in the next oh two to four years, probably? Actually numbering wise they'd be due for one this year, except presumably they would've announced it by now if that was the case.
I'm expecting one of the biggest revisions to the 18th edition to add much more comprehensive guidance on non-Western languages. Considering how far we've come since 2017, when the last one was released, I'll be judging the shit out of them if they do otherwise. (And CMoS actually keep with the times decently enough.)
Which means, as long as there's at least a year or two for these new rules/spellings/orthographies to establish themselves before the next edition comes out, it's likely that just about every (legit) publisher will start using the new rules/spellings/orthographies.
And of course, it would expand much further from there.
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nanamineedstherapy · 3 months ago
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Third Wheeling Your Own Marriage
F!Non-Sorceress CEO Reader x Gojo Satoru x Nanami Kento F!CHRO Reader x Higuruma Hiromi
Summary: You should be overjoyed that Gojo Satoru & Nanami Kento are your husbands. But you feel your skin crawl as you become the third wheel in your own marriage.
Previous Chapter 21 (alt ending 2.12) - What the Living Do - Part 1 - (Tumblr/Ao3)
Chapter 21 (alt ending 2.12) - What the Living Do - Part 2
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Penthouse Building: Common Biophilic Garden
The garden was your favorite part of the penthouse complex—not just because you’d sunk an obscene amount of yen into modifying it but because it was the perfect blend of opulence and function. The entire space was a biophilic marvel: traditional Japanese landscaping with ecologically responsible elements—an elevated koi pond with a self-cleaning filtration system, bonsai grown from ethically sourced seeds, and a digitally controlled hydroponic system that saved 40% more water than conventional methods, so efficient it made environmentalists weep.
And birds naturally came there. So many fucking birds.
That part had been for Takahashi—currently tethered to his full-body Hermès leash (because Gojo insisted all his kids would have standards). 
Your eldritch albino toddler raccoon was crouched by the pond, chittering at a sparrow like a demonic wind-up toy. Except instead of chasing it, he was dunking a rock into the water over and over, as if conducting a cursed baptism.
You weren’t sure what this meant, but you were sure that the leash had bite marks on it.
“Jr., if you’re planning another jailbreak, I will revoke your snail-watching privileges.” You warned.
Takahashi froze. Then, with deliberate slowness, he shoved the rock into the pond.
You narrowed your eyes. "That’s what I thought."
A ping from your laptop cut the standoff.
You adjusted your posture on the hand-carved bench—ergonomic, sustainably sourced, and stupidly expensive—and flicked open the screen.
Subject: HUSBANDS: THE HORROR
From: Dove (Game Dev - Main Villain Branch) Attachments: 2 Files
The second Nanami’s rendered face loaded, you choked on your sparkling yuzu water.
There he was: pixel-perfect, brow furrowed with enough disdain to vaporize a lesser CEO.
Incoming video call: Dove.
You accepted. “Dove. My husband looks like he just smelled a bankruptcy filing. Perfect.”
“I know, right?” Dove cackled. “I even added a forehead vein expansion feature that activates every time the player breathes incorrectly in his vicinity.”
“Good. But his eyes are wrong.”
“They’re hazel…? I swear I saw it when he dropkicked Jeremy into the VR rig and fixed his cuffs.”
Shit. You couldn’t outright say golden—too many old photos might resurface. “They are brown, but add a luminous amber filter for combat mode. Subtle. Like… sunlight through honey whiskey.”
Dove squinted. “So they’re brown.”
“They are, but they have this subtle henna-like green tint. If you look closely, it’s his soft expressions—or maybe his aura—that makes them feel warm.”
A pause. Then you smirked. “I know, right? Fake-ass tsundere—”
Behind the koi pond, hidden among the manicured sakura trees, Gojo Satoru had officially transcended human function.
He’d been lurking—silent, technically obedient—hovering behind a row of blossoms, dressed down in a suspiciously casual black sweater and joggers, not making his presence known because, technically, today was Nanami’s day, and only Nanami was allowed to speak to you.
He knew this.
He respected this. (Tolerated at best.)
Gojo hadn’t meant to hover like a deprived Victorian ghost, but he’d spotted you by pure accident.
—He had been bored, searching for some other unsuspecting billionaire in the building to annoy, probably that retired arms dealer lady and her husband. That was until your voice carried through the garden like a targeted auditory curse.
He hadn’t expected to hear you go off about Nanami’s eyes like you were writing a love letter with Pantone codes.
But the skirt.
The hoodie.
His hoodie. His wife. Sitting there, gorgeous, pregnant, absolutely radiant—
And you were talking about Nanami’s eyes.
Gojo knew his husband was attractive. Objectively. Infuriatingly. But you—his wife, his pregnant, glowing, hoodie-stealing wife—were dissecting Nanami’s irises like they held the secrets of the universe.
His own eyes were rarer! More ethereal! Six-Eyes-certified!
Then—
“Next. Gojo’s hair.”
Gojo perked up.
You scowled at the screen. “This hex code is dogshit. His hair isn’t chalk white—it’s lavender-tinted, with micro-tones of pink and heavy violet undertones.”
Gojo's mouth parted, eyes wider than the sun.
A sound escaped him—something between a whimper and a seismic event.
On autopilot, he stumbled to the nearest water feature, staring at his reflection. The artificial moonlight caught it just right—
Oh.
Oh shit.
His hair did have undertones.
You noticed that? You memorized it?
You paid that much attention?
He gripped a sakura branch for support, the delicate blossoms brushing against his fingers. He knew you were always the one.
But holy shit. Even he didn’t know his Pantone.
You continued, typing furiously, “It’s #F5F3FF base, #E6E6FA overlay, shifting to #BCD9FF and #C9D7FF in direct light—faded at the roots like he’s literally too powerful for permanent dye jobs—like his roots are rejecting permanence on principle—"
Gojo was going to die.
His knees bent. His hands shook. He needed air. He needed oxygen. He needed to—
You—you—were reciting his hair’s color theory while holding on to a Porsche Design P’3135 titanium pen between your teeth like it was a damn lollipop.
Gojo short-circuited so hard it was audible.
You were wearing his hoodie—stolen—and a skirt that, scientifically, was shorter than memory allowed. Your pregnant belly, now third-trimester terrifying in its special grade geometry, barely fit beneath the hem.
And you were multitasking: sketching UI wireframes for a proprietary neural interface update, taking a call with your lead visual dev, and accidentally killing Gojo with every “mm” and “no, that curve’s wrong.”
He wanted to yank that pen out of your mouth with his teeth and kiss you until your portfolio blurred.
But then—then—
"That's way too small," you huffed, suddenly.
Gojo stopped breathing. His brain rebooted with a Windows error chime.
Dove, oblivious, hummed through. “Yeah? You think it should be bigger?”
“Obviously,” you said.
Gojo twitched like a man struck by lightning.
“More?”
“Yes. More.”
A sharp inhale. His vision pixelated.
"No. Not... it's not curved like that."
Gojo stopped breathing.
“More—okay, hold it,” you said. “Now add gloss over it.”
Gloss. You said gloss.
Gojo was seconds away from crawling through mulch and pine needles to die in your lap.
A few meters behind, Nanami Kento arrived, Espresso Tonic with Charcoal Dusting in hand, brow already furrowed. He’d expected the garden. He’d expected Takahashi. He’d not expected his very pregnant wife sitting under moonlight in couture maternity wear complaining about “curve” and “gloss” with Gojo twitching in nearby foliage.
Nanami halted.
You were on a call.
Gojo was crouched like a burglar.
And Takahashi—who hated Gojo with nuclear intensity—was vibrating on his leash like he’d just rolled a natural 20 for Smite Sorcerer Trash Husband.
Shoko had warned them about hormones. But nothing—nothing—prepared either man for the way you moaned the words “more, more, more” while holding a titanium pen in your teeth and barking revisions to a multi-million-dollar UI overhaul.
Gojo looked like he was about to ascend to another plane of existence. Nanami looked like he was about to run away.
Then—Takahashi decided diplomacy was over.
The raccoon lunged, leash snapping taut, eyes glowing with ancestral rage. A tiny, furious hiss burst out like a battle cry.
Gojo’s head whipped around. He made direct eye contact with the raccoon. His lips moved in panic.
“No, no, no—shh. Shut up, little demon. This is not the time—”
It was too late.
You turned.
Your gaze locked on the tragic figure of Gojo, hiding like a rejected himbo behind ornamental trees. His snow-white hair caught the moonlight. His sweater clung to him like a fan edit.
Your eyes narrowed.
He tried to shrink. Takahashi puffed up, snarling like a raccoon possessed by Mahito.
Gojo sent him a desperate look.
Takahashi sneezed at him in disgust.
Nanami sat down beside you at the stone table, placing his drink with deliberate grace. "Well," he said calmly. "It seems the toddler leash is effective."
Gojo stumbled into the open like a man exiting confession. "Babe, listen—"
“You were lurking.”
“I—” He scratched his neck. “Okay. Yes. I was lurking. But you were talking about me.”
You blinked, unimpressed. “And what exactly did you think I was talking about?”
Nanami took another sip of his drink, watching like it was theatre.
Gojo broke eye contact. Mumbled something unintelligible.
You leaned in. “Come again?”
He exhaled, flushed. “I thought you were talking about my dick, okay?”
Silence.
Dove—still on the call, apparently—wheezed. “I’ll talk later, boss.” She hung up so fast you could hear her sprinting away to share the new gossip.
You stared at Gojo, scandalized. Then glanced at Nanami, who looked like he was trying to decide whether to lecture or laugh.
Gojo dropped onto the bench beside you with theatrical grief. “You—” he pointed, betrayed, “—you made me believe—”
Takahashi, now near the koi pond, let out an unholy screech that echoed off the stone walls like an ancient curse.
You smirked. “No, I was talking about your ass.”
Gojo blinked. “My what?”
“For fan service, Satoru,” you said, snapping your laptop shut. “We’ve got a TikTok collab with Dove’s team for the next console teaser. Your glutes are getting a close-up.”
Gojo opened his mouth, then closed it, then looked at Nanami like a betrayed second wife.
“You heard all that,” he said, horrified.
Nanami ran a hand through his unstyled hair. “Every word.”
Gojo groaned and dropped his face into your lap—where the small skirt was riding up—like he was hoping the twins would kick him into unconsciousness. You didn’t move, just twirled the pen between your fingers.
Takahashi, still glaring, made a noise so pointed Gojo flinched.
You eyed the raccoon. “He still hasn’t forgiven you.”
Gojo sat up, affronted. “For what?! I bought him a custom stroller and three kinds of duck jerky.”
“He knows,” you said, voice grim. “About the Roomba incident.”
“I—what Roomba incident?!”
Nanami looked away, mouth twitching.
You grinned. “Ask him.”
Gojo turned slowly toward the raccoon. “Takahashi... what the fuck did I do to you?”
Takahashi hissed, lifted his tiny paw, and smacked a pebble directly at Gojo’s shin.
Gojo yelped. “Nanami. He assaulted me. Did you see that?”
Nanami did not reply. He was already texting Shoko:
Update: He said “fuck” again. Raccoon remains hostile.
A few minutes later, the koi pond gurgled softly, an ambient counterpoint to the rustling of the sakura trees in the artificial breeze. Takahashi had finally abandoned his rock-drowning ritual and was now perched indignantly on your lap, munching on treats that Nanami had brought him. His tiny claws gripped your hoodie like a spoiled gremlin, and he continued to stare daggers at Gojo, who was still battling a spiritual crisis over the revelation that you had memorized the subtle tints of his hair.
Nanami, seated beside you, calmly sipped his one-too-many-steps coffee in a black hoodie. His posture was relaxed, one arm draped along the back of the bench—casual yet protective. Unlike Gojo, who was fidgeting with his hair, Nanami’s golden eyes were trained on you in quiet scrutiny.
Despite the amusement, the teasing, and the absurdity of it all, Nanami had noticed something.
You kept flicking your gaze toward your phone. Not checking it, but looking at it. A single name sat at the top of your notifications, its call attempts ignored.
Nanami set down his drink, his expression shifting.
“You’re avoiding something.”
Your fingers, mid-scratch against Takahashi’s cream fur, twitched.
Gojo perked up, momentarily distracted from his vanity crisis. “Who’s calling?” He tilted his head, leaning in closer. “Need me to deal with it?”
“No.” You didn’t look at him. “It’s work.”
Nanami and Gojo exchanged glances behind you, their concern palpable.
Gojo, not one to miss an opportunity to be involved, pressed in close enough that you could feel the warmth of his large body radiating through his sweater. Nanami shifted slightly, exuding a more subtle but equally present support.
They waited.
Then suddenly, Takahashi’s snout was buried inside your hoodie.
Again.
Nanami, resigned, muttered something about “filing a complaint with the raccoon union.” Gojo, on the other hand, was actively trying to negotiate with the creature like a man desperate to de-escalate a hostage situation.
“Taka-baby,” Gojo cooed, hands held out as if soothing a small child—or a ticking bomb. “Buddy. Pal. My tiny, vicious fur-kin. Let’s not violate personal space—”
Takahashi growled.
You didn’t move. At this point, you were too pregnant, too emotionally drained, and too done to care that your mutant trash raccoon son was trying to breastfeed off your hoodie strings.
“Leave him,” you muttered, rubbing your temples. “He’s asserting dominance.”
Gojo looked genuinely wounded. “Over me?”
“Obviously,” Nanami said. “He considers you a threat to the mammary hierarchy.”
Gojo turned to you, his expression earnest. “Is that true? Am I not your number one anymore?”
You didn’t answer. Mostly because Takahashi had now crawled higher onto your chest, one clawed paw gripping the edge of your bra like he was about to sue for custody.
Nanami leaned forward slightly, and plucked the raccoon off you with a well-practiced scoop. “You are not a marsupial,” he muttered as Takahashi yowled indignantly, limbs flailing like a drunken toddler mid-tantrum.
“You try telling him that,” you muttered, slumping further into the bench. Your body ached. Your hormones were throwing raves. Your unborn twins were practicing jujutsu in your uterus. And somehow, you were also expected to be the face of a trillion-dollar empire with both your war criminal husbands lurking around like cursed Greek statues.
You exhaled, looking at the sky. “They want me to do an interview.”
Gojo blinked. “That’s it?”
“It’s for Vogue,” you added flatly.
Gojo’s eyes lit up. “Oh, you should definitely do it.”
You groaned.
Nanami exhaled slowly, his gaze drifting to the sky—the same way yours had moments ago. “It’s a PR move, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” you muttered, rubbing your temples. “The board thinks it’s necessary after someone ‘accidentally’ revealed our marriage, and now the internet is spiraling.”
Gojo leaned back with an exaggerated shrug. “Pfft. They’d have found out eventually.”
“They found out when you yelled about it in a public lobby and punched my employees,” you deadpanned.
Gojo pulled you into his chest, arms curling around you protectively. “I’m sorry, baby.”
Nanami, already massaging his forehead, turned his attention back to you, his tone gentler. “So why don’t you want to do it?”
You exhaled deeply. “Because I’m tired. I am seven months pregnant with your godforsaken body-horror twins. My feet hurt. My back hurts. My boobs—” You stopped yourself just in time—because Gojo’s horny ass would absolutely pounce on that. “—everything hurts. And the last thing I want is to sit under studio lights while some Vogue journalist who doesn’t know a single thing about the gaming industry asks me invasive questions about my uterus.”
Silence.
Then—“We could threaten them,” Gojo offered helpfully.
Nanami’s eyes slid shut. “We are not threatening Vogue.”
“Just a little threat?”
“No.”
Gojo pouted.
You sighed, shifting slightly. Their gazes were still on you—warm, patient, concerned. It made your throat feel tight.
Nanami set his coffee aside. Then, without a word, he reached for your hand, his fingers threading through yours with quiet ease.
“You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to,” he said simply.
Gojo, for once, nodded in agreement.
You swallowed. “But if I don’t, the PR backlash—”
“Will fade,” Nanami finished, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “It always does.”
Gojo tilted his head, a glint in his eyes. “And besides, if anyone gives you trouble, I can just…” He made a vague, ominous hand gesture.
Nanami shot him a warning look.
Gojo sighed dramatically. “Fine. I’ll let you handle the intimidation this time.”
That earned him an amused snort from you.
You stared down at your lap, feeling the weight of the moment. “I just… I never thought I’d be here.”
Gojo leaned in, feigning offense. “You mean married to us?”
“No,” you said, then hesitated. “I mean—yes, I was sure I’d die alone, but ya—” You gestured vaguely to your stomach. “This.”
Nanami’s grip tightened slightly, a silent reassurance.
Gojo’s expression flickered—just for a second—before he covered it with an easy grin. “Yeah,” he said, his voice lighter than his eyes. “Same.”
Nanami exhaled, his gaze darkening. “I never thought I’d live long enough to be a father.”
The weight of that statement hung in the air, heavy and unspoken. You didn’t miss it. Neither did Gojo.
Nanami had spent his whole life preparing for a death he assumed was inevitable. But he was still here. And now, he was bringing children into a world he never thought he’d see.
Gojo, for all his loud bravado, had spent just as long dreading fatherhood—not because he didn’t love you, but because he knew what happened to strong children. He had watched power be twisted, children turned into weapons. Even his own parents had let it happen.
He never wanted that.
And you—
You had never planned for kids. You had spent years building a life for yourself, crafting a future from scratch. You had worked too hard to be anything but untouchable.
They loved you. That had always been enough.
But here you were.
Nanami sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t know if I’ll be good at this.”
Gojo snorted. “You’re already a better dad than mine ever was.”
Nanami shot him a flat look. “That is a very low bar, Satoru.”
Gojo’s smirk faltered for half a second—just long enough for you to see the ghost of the boy his family discarded. Then the mask slid back into place. “I know,” he said, smirking again. After a pause, he nudged you with his shoulder. “You, though. You’re gonna be great.”
You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his words.
Gojo smiled, softer now, unexpectedly earnest. “I mean it.”
Nanami’s thumb swept over your knuckles—once, twice—a silent I’m here in Morse code. “So do I.”
The admission hung between you, fragile as the ice you’d been walking on since the pregnancy test.
“What if I—” Your voice cracked. “What if I turn into them? What if I get overwhelmed? I’m not good when I’m frustrated. I run away.” You muttered to yourself, the fear creeping in.
Nanami’s palm settled over your bump, warm. "You won’t become them." His tone was simple, absolute. "And if you need to leave, we’ll follow. Every time. If you need to scream, we’ll listen. That’s the difference between you and them—you’re afraid of becoming a monster. They never were."
Gojo’s knee bounced against yours, a subtle reminder that his support was there too. Nanami’s words were meant for him as well, just in a different way.
You bit your lip hard enough to taste copper, blinking against the sudden sting in your eyes.
Then—because tears were for people who hadn’t learned to swallow them by age six—you cleared your throat. “Names,” you croaked. “We should… talk about names.”
Gojo immediately perked up. “Megumi 2: the Electric Boogaloo—”
You turned to face him, raising an eyebrow. “I genuinely am fascinated by what goes on in that brain of yours.”
Nanami snorted, a hint of amusement breaking through his serious demeanor.
But Gojo was undeterred. “I vote for Satoru Jr.”
“No.”
“Absolutely not.”
Gojo pouted, crossing his arms.
Nanami tapped his fingers against yours. “Have you thought of any names?”
You hesitated, then a memory surfaced. “You remember when we were in Bora Bora?”
Gojo’s grin turned immediately smug. “You mean when we made them?”
Nanami rolled his eyes, though a faint blush crept up his neck beneath a hoodie.
You ignored him, focusing on the moment. “You mentioned something about names. You were joking, but… I liked them. They’ve been stuck in my head since I found out.”
Gojo perked up, curiosity piqued. “Oh? Lemme hear ‘em.”
“For the girl… Emi.”
Gojo blinked, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “That’s cute.”
Nanami nodded thoughtfully. “It suits her.”
“And the boy…” You frowned, thinking. Then—“Kaito.”
Something passed between them—an unspoken understanding.
Nanami hummed. “Emi and Kaito.” He rolled the names over his tongue. “I like it.”
Gojo grinned. “Me too.”
For a moment, the air felt lighter, filled with the warmth of shared dreams.
Then, just as you were about to lean into the warmth of the moment—
Nanami’s phone buzzed.
He sighed, checking the caller ID. Then he turned the screen toward Gojo.
Gojo took one look, then groaned, throwing his head back. “Ughhh. What do they want now?”
“They want you back at Jujutsu Tech.”
“To take over?”
Nanami just smirked, a predatory glint in his eyes.
Gojo’s smirk widened. “Mm. Seems they’re short on leadership.”
Ah.
Nanami leaned back, crossing his arms. “How tragic.”
Gojo stretched lazily. “Very. Wonder what happened to the old higher-ups?”
Nanami didn’t even blink. “I hear they suffered sudden, unexpected deaths.”
Gojo tsked. “How unfortunate.”
Nanami had just barely deposited the shrieking, wriggling raccoon onto the grass when Takahashi made a desperate break for your chest again—his pink, suspiciously sharp little nose twitching. The moment Nanami’s hands loosened, he leapt up your shin like a furry Terminator with mommy issues, clambering with singular purpose toward your boobs.
Gojo instinctively caught the beast mid-flight, cradling him like a furious child mid-tantrum.
“Hey—hey now,” he coaxed, trying not to flinch as Takahashi bared tiny teeth. “We’ve talked about this, okay? You are not… lactating adjacent. You’re a raccoon, not a breast enthusiast.”
Takahashi hissed, as if he paid rent on your mammary glands and Gojo was the eviction notice.
You just leaned back again, dead behind the eyes, letting your hoodie fall askew like a white flag.
“Just let him do what he needs to do,” you mumbled, exhaustion creeping in.
Gojo blinked, concern etched on his face. “Baby. He’s trying to suckle.”
“I know.”
Nanami—knees bent, watching Takahashi like a predator tracking a flightless bird—sighed deeply, rubbed his temples, and muttered under his breath, “There’s no HR department in hell, but I will build one.”
The absurdity of it all might’ve cracked you into laughter if you weren’t currently a pillow for both a trash mammal and two cursed womb roommates. Instead, you stared blankly at your phone again, then at the koi pond. You could see your reflection—dark circles, swollen ankles, faint mascara smudge like an exhausted raccoon queen. So maybe that’s why Takahashi liked you. Trauma recognized trauma.
Gojo sat back down beside you, the raccoon still in his lap like a protestor demanding equal access to boobs. His voice was soft this time. “You’ve really given up, huh?”
“I gave up the moment I started arguing with a raccoon about personal space and lost,” you replied, a hint of bitterness creeping into your tone.
Nanami didn’t laugh. He only moved to take the phone from your lap, reading the notifications with his usual detached efficiency. After a beat, he said, “It’s your CHRO again. Third time today.”
“She’s just worried,” you murmured, brushing a hand against your bump. “She keeps sending me articles about postpartum depression. And nannies. And how all the rich people are freezing their embryos now.”
Gojo raised a brow. “Kinda late for that.”
Nanami didn’t speak for a moment. Then: “Do you want a nanny?”
You stared ahead, watching the koi gather, waiting for food and your hand absentmindedly moved to turn on the automatic feeder. “I don’t know.”
Gojo leaned forward, his voice quieter. “You don’t have to know yet.��
“No, I should,” you snapped, a little sharper than intended. Takahashi perked up, looking offended.
You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I keep thinking about the delivery. About holding them for the first time and just… not feeling anything.”
There it was. The raw thought. The fear that made your chest tighten every time the twins kicked. What if the hormones didn’t fix it? What if you resented them? What if the damage was already done before you even met them?
Nanami’s voice was low, grounded. “That’s not unusual.”
Gojo tilted his head, his expression softening. “My mom left right after I was born. Didn’t even name me.” He gave you a crooked, fragile smile. “You already care more than she did.”
“That’s not a high bar,” you rubbed his back, trying to keep the conversation light.
Nanami, without fanfare, placed a hand on your knee. “We’re not measuring you against ghosts.”
“But I’m still afraid,” you said, and you weren’t even sure who you were saying it to. Yourself, maybe.
They were both quiet, but present. Gojo reached up and gently scratched behind Takahashi’s ears, whispering nonsense in a sugar-sweet voice until the raccoon flopped over, utterly seduced by Gojo’s baby talk.
Then, unexpectedly, Nanami said, “I think I’ll be the strict one.”
Gojo turned to him, grinning. “You are the strict one.”
“I mean with them,” Nanami said, glancing at your stomach. “The twins.”
Gojo scoffed. “Yeah, and I’ll be the cool one.”
“You can’t even get Takahashi to stop motorboating her chest.”
“I could if you’d let me use the squirt bottle!”
They fell into harmless bickering again, but you didn’t interrupt. You let it carry you like a tide, like static, as you watched the sun make silhouettes of the koi beneath the water. Then—
“I’m afraid I’ll ruin them,” you said softly, and everything fell silent again.
Gojo didn’t joke. Nanami didn’t analyze. They just sat with you in the hush of the garden, the koi pond gurgling like the world’s softest metronome.
“You won’t,” Nanami said, his voice steady.
“But what if I do?”
Gojo exhaled slowly, leaning in, resting his chin on your shoulder, even as Takahashi reclaimed your belly like it was his emotional support trampoline. “Then we’ll fix it. Together. You’re not doing this alone. Even if I die, I’ll haunt you like a friendly titty ghost.”
You didn’t laugh.
But the tears came.
Hot. Quiet. Infuriating.
You wiped them away quickly, but not quickly enough.
Nanami was already pressing a clean handkerchief into your palm. Of course he was.
“I’m not ready,” you whispered, leaning on his chest instead as he rubbed soothing circles on your back.
“None of us are,” Gojo said gently. “That’s the point.”
“You always talk like that,” you mumbled through the fabric. “Like failed therapists who fuck.”
Gojo beamed. “I should take Maya’s job. I’d be so much better at it.”
Nanami, finally letting the smile tug at the edge of his mouth, leaned back and gave you that look. The one that said he was tired, too. That he was also scared. That he understood.
“I think being ready means you’ve stopped caring if you fail,” he said quietly. “We care too much. That’s the only reason we’ll make it.”
And that?
That almost made it okay.
Almost.
Then Takahashi climbed halfway up your chest again and screamed into your ear like a traumatized siren.
Gojo clapped once. “Okay! Time for someone to go into his designer stroller!”
Nanami scooped the raccoon up with the dead-eyed efficiency of a man who'd once done this with cursed spirits. “Your tyranny ends here, Takahashi.”
You slumped against the bench with a long sigh as Gojo pressed a kiss to your temple. “Wanna go lie down, baby?”
“Only if neither of you talk for an hour.”
Gojo looked like he was physically restraining himself from a joke.
Nanami stood, already hauling the raccoon like a sack of rice. “Deal.”
You let them help you up—awkward, slow, heavy with children and fatigue. But also, you didn’t feel like you were walking alone.
There were hands under your arms.
There were men arguing over stroller brakes.
There was a raccoon making increasingly sexual-sounding threats in a baby voice.
And somehow, it was enough.
---
When you woke up, your penthouse was quiet—well, as quiet as it could be with a three-month-old raccoon tearing through the room like he had declared war on gravity.
Takahashi was currently engaged in a one-sided battle with the corner of your gaming chair, gnawing on the fabric like his life depended on it. His tiny claws scrabbled against the polished floor, his pink eyes gleaming with mischief. Maybe in another universe, he’d be Sukuna’s vessel.
You scratched his fluffy head absentmindedly, sprawled on the couch with a blanket draped over your legs. Your back ached, your feet were swollen, and your belly felt like it was carrying two baby kaiju instead of actual human children. But you were fine. Really.
It wasn’t like you cared that your husbands were currently on the other side of the room, laughing at something you didn’t understand.
Gojo was draped over the arm of Nanami’s chair, laughing so hard he was practically wheezing, while Nanami—Nanami, the man who rarely showed amusement outside of private moments—had his forehead resting in one hand, shoulders shaking with laughter.
You frowned.
You hadn’t been ignoring them, per se—you were just letting them enjoy themselves. But something about it felt… weird. Like you were watching them from behind glass.
You nudged Cloud Save, who chattered at you before rolling onto his back and promptly falling off the couch.
Gojo wiped at his eyes, still breathless. “God, I haven’t laughed that hard in ages—”
Then he saw your face.
The laughter dimmed. Not completely—Gojo never stopped radiating chaotic energy—but enough that he was watching you now.
Nanami followed his gaze, his expression smoothing into something unreadable. “What’s wrong?”
You blinked. “Nothing.”
Gojo tilted his head, still upside down over the chair arm. “Mmm, liar.”
You rolled your eyes and turned back to Clout Save, who had now discovered the joys of burrowing into your blanket.
“It’s not a big deal,” you muttered. “You were just laughing about something I didn’t get.”
Gojo was immediately next to you, leaning against the couch, his chin resting on your shoulder. “Oh, baby,” he cooed. “Did we make you feel left out?”
You shoved his face away. “No. I don’t care.”
Nanami sat on the other side of the couch, his hand resting lightly on your knee. “It was just a reference to something from our school days. We didn’t mean to exclude you.”
Yes, definitely, by speaking in that rapid-fire traditional Japanese, you were still not a hundred percent sure you understood.
Gojo looped an arm around your waist and pressed his forehead against your temple. “You sure you don’t care?”
You could feel the warmth of them—Gojo’s body heat, Nanami’s steady presence, the weight of their attention.
And… maybe you had felt a little distant. Not because of them, but because your brain had been tangled in a mess of hormones and exhaustion and impending motherhood.
You sighed, relenting just a little. “I was just happy to see you both relax. That’s all.”
Gojo blinked, his grin softening.
Nanami’s fingers traced soothing circles on your knee.
“You’re an idiot,” Gojo announced fondly.
You kicked him in the shin.
He yelped, and Takahashi took that as his cue to launch himself at Gojo’s face.
Nanami exhaled heavily. “I am going to pretend I didn’t see that.”
Gojo, now wrestling the raccoon, just grinned up at you. “Love you, too, babe.”
---
Kashimo found another tracker.
---
“You ever get tired of pretending to be normal?” Sukuna asked.
His voice was flat, but something about the way he flexed his jaw at the end made Choso pause mid-game. The screen glared white-hot into his face—another kill. He didn't turn around yet.
“I’m not pretending,” Choso muttered, clicking reload. “This is normal. You’re the one who picks fights with a CHRO at 3 AM because she screened your calls.”
Sukuna scoffed, leaning back into the expensive imported leather couch like a king growing bored of his court. He was shirtless, his tattoos stretching and disappearing into low-slung black joggers, barefoot and annoyed. “The woman isn’t just screening me. She’s fucking toying with me. Like some middle-management Riko clone who thinks I’ll fold if she says ‘no’ three times in a polite tone.”
“She probably doesn’t want you around her boss,” Choso pointed out. “If you’re calling her “small” before a hello, maybe she’s got a point.”
"I'm fed up, Choso." His voice was gravel-thick, simmering.
Choso didn’t turn from his game. “Why.”
Sukuna rubbed at his temple like the question itself was giving him a migraine. “Why is she so hard to reach? And why is she still with those two idiots?”
He exhaled, head tilting back over the couch, exposing the sharp lines of his throat and collarbone—his hair unkempt, black with a dark-red undercast, temple scars mostly faded but still there, like someone had tried to erase a god and failed.
“Her CHRO keeps blocking me. I offered a full tech overhaul, guaranteed stock recovery, even hinted I’d dump eleven figures into the company. Nothing. Silence. Just polite corporate fuck-you silence.”
“She’s probably got real skills,” Choso muttered, not even looking. “Not nepo. Probably doesn’t trust powerful men. I wouldn’t, if I were her.”
Yuji was outside yelling at Junpei not to put slugs on his Balenciagas.
Sukuna’s lips curled. “It’s not that. That company’s built like a fortress—not around money. Around her. They’ll chat for hours if you don’t mention the CEO, but the moment you even imply her name, they clam up like I said a slur.”
He’d tried everything. Cold calls to ex-employees, old investors, even friendly clients. Each one folded the moment he probed into the personal life of the CEO—the mysterious, currently-on-maternity-leave tech empress whose very mention made the air change. Whose existence had started gnawing at his brain like a parasite.
“I don’t get it,” Choso said. “Why her? Why are you spiraling?”
Sukuna's eyes narrowed at the back of Choso’s head. The kind of look that once preceded mass bloodshed. Choso paused his game and finally turned.
“It’s a real question,” he said. “You’re not sleeping. You’re skipping meals. You’re watching her old keynotes like a divorced ghost.”
Sukuna didn’t answer for a long moment. His throat worked, and then:
“It feels like... like I already knew her. Like I already had a life with her. A full one. Long. Loud. Domestic. I remember the feeling of carrying her to bed after she fainted, barefoot on cold tile. I remember arguing in airports. I remember her laugh, post-orgasm. I remember twins that never made it past the month she’s in now.”
He looked down at his hands. Still weapons, no matter how well-manicured. “I’m not even sure they were mine.”
Choso blinked. “Sounds like a curse.”
Sukuna glared. “No one alive is strong enough to curse me.”
“Then what? Hormonal imbalance? Constipation? You are pushing 40—”
Sukuna's phone rang, cutting him off.
The caller ID read: DO NOT KILL
He picked up, not bothering to mask the venom. “Finally returning my calls, bitch.”
Choso flinched and pointed to his temple. Don’t call women bitches, he mouthed.
Sukuna rolled his eyes and mouthed back at him; she made my life hell.
“Listen to me, Yorozu. I didn’t plant you in there so you could play therapy godmother. I don’t care if they’re ‘finding their way back to each other.’ You want Kashimo? Earn it. Drive. A. Wedge.”
He ended the call with a tap, knuckles white around the phone. The cityscape stretched infront of him—Osaka lights, thick humid air, his house glass glinting like a warning.
Choso stared. “You are…?”
“She was already obsessed. I just… redirected it.”
“You’re trying to destroy her marriage.”
“I’m trying to see her.” Sukuna said it like it hurt. “You don’t get it. There’s something... left over. Not obsession. Not lust. Something—ancient. And I don’t even want to be in love. I just... I remember being hers.”
A beat.
“And I don’t know if she remembers me.” He exhaled.
Choso’s expression softened. “Maybe she does,” he said thoughtfully, his gaze drifting to the newspaper. “At least our efforts to take out those who tried to go after the bounty on her head counts for something. Maybe that’s why she’s hiding.”
Before Sukuna could respond, the front door opened.
Yuji walked in holding a jar of pickles. Junpei followed, looking suspiciously damp.
“Are we out of ice cream?” Yuji asked.
“I think Junpei fed it to the frogs,” Choso said.
Junpei shrugged. “He looked like he was going through something.”
“Same,” Sukuna muttered.
---
Later That Night – A Secure Line in Tokyo
Megumi hung up the encrypted phone.
“He’s getting closer,” he muttered.
Across from him, Haibara Yu tilted his head and smiled like a cat watching a mouse forget it’s being watched.
“Let him try,” Haibara said. “If he gets through, I’ll kill him with kindness. Or something sharper.”
“Don’t kill him,” Megumi said.
Haibara’s eyes gleamed.
“Yet.”
---
A week later
“Shit, she’s going into cardiac arrest.”
“Fucking move over.” Shoko pushed the RN.
Gojo rages at doctors for answers, while Nanami methodically signs consent forms with shaking hands.
They have to choose between maternal DNR orders or sacrificing the twins.
A/N: So like. Which part emotionally decapitated you the most: The haori? Nanami’s mango dissection? (something is coming next up with the mangoes trust me.) Gojo saying “I’ll get us all pregnant”? Why is Maya hotter than 80% of men in this fic? Does Gojo deserve forgiveness yet, or should we launch #PregnantInPradaAndPetty? Who deserves to suffer the most in the next chapter for their crimes against you? Gojo "Voice Actor Fraud" Satoru Nanami "My Face Is Her Favorite Food" Kento Haibara "Better Than You" Yu Megumi "Toji 2.0 With Access to Stock Options" Fushiguro Maya "I'm in your walls" Daddy Sukuna "Your wife calls me daddy too" Ryomen Tell me which part made you laugh, which made you cry, and which part made you want to punch Maya in the throat or marry her. COMMENTS FEED ME. Or I will send Kashimo in wet mode to your house. 🩸 Also since you can see I updated the ships, CHRO & thirsty Lawyer incoming in the next chapter, (it's mostly ready so should be here soon.) And yes, Cloud Save will get his POV soon. Probably while eating drywall.
Next Chapter 22 (alt ending 2.13) - Things Broken Are Still Yours - Part 1 - (Tumblr/Ao3)
A spin-off Crack series in the same AU - (Tumblr/Ao3)
All Works Masterlist
Beta - @blackrimmedrose
Tag-list = @lady-of-blossoms @stargirl-mayaa @dark-agate @tqd4455 @roscpctals99 @sxlfcxst @se-phi-roth @austisticfreak @helloxkittylo @itoshi-r @kodzukensworld @revolvinggeto @luringfantasy @xx-tazzdevil-xx @unaaasz @thebumbqueen @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni @whos-ruru @helo1281917
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sainteclectic · 5 months ago
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+ since it's aro awareness week, I'll finally unleash that rant on why the state of shipping discourse in this fandom bothers me
disclaimer that i am not saying you can't be uncomfortable with jashshipping!! I don't really like romantic shipping in this fandom either. this is just a commentary on the culture surrounding this discourse and fandom shipping in general. OK LET'S GO.
I've noticed this weird distinction people make between platonic and romantic art in regards to what gets the "jashshipping" tag added. it's also incredibly arbitrary what kinds of posts are considered "jashshipping" - is a qpr jashshipping? why not? they're in a relationship. why does it matter if it's romantic or not? why is romance the only kind of shipping seen as valid, either positively or negatively?
on a personal level, I feel this pressure to always clarify that I'm not talking about romantic pairings. qprs, close friendships and relationship anarchy in general aren't seen as jashshipping, and it feels like I need to preemptively devalue my queerplatonic ships by saying they "don't really count." I need to be careful about my work not being "too romantic" or people assume I'm "jashshipping." i just find it demeaning as a partnering aromantic person.
and this culture is why people who enjoy non-romantic pairings don't want them to be tagged as ship - because there's this implication that a ship HAS to mean romance. it shouldn't, but it still does. it would be great if we lived in a world where shipping meant any kind of relationship between two characters instead of just referring to romance, but we don't.
this is why I tag ship names without tagging it as jashshipping. because the nature of "shipping" in this fandom is always implied to be romantic in nature, which is what makes it the most taboo to discuss. so I don't tag it as jashship because that's only used for romance {or for what the fandom perceives as inherently romantic actions, which is another can of worms entirely}. but elevating a romantic ship to a higher negative standard is still placing romance above any other form of relationship. there's still a hierarchy in place.
I don't think ships as a whole {hah} need to be defined by romantic attraction. it's short for relationship, after all. to designate ships as ONLY romantic implies that romance is the only valid type of relationship. and to designate romantic ships as uniquely bad still implies romance is a unique type of bond.
{I also have an issue with the implication that dating what is essentially your headmate is selfcest by default, but that's another discussion}
TL;DR - I think the culture around what designates something as "jashshipping" should be viewed with more scrutiny. it's very amatonormative to assume pairings with any level of closeness is "jashshipping," and it implies a hierarchy of relationships even if that hierarchy is negative. jashship works as a content tag for anyone uncomfortable with romantic pairings, but to imply it's an objective judgment on what's considered romance is reductive.
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homelanderbutbig · 1 year ago
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I Love You Too (G/T Homelander x Reader)
2248 words. Pure fluff. Homelander is 8 feet tall. Reader is non-descriptive. Beginnings of a relationship.
When you and Homelander officially became a couple.
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Homelander has had this event burned into his brain, how exactly he wanted it to go. It would be like a scene straight out of the movies. You would be whisked away to a secluded beach by a horse-drawn carriage, where a private band would be playing your favourite song. You would walk along the rose petal covered sand to his waiting arms, where he would confess his love for you. You would return his feelings, and ask him to be your boyfriend. Of course he would graciously say yes, as if this wasn't all a part of his master plan. Lastly, you would kiss him as doves fly above your heads, and the starry sky is filled with fireworks.
He's been plotting like a madman all week, doing his damndest to set this up. A fairytale beginning to a relationship with you, as is befitting of a man of his impeccable standards.
And yet, just like everything else in his life, nothing ever goes as he plans. The people he's placed his faith in to get this together for him are not living up to his expectations. He's spending more and more time trying to fix their mistakes, to the point where it's consuming his every waking thought. Every failure keeps eating away at his resolution, to the point where he doesn't know if he should even go through with it anymore. If it isn't perfect, would you even accept his passionate admissions?
He's been avoiding you all day. It's a reality that's pretty hard to miss, considering he's the tallest man you've ever known. As the face of Vought's superhero team, the absence of his presence is odd. Or at least, it's odd that he seems to solely be eluding you. You happened to ask some of your co-workers who confirmed that Homelander was in fact in the Tower today, only furthering your suspicions. At least something serious didn't happen to him, but it doesn't make you worry any less that something's wrong.
When your shift ends in the evening, you do as you normally would and take the elevator up to his penthouse. You weren't certain that he would be there, but you're relieved to see him sitting on his couch in the living room. Regardless, he isn't his normal cheery self. He is a bundle of nerves taken the form of a man; his body language is so tense it's almost as if he hopes you'll leave by ignoring you. But you aren't that easy to deter.
"Hey Homelander, I didn't see you today. I was worried," you remark while you hop up onto the couch, taking your seat on the cushion next to him. He still won't acknowledge you, instead looking down at his fidgeting thumbs. His eyes are red and puffy; evidently he's been crying alone, only furthering your concern that there's something significant bothering him.
"You look like you have something on your mind," you say, tilting your head up at him. You place a hand on his thigh, as is customary when you need to coax the worries out of him. "It must be pretty important if you didn't want to talk to me about it. You know you can tell me anything, I won't judge you."
"I-I…" he starts, but quickly cuts himself off. His breathing stutters as he attempts to steady his composure. This was not how he wanted this moment to happen, with him grovelling at your feet and you holding the power over him. He is the world's strongest supe; he is the one who should be in control, not you, a measly human.
"I'm here for you, take your time," you reassure him, grasping his index and middle finger with your hand. Those two big fingers are all that will fit in your palm, but you still squeeze with all your might, making sure that he feels your encouragement.
Glancing down at you, Homelander feels a small spark setting his heart aflame. Your eyes, shining so brightly, remind him of why he's even in this current position. Why he's been fretting in secret all week. That boost of confidence has returned, as it initially did when he first wanted to even plan all this.
This is his only chance.
"I… I-I… I l-love you…" he finally blurts out, immediately shutting his eyes tight as the weight of his words hits him like a ton of bricks. The regret is instantaneous, his self-consciousness wasting no time at eating away his bravado. He can't believe he actually said it. He's just exposed the only weakness an invincible supe like him has, his desire for your acceptance.
The silence in the penthouse is deafening. And to make matters worse, you haven't said 'I love you' back. You aren't saying anything. Why aren't you saying anything? All he wants right now is to get up and fly away, far far away, but he can't. He can't do anything but sit and let his anxiety overtake his body, freezing him solid.
This was not the problem you were expecting was plaguing Homelander's mind. He got himself this worked up… over you? But then you start to really think about it. How close you've gotten to him over these last few weeks, and how your friendship has blossomed into something much more. He makes you happy by just grinning down at you when you visit him. It brightens up your day talking to him, seeing his canines poke out when he smiles, and hearing his heartfelt laughs as he listens to your every word. You can't help but think about him even when he's gone. The way that, despite your immense height difference, you've never felt more in sync with anyone like you do with him. It's as if he completes you, and makes you whole. He fills a part of you that's always felt empty.
You know you feel the same way he does. You know what you have to do.
Carefully, you maneuver yourself to kneel on top of his lap so your face is directly in front of his, completely catching him off-guard. He wasn't expecting this sudden seizure of control from you, but he raises his large hands to your back to keep you from falling off. At least now he's mentally back down to earth, focusing on your every move.
You are so close that you can see the worry etched into every nook and cranny of his face. His blue eyes are wide and twitching subtly, his eyebrows are pinched together stiffly, and his lips are quivering from what he's hoping will happen next.
"I… I love you too", you state matter-of-factly, unable to hide your smile at how his childlike innocence is peering straight back at you. At how nonchalantly you've shaken him straight to his core with four simple words.
And with your final devious chess move, you lean forward to kiss him.
You expected this to be a short and sweet smooch to affirm the beginning of your relationship. However, the second Homelander feels your lips he cannot help but push for more, so desperate for your affection. He's nearly moaning from the flood of intense emotions churning inside him, the bubble irrevocably bursting from the moment that he's been waiting for all night. You love him too, how can he not react so strongly? His kiss is forceful, almost like he's trying to smother you with his love, just so there's nothing else you'll ever think about but him.
You struggle to articulate even a basic sentence against his mouth, desperately swatting at his chest to get his attention. You lack the strength to hurt him, but luckily he still notices your light thumps against his suit and reluctantly pulls back.
Your face is flushed and breathing haggard, having been left flustered from how you were unable to fight against him proving his devotion. Not only are his lips twice the size of yours, but you also couldn't back away with his immovable hands keeping you in place. Just another little reminder of the disparity between Homelander and the rest of humanity; you truly are utterly powerless compared to the eight foot tall indestructible superhero you're currently seated on.
His jaw becomes rigid as he stares at your expression, until he looks away when he can no longer take in the fear he perceives. Tears are once again welling up in his eyes, his ears are ringing loudly, and his heart is freefalling down into the pit of his stomach. He's fucked up. He's ruined the moment. He's shown you the monster that lurks within himself, the one that can never be satiated.
But despite it all, despite his inner turmoil, despite the voices in his head telling him your relationship is over before it even got started… he feels you place a hand on his cheek.
Your demeanour is the opposite of Homelander's. What you see in front of you is a man fighting to keep the tears from falling, so broken from a deficiency of love. A man who could never stop those he cherished from abandoning him when he gave them his heart on a silver platter. What he sees in front of him is the only person in the world who cares enough to stay.
"It's okay, I'm not going anywhere. That kiss was… was just a bit too much for me," you explain sympathetically, using your fingers to wipe away the tears that dare stain his beautiful face. You can sense the tension ease ever so slightly with each touch to his cheeks as he revels in the feeling of your soft skin. He can't say he's felt someone touch him so sweetly like that in a long time.
"Do you wanna kiss me again?" you ask, repositioning both of your hands to stroke along his jawline. Always chasing after your affections, he leans closer towards you and gives a very hesitant nod, apprehensively swallowing hard from the thought of what he should be anticipating.
"Let's do it more like this," you whisper as you move forward to kiss him. This time you take the lead, purposefully going slow and delicate. He follows your pace instantly, eyes fluttering closed while he sinks into your lips like you hold all the power in the universe.
Homelander's never been kissed like this before, without a proverbial carrot being dangled in his front of his face. Whenever there's a scrap of romance on the line he always must face a thousand trials, go through a series of tests that he must pass without any errors lest it be withheld from him. But not now. Your kiss provides him with the love and care he's fought his whole life for, the tenderness he's always dreamed of experiencing. And you are reciprocating his wants, his needs right back.
Lifting your hands up to his hair you start combing through his undercut, giving him the little scratches that you know make him feel good. A whimper builds from deep in his throat as you run your nails along his scalp, and it doesn't take long for his whines to evolve into flat-out purring.
Eventually, he breaks the kiss to bury his head into the crook of your neck, savouring the way you scratch his hair. His deep voice rumbles through your body as he nuzzles himself further into you, emitting content hums while he melts into your warmth. If there's a heaven, Homelander thinks he's found it.
He wraps his arms around your back, spreading his fingers along your shoulders as he pulls you closer. He embraces you firmly, but not enough that you feel immobile. He's learned his lesson not to make you feel like you can't escape from his grasp, he wants you to be comfortable with him.
"You know, you don't need to do some grand display to show me that you love me," you comment softly. "You do it every day, just by being yourself. And that's enough. You will always be enough."
Your words are like honey to his ears, almost enough to make him start crying again. When he's with you, he feels a level of trust that he can't put into words. You understand him better than anyone else ever could. He's safe with you, as you are with him.
"I-I… love… you," he mumbles quietly, still having a bit of trouble getting that sentence out. It's been such a long time since he's said that, and truly meant it.
"I love you too," you chuckle, kissing the top of his head.
"I… love you," he replies, feeling confidence build up within himself once more. This phrase is starting to not be so hard to say, each time you say it back.
"I love you too," you respond, beaming when you sense a shy grin forming on your shoulder.
The two of you repeat this back and forth for a while, until your words blend together into one, and you fall asleep in each other's arms. This might not have been the way Homelander wanted this evening to go, but somehow… it feels right. In its own special way, it turned out better than he could have ever imagined. Because despite the tears and anxiety, from this moment on, he no longer has to cast his love out to an neverending abyss of hate. Now, he has someone to answer his call.
He has you.
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sylusonychinus · 4 months ago
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Episode 6: A Bitter Taste of Reality
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Series Masterlist
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The day started as any other for Reader—early mornings, endless tasks, and her uniform already wrinkled from bending and scrubbing her way through the hotel floors. She wasn’t a stranger to hard work, especially not in Onychinus Hotel, where nothing less than perfection was expected. Working in one of Sylus Qin’s five-star establishments meant high standards and even higher stakes.
She was in the middle of cleaning one of the upper rooms on the non-VIP floors when the pager at her side buzzed. Her heart sank immediately; it was a direct summon from the penthouse. The familiar number flashed on the small screen—a message from Sylus.
“Looks like your boss wants you,” Chris, her cleaning partner, teased, leaning against the cart of supplies. He’d been working at the hotel longer than Reader, and while he was generally easygoing, he loved poking fun at the fact that Reader was now assigned to work under the infamous Sylus Qin. “Better not keep him waiting. You know how he gets.”
Reader groaned as she shoved her cleaning cloth into the cart. “I was finally making progress with this room.”
Chris waved her off. “I’ve got this. Go deal with your fiancé—sorry, boss.” His grin was playful, but his tone carried an edge of curiosity that Reader didn’t dare address.
“Thanks, Chris,” she muttered before grabbing her pager and making a hasty exit. She knew better than to make Sylus wait. If there was one thing she’d learned about the man in the short time she’d been working directly under him, it was that he had no patience for delays.
By the time she reached the penthouse, she was slightly out of breath. Sylus was lounging in the living room, a picture of ease and elegance in his tailored shirt with the top buttons undone, revealing just enough of his collarbone to make her flustered. He barely acknowledged her arrival, instead swirling a glass of amber liquid in his hand.
“Took you long enough,” he said without looking up.
Reader resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “What do you need, Mr. Qin?”
Finally, his crimson gaze met hers, and that familiar smirk curled on his lips. “You’re going to accompany me to the casino bar.”
Reader blinked, confused. “The bar?”
Sylus stood and placed his glass down on the table with a deliberate motion. “The in-house bar just launched a new line of drinks. I need someone to taste-test them and give me feedback.”
She gawked at him. “You want me to be your taste-tester? I’m just a maid.”
“And my fiancée,” he added with a smirk, clearly enjoying her discomfort. “Your opinion matters, darling.”
Reader sighed, knowing better than to argue. “Fine. Let me grab my things.”
“Good girl,” Sylus said, the teasing lilt in his voice making her cheeks burn. He strode past her toward the elevator, expecting her to follow.
The casino bar was one of the hotel’s crown jewels, a glittering space filled with ambient lighting, sleek furniture, and an air of exclusivity that screamed wealth. As they entered, Reader couldn’t help but feel out of place. This wasn’t a world she belonged to. Yet here she was, walking beside Sylus like she belonged.
The bartender, clearly used to Sylus’s presence, greeted him warmly and began preparing the first drink. Reader took the offered glass and sipped cautiously. It was sweeter than she expected, with a hint of citrus that lingered on her tongue.
“It’s good,” she said, glancing at Sylus. He was watching her closely, his gaze unreadable. “A little strong, but I like it.”
Sylus chuckled, leaning back against the bar. “Strong suits you.”
Reader set the glass down, hesitating before speaking. “Can I ask you something?”
Sylus raised an eyebrow but nodded, intrigued.
She took a breath. “Why did you open Onychinus? You’re already rich, right? You could’ve just relaxed and lived off your fortune, but instead, you run this empire like you have something to prove.”
For the first time, Sylus looked… thoughtful. His usual teasing smirk faded slightly, replaced by something more contemplative. He swirled the drink in his hand, watching the liquid move.
“I grew up with nothing,” Sylus began, his voice quieter than usual, like he was peeling back a layer of himself he rarely let anyone see. “I was an orphan. Left in front of a church when I was barely a few days old. No name, no family—just me and the world.”
Reader blinked, stunned. It was impossible to imagine the polished, sharp, and powerful Sylus Qin as a helpless, abandoned child.
“I spent my childhood bouncing from one place to another,” he continued, his tone calm but distant, like he was recounting someone else’s story. “Orphanages, foster homes, streets. You learn quickly that people only care about what you can do for them. Love? Family? They’re just words. What matters is survival.”
Her heart clenched as she watched him speak, his red eyes reflecting something raw, something painful.
“Then one day, I got lucky—or so I thought.” He chuckled darkly, a sound devoid of humor. “I was adopted by a wealthy man, a so-called philanthropist who paraded me around like a trophy. To the world, he was a savior, giving an orphan a chance at a better life. Behind closed doors, he was ruthless. He taught me that everything—people, loyalty, even kindness—had a price. He built me into a businessman, a strategist. And when he passed, he left me everything—his fortune, his empire, his rules.”
Reader couldn’t look away, her chest tightening with every word. “Sylus, I—”
He cut her off with a wave of his hand, his lips curving into a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t pity me. I’m not telling you this for sympathy. I just want you to understand.”
“Understand what?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
He leaned back in his seat, his gaze fixed on her. “The casino, the hotel, the underground business—they’re not just about money or power. They’re about control. Connections. If I own the game, I never have to play by someone else’s rules.”
His words hung in the air, heavy and unshakable. Reader’s mind swirled, trying to process everything he’d revealed. For a brief moment, she saw the cracks in his armor, the vulnerability he hid beneath his mischievous smirks and calculated demeanor.
But before she could respond, the door to the bar swung open, and Maria’s overly sweet voice pierced the air. “Sylus! There you are!”
Reader instinctively took a step back, the moment between them shattered. Sylus’s expression shifted instantly, his walls snapping back into place as he turned to face Maria with an almost tired smile.
“Maria,” he greeted smoothly, though Reader caught the faintest flicker of annoyance in his eyes.
“Don’t let me interrupt,” Maria said, though her presence did exactly that. She slid into the seat beside Sylus, her gaze flickering toward Reader with poorly masked disdain.
Sylus glanced at Reader, his eyes lingering just long enough to make her stomach twist. “Reader, you can go now. I’ll handle things here.”
Her chest tightened as disappointment bubbled to the surface. She nodded stiffly, forcing a polite smile. “Of course. Enjoy your evening.”
As she turned to leave, she couldn’t help but glance back once, catching Sylus’s expression—calm and unreadable. For reasons she couldn’t fully understand, the sight left her with a hollow ache in her chest.
The heart-to-heart they’d shared only moments ago felt like a fragile dream, already slipping away.
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Taglist: @nezuswritingdesk @beaconsxd @seris-the-amious @paninisstuff @mysticcollectionvoid @animegamerfox @mcdepressed290 @fries11 @placeholdddddd @madam8 @demon-master-zero @the-reaper472
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tomhollandnet · 1 month ago
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berobrewing: Double Tasty is now available. A west-coast style IPA that's finely brewed, non-alcoholic, and designed to elevate every pour. Setting a new standard for beer.
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thegirlingold · 6 months ago
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The Golden Guide to haircare
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Having good hair elevates your appearance so so much. It doesn't matter wether its short or long, it matters if your hair is healthy. Healthy hair is beautiful and it gives you such a big boost of confidence. If your hair doesn't meet your standards or is not as healthy as you want it to be, your haircare routine most likely doesn't suit you. If thats your case, heres my guide to everything haircare.
ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆ•。ꪆৎ ˚⋅ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆ
Cleansing: How to Wash Your Hair Properly
♡ Use a sulfate-free shampoo (especially if you have dry or curly hair) ♡ Wash 2-3 times a week (oily hair may need more, dry hair less) ♡ Focus on the scalp while shampooing, not the lengths (shampoo removes oil buildup) ♡ Use lukewarm or cool water to avoid stripping moisture
✨ Tip: If you use a lot of styling products, do a clarifying shampoo once a month to remove buildup.
Conditioning: Lock in Moisture & Smooth Hair
♡ Always apply conditioner after shampooing to keep hair soft ♡ Focus conditioner on mid-lengths to ends (avoid the scalp if you get oily hair) ♡ Leave it on for 2-5 minutes before rinsing ♡ Use a deep conditioning mask once a week for extra hydration
✨ Tip: If you have high porosity hair, seal in moisture with a leave-in conditioner or hair oil.
Hair Brushing & Detangling
♡ Use a wide-tooth comb on wet hair to prevent breakage ♡ Detangle gently from ends to roots ♡ Curly/wavy hair: Use a wide-tooth comb instead of a brush ♡ Straight hair: Use a paddle brush for a smooth look
✨ Tip: Avoid brushing hair when it’s soaking wet—it’s more fragile and prone to breakage.
Hair Trims & Split-End Care
♡ Trim every 8-12 weeks to prevent split ends and maintain healthy hair ♡ If you notice frizzy or rough ends, it’s time for a trim
✨ Tip: If you want to grow your hair longer, get small trims instead of big cuts.
Moisturising & Protecting Hair
♡ Use a leave-in conditioner or lightweight oil (argan, almond, avocado) to prevent dryness ♡ Apply a heat protectant before using hot tools (straighteners, curlers, blow dryers) ♡ Air dry when possible to reduce heat damage
✨ Tip: Sleeping on a silk or satin pillowcase helps reduce frizz and breakage.
ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆ•。ꪆৎ ˚⋅ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆ
Hair Porosity
Hair porosity refers to the ability of your hair to absorb and retain moisture. It is very important to know your hairs porosity so that you can learn which hair oils suit you best.
Okay but how do you know your hair porosity? Well, there is a very simple test which you can do at home. All you need is a strand of your hair and a glass of water. Just drop that strand of hair into the glass of water and see how low it sinks. Thats all!
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ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆ
Hair Oiling
Hair oiling is an ancient Indian haircare ritual which helps lock in moisture. There are other benefits based on the oil your using, and you can even mix some to create your own blend for your hair concerns.
Now that you know your hair porosity, you can find hair oils that suit you!
Low porosity
Lightweight oils that won’t sit on the hair but instead penetrate the strands easily.
♡ jojoba oil
Mimics natural scalp oils, making it great for balancing moisture
Lightweight and non-greasy
Helps with dandruff and dry scalp
Strengthens hair and prevents breakage
♡ Argan oil
Rich in Vitamin E and antioxidants, protects hair from damage
Adds shine and smoothness without weighing hair down
Helps control frizz and flyaways
Provides light hydration without buildup
♡ Avocado oil
Deeply penetrates the hair shaft to nourish and strengthen strands
Contains fatty acids and vitamins A, D, and E for scalp health
Protects against heat damage and UV exposure
Reduces dryness and split ends
♡ Almond oil
Rich in magnesium, reduces hair breakage and strengthens strands
Moisturises dry scalp and helps with dandruff
Adds softness and shine
Helps prevent hair loss by nourishing hair follicles
Medium porosity
Balanced oils that offer moisture and protection without being too heavy.
♡ Black seed oil
Promotes hair growth by strengthening follicles
Antibacterial and anti-fungal properties help with scalp health
Reduces dandruff and flakiness
Protects against premature greying
♡ Grapeseed oil
Lightweight
Strengthens weak hair and prevents split ends
High in antioxidants that protect hair from environmental damage
Helps with hair growth by improving blood circulation in the scalp
♡ Neem oil
Antibacterial and antifungal, great for dandruff and scalp infections
Strengthens hair and reduces thinning
Controls frizz and smooths dry, damaged hair
Stimulates hair growth by improving scalp health
♡ Rosehip oil
Rich in essential fatty acids, deeply nourishes hair and scalp
Helps repair damaged hair and split ends
Boosts shine and elasticity
Promotes scalp health by reducing inflammation
High porosity
Thicker, heavier oils that seal moisture and prevent dryness.
♡ Castor oil
Thick and deeply moisturising, seals in hydration for dry hair
Promotes hair growth and thickness
Antimicrobial properties help with scalp infections
Reduces breakage and protects against split ends
♡ Coconut oil
Penetrates deep into the hair shaft, preventing protein loss
Strengthens hair and reduces split ends
Helps with dandruff and scalp hydration
Acts as a natural heat protectant
♡ Olive oil
Rich in antioxidants and vitamins that nourish hair
Helps smooth frizz and adds shine
Softens hair and protects against breakage
Moisturises the scalp and reduces dandruff
ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆ ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆ
Use a scalp scrubber
Scalp scrubbers (also called scalp brushes or massagers) are handheld tools with soft silicone bristles designed to exfoliate and stimulate the scalp.
How to Use a Scalp Scrubber Properly
In the Shower: Apply shampoo and use the scrubber in gentle, circular motions across your scalp. Rinse thoroughly.
On Dry Hair: Use it as a dry massage tool before washing your hair to stimulate the scalp.
With Oils or Treatments: Massage in hair oils or serums to help with absorption.
They offer several benefits for hair and scalp health:
Gently exfoliates dead skin cells, reducing flakes and dandruff
Helps remove product buildup (e.g., oils, dry shampoo, styling products)
Prevents clogged hair follicles, which can lead to scalp issues
Increases blood flow to the scalp, delivering more oxygen and nutrients to hair follicles
Helps promote healthy hair growth by stimulating the roots
Can reduce hair thinning over time by keeping follicles healthy
Helps distribute shampoo evenly across the scalp
Lifts dirt and excess oil more effectively than fingers alone
Removes excess sebum that can cause greasy hair
Gently massages the scalp, soothing itchiness and irritation
Can help balance oil production, especially for oily scalps
Helps reduce stress and tension (which can also contribute to hair loss)
ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆ ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆৎ ˚⋅ᡣ𐭩 •。ꪆ
Avoid These Haircare Mistakes
Over-washing (strips natural oils)
Using too much heat (causes breakage)
Towel-drying roughly (causes frizz & split ends)
Ignoring your scalp (healthy scalp = healthy hair)
My tips
Put aloe vera gel on your hair (roots and length) 15-25 mins before u wash it
Put your hair in a protective hair style before you sleep (I like making a braid)
Use a silk/satin bonnet while you sleep to protect your hair from breakage and keep it clean
I hope this haircare guide helps!
xoxo,
The Girl In Gold
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