#Not me speaking from experience about the bad teachers

[leighsartworks216]

You're Not A Burden

Zayne x gn!therapist friend!Reader

Based on my own experience as the therapist friend and my struggles with being genuine about my emotions with people close to me ✌️

Warnings: hurt/comfort, established relationship, childhood friends, crying, nightmares

Word Count: 1,517

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Zayne has seen this same pattern ever since you were little; the weight of being the person everyone dumps their problems onto, rants to, leans on no matter how small you may be. It's happened for so long now, he can't remember a time you weren't the one stepping up to bear the brunt of someone else's troubles.

He remembers so vividly one day during recess. Your friend was crying because one of the teachers was being mean and unfair. You held them close, let them cry into your shoulder and blubber about their troubles. And then you went into class with that same teacher, experienced that same cruelty, and held your tongue. It was never about being stronger than anyone else, or that admitting anything was wrong was a weakness; only that admitting anything was wrong would place your troubles onto somebody else.

One time, when his parents were away, he slept over at your house in a pillow fort in the living room. He woke up before you, and you had dry tears on your cheeks.

You take the burdens as easy as you take in a breath of air. Even now, in the middle of your quiet night in, your friend called to rant about their job, their relationships - anything they needed to get off their shoulders. You smiled apologetically at Zayne, kissed his cheek, and disappeared into the bedroom to finish the call without disturbing him further.

He understands, better than most, how difficult it is to watch someone suffer, physically or emotionally. How many times had he gone out of his way to ease the burden of his patients outside of medical care? Trying to get a plushie from the arcade for a girl who was too sick to get it herself. Playing chess with a lonely old man, even when it cut into his lunch breaks. But even he has limits to the burdens he carries.

He listens attentively for your voice through the closed door from his seat on the couch. Quiet hums to show you're listening. Muffled words of advice and support. The call goes on for some time, an hour or more, but not once does he hear you talk about your own struggles. Yet, he knows work has been more demanding lately, you haven't been sleeping or eating well, and you were really looking forward to an uninterrupted night in with him - information gathered through observation, more than not.

Not a single word of complaint.

He can't focus on his book, so he sets it aside in exchange for his laptop. The soft clack of keys fills the silence. It nearly drowns out your voice entirely; the typing pauses every now and then to listen when you speak. His work isn't as efficient, so focused on listening for you, but he manages to get through a few emails and a report or two.

When the door opens, he perks up like a dog whose owner just came home. His fingers are still on the keyboard as he watches you come out from the hallway, smiling apologetically once more as you tuck your phone away with a final glance.

"Sorry about that," you murmur as you sit back in your spot on the couch. He closes his laptop and sets it aside. "Lisa's been having a lot of guy troubles lately and just got back from a bad date."

He hums his acknowledgement and turns his body to face you. Cool hands grab yours, holding them in his lap as his thumbs massage into your palms and work out the tension in your fingers. "You didn't say much."

You laugh lightly, as though it's completely normal. As though it should be completely normal. "I didn't want to bother her with my own problems - she has enough of her own to deal with."

"What problems would those be?" he questions. You tense up, like you want to pull away. You don't, but you stare at the ministrations of his hands with a shake of your head.

"It's nothing."

"But if they're problems," he tilts his head, trying to catch your gaze, "shouldn't I know about them?"

You glance at him with a grin that doesn't quite meet your eyes, and a slight downturn in your brow. "You're not on duty right now, Dr. Zayne."

He lifts one of your hands to kiss your palm. Your fingers brush his cheek. He leans into them without thought. "I didn't think I had to be to listen to my partner's issues," he shoots back, shooting down your deflection. His voice grows softer. "It's unhealthy to keep negative emotions bottled up. I am always here to listen should you need to let them out."

Something stirs in your eyes. Discomfort, at being called out and exposed. Worry, and fear. You look away again. "I don't want to bother you with that stuff."

"Who said you would be bothering me? I want to hear about the issues you have, however minor they may be." He releases one of your hands to cup your cheek. He directs your face back to him, leans forward to rest his forehead against yours, stealing your ability to look away. Your eyes remain lowered, staring at his nose. "You always carry the burdens of others. Allow me to carry your burdens, before you collapse under the weight."

You're silent. He shifts his fingers slightly, resting his middle and ring finger over your pulse point just under your jaw. Your heart is beating wildly. It stutters, jumps, skips. You inhale softly.

"You..." You shake your head slightly, nose brushing his. Your free hand fiddles with your pant leg. "You don't tell me about the issues you have, either."

He smiles slightly, wryly, as though you've just started trying to deal with a shrewd businessman who can't resist haggling.

"I had a nightmare last night," he admits softly. That draws your eyes up to his, finally. "When I woke up, it felt like I was still in the dream."

"What was it about?"

He gives you a pointed look. You frown. Your hand clenches around your pant leg, like admitting anything about yourself is agonizingly painful.

"I... I haven't been eating lunch during my breaks."

It's barely admitting anything, but he hums his approval nonetheless. "I was in the hospital, but the corridors were dark. I heard your voice echoing down the halls..." Your heart skips a beat in time with your concerned look. "Why aren't you eating lunch?"

You squeeze your eyes shut, hiding from the inevitable disapproval on his face. "I haven't been sleeping well, so I've been sleeping in my car during my breaks... I... passed out once, at my desk, because I was so tired... I don't want to concern my coworkers like that again." You wait a few seconds before cracking your eyes open. Sure enough, it's his turn to frown with worry. He knew you were tired lately, but he hadn't heard anything about you passing out at work. He can only be grateful you weren't out on the field at that time. "What happens next?"

"... I can't find you." His frown deepens, eyes flickering down your face, taking you in. "No matter where I look, you're not there. And when I wake up, it takes a moment for my mind to catch up and realize you're right there beside me."

Neither of you speak. Your pulse is calm now. The dark bags under your eyes concerns him more than ever now. The daze in his eyes when you woke up this morning to find him looking over your face flickers back into memory.

Eventually, he breaks the silence. "We'll take our lunch breaks together," he tells you, leaving no room for argument. "The next time you feel faint at work, or too tired to keep going, please tell me."

You nod slowly, silently sealing a promise with him. "The next time you have a nightmare like that, you have to tell me, too."

He nods in return. "I will."

You blink, pausing, waiting for something that doesn't ever come. Waiting for him to decide your burdens are too heavy to bear, or become disillusioned with you now that you're no longer this infallible beacon of strength and dependency. But it never comes. Instead, Zayne strokes your cheek with all the tender patience in the world, rubs his nose purposefully against yours in semblance of a kiss, sits quietly with you with no expectations.

Large drops of water begin to form in your waterline. You swallow, fighting the starting tremors in your lungs. He wastes no time in wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into him, helping you sit in his lap where you hug him around his neck and hide your face in his shoulder.

He kisses the side of your head as your body cries with a practiced silence, rubbing his hand in soothing motions against your back. "You're not a burden for having problems, or for sharing them with others," he whispers. "You don't have to carry everything alone anymore."

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @deepzombieyouth @armycaratlover @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @hawtlineblingz @that-lost-one

[v3nusxsky]

Showing you the ropes

*authors note~ so this one is living in my head rent free and I wasn’t sure if I wasn’t gonna post it but @dingdongthetail told me I should. Do you all want a series’s?*

Trigger warnings~ nothing?

Prompt ~ none? my current life?

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

For the longest time you knew this job was your true calling. Starting your teacher training degree was everything you spent years working towards and now you were half way through the program. Your placement was the one and only Nevermore. You’d head so many things about Nevermore from your peers in the university of Jericho but nothing ever good. Or was then that moving two hours from your home town sounded like a bad idea. Of course they placed you in Nevermore knowing you don’t have much local knowledge yet. Days leading up to your time at Nevermore you spent wondering if what you had heard was true. How would this seven week block go?

The first thing you noted was you happened to have older students for your classes. The teachers seemed to be nice enough, possibly even afraid of you. The students seemed shocked at your appearance in their classrooms. Some challenged you instantly, others stuck to you like glue. It’s all pretty text book. Until it’s not.

Your first Friday there was when you realised how challenging this career is. Finding yourself in the headmistress’s office due to a students ability accidentally causing harm to another teacher and you being a witness to the scene. You’d already filled the paperwork out yet apparently you seemed to have botched the form. Would the principal be mad? Would you lose your teaching placement? What if you did something terribly wrong and she wanted to yell at you? The anxious thoughts continued to swirl round your mind as you waited for the striking woman to speak to you.

“Don’t look so nervous dear, you aren’t in any trouble” Larissa reassured gently, her eyes flickering up to watch you visibly relax. “Much better now darling let’s do this form together, I understand it’s your first time, so let me teach you what to do.” Stunned you just nodded along in understanding answering her questions as she asked them. “What’s your role here?” She murmured gently to you causing you to pause. “I uh just a placement teacher?” If you could’ve, you would’ve died of embarrassment on the spot as the look of pity she gave you. “No darling, you aren’t just anything you’re a teacher okay? You may be in training but you’re still teaching at my school.”

Perhaps it was embarrassment or maybe the fact she was practically a goddess in front of you, well known for her years of experience in the field but you cheeks heated up as a blush spread all over your cheeks as you ducked your head slightly. Praise and understanding from adults was always something you struggled to accept, the lack of it in your younger years meant you craved it all the more. The rest of the form was simple and she walked you through everything, gently explaining what you needed to know and what would happen next. “There. All finished. And you darling, if you ever need anything, a chat, some help with plans for lessons or even just to say hello, my door is always open for you darling” she mumbled as she stood up to lead you from the office. Perhaps this placement wouldn’t be bad at all especially with such a supportive headmistress

[mariacallous]

Last year, the lead singer of The 1975, Matt Healy, managed to offend a whole lot of Gaelgoirí (Irish speakers) when he appeared to mock a fan’s name – Dervla – at a meet-and-greet.

Healy isn’t alone, though, when it comes to anglophone bafflement at Irish names. A recent study based on an analysis of Google searches revealed the words that British people have the most difficulty pronouncing. The names Aoife, Saoirse, Niamh and Siobhán occupy places in the top 10.

And it’s not exclusively a British problem: I always cringe watching US talkshows where the host quizzes their Irish guest (usually Saoirse Ronan) on the pronunciation of their and other Irish names.

I’ve heard every possible variation of my own name from non-Irish people. It’s not uncommon in Ireland; in secondary school, there were four Niamhs in my class. But I rarely come across an English person who is familiar with it, despite the proximity of our two countries.

In case you don’t know, it’s pronounced “Neev” or “Nee-av”, either is perfectly acceptable. The prefix Ní means “daughter of”. My surname is trickier, and has even tripped up a few Irish people; it can be translated as Herbert, and is pronounced “her-a-vard”.

When I was living in London, I quickly learned that saying Niamh at the counter in a coffee shop or over the phone to make a booking simply wouldn’t fly. This led to the invention of what I call my “Starbucks name”. Anything easily pronounceable with a simple spelling would do. Mia, Sophie and Rose were among my common aliases.

Speaking to others reveals a litany of similar experiences. Aoibhe Ní Shúilleabháin, a designer and teacher, spent two years at college in England having her name mispronounced and disrespected. (Her first name is pronounced “Ay-vah”.) More than one lecturer resorted to calling her “blondie”.

She tells me: “I was asked to say, ‘Three hundred and thirty three trees’” – a tongue-twister that does the rounds on TikTok – “more often than I was asked to repeat my name.” She recalls the lack of interest when she attempted to explain that Irish and English are different languages with different pronunciation rules.

Clearly, the sensitivities at play here are rooted in history: Ireland was colonised by the English and our national language was all but wiped out. A language revival began in earnest in the 19th century, but it’s never quite recovered. Ireland’s most recent census shows that about 40% of Ireland’s population can speak Irish. The English destroyed our language once before, so every little throwaway comment and scoff at our names hurts a little bit more – and ultimately becomes just tiresome. A handful of people even remark, “Oh! I didn’t know Ireland had its own language,” when I tell them about my name.

Writer Darach Ó Séaghdha is all too familiar with these difficulties. (The “rach” in Darach is pronounced like “Bach”, he says.)He hosted a podcast called Motherfoclóir, a podcast about the Irish language and culture, and whenever there were guests on with Irish names, “inevitably the episode would turn into group therapy”. There was one bad experience, he recalls, when he was told that his surname “looked like a wifi password”. But he decided to give his children Irish names, too. It’s a common trend, he says, “because parents with Irish names have been battle-hardened”.

Like the others I spoke to for this piece, writer and director Rioghnach (think “Ree-nock”)Ní Ghrioghair believes that a sense of superiority among English speakers is to blame for the constant mistreatment of Irish names. But she’s defiant. “We are going to scrutinise the British for any transgression regarding the pronunciation of our names,” and other things, she tells me, like British media claiming Irish actors as their own during awards seasons.

There is no easy crash-course I can give to you on the pronunciation of Irish names, but you can always try out “how to pronounce”-style websites (which themselves can be contested). But the simplest and most reliable solution is perhaps just to politely ask an Irish person – and listen attentively to what they say. I may have accepted that English people are very rarely going to get my name right on the first go, but I appreciate a well-intentioned effort. Just don’t laugh at it, please.

[ready-to-read7]

Prompt #7

I see many stories of many of the stronger ghosts becoming parental figures to Danny and then going to the DC universe or just to a different place on earth to raise him after he becomes a child but I have never seen one where Pandora ends up taking this role I have seen a few where Danny considers her his mother but Never where she cares for him from a young age

Danny during a bad Fenton parent reveal, has to be de-aged and taken somewhere safe with a responsible Guardian and since he already had a strong bond with his teacher/mentor Pandora she offers to go to the mortal realm and care for her young student or now her son, and despite how difficult it is since she had never cared for a child in her first experience with life, she is doing well especially because many people in the city she currently resides in with Danny is very kind and giving her advice as a first-time single mom, in their words, and despite looking exactly like she did when she was alive she’s not worried since she doubts anyone will recognize her and cause  problems for her and her new son/the young prince.

On the other hand wonder woman/Diana is having a crisis because she just saw someone who looked exactly like the legendary Pandora from Amazonian history in the museum, because as far as she knows Pandora died a very long time ago trapping the world’s horrors in her box.

Diana despite her better judgment or having been taught better decides to gain information by self investigating a.k.a. start spying on the woman or at least trying to learn a bit of information before she jumps to conclusions and as much as she would like to do this civilly without being so suspicious she can’t exactly walk up to this woman and ask her if she is  Pandora from Greek mythology who trapped the world’s horrors  in her box .

While she gains information she learns that the woman goes by the name Penelope  ( honestly it was the first thing that came to mind for me so I have no explanation for why I used the name) and that the woman has a son named Daniel/Danny she learned of the child when Penelope came to the museum with her few month old baby and took him to the space exhibit.

Pandora on the other hand is fully aware of all of this, and she  can admit she was not expecting to see young Diana here but she knew young Diana would not cause problems but she could definitely see some confusion on Diana’s face a couple times so she decided to approach her one evening, and explain a few things but also keep a few things to herself since she knows that it’s not safe for the young prince if people know about his status so Pandora despite not wanting to  lie she  has to come up with something even if she does not like it.

She one evening approaches Diana and asks if she can sit down with her obviously with Danny in her arms and addresses Diana very formally explaining to her that she is fully aware that Diana had been watching her and she would like to shed some light on what is happening and before Diana can speak Pandora clarifies her suspicions explaining that she is indeed Pandora the exact same who trapped the world’s horrors in her box, and she would then introduce Danny as her son leaving Diana so confused but also a little happy because Pandora was technically one of her mother sisters in a way (, I am not 100% sure how the relationships of all the Amazonian’s work) so that means that this little boy is a cousin technically from her mother’s side, and despite having more questions she let it slide more interested in getting to know her little cousin.

[pucksandpower]

okay but all i can think of is grid kids: where y/n and sebastians’ daughter gets her period while being with the guys and they freak out while she is completely calm😭😭😭

Grid Kids: It’s Just a Little Blood

Sebastian Vettel x wife!Reader x platonic!drivers

Summary: the grid kids have always been their little sister’s role models and teachers but it turns out that they have some things left to learn themselves

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“She’s bleeding out!”

Lando’s panicked face fills your screen as the FaceTime call connects.

You immediately sit upright, heart racing. “What? Where? What happened?”

“We found her in the bathroom,” Charles adds, holding up a suspicious-looking red spot on the bathroom rug.

George, on the brink of hyperventilation, rushes in, “We need to call an ambulance! It’s a lot of blood. So much blood.”

Max is basically begging, “Just tell us what to do.”

From the background, you hear your daughter’s exasperated voice, “Guys! It’s just my period! Calm down!”

There’s a collective pause. Mick, with wide eyes, slowly asks, “Period? As in ... the monthly thing?”

Your daughter rolls her eyes but is clearly amused, “Yes. Welcome to female biology.”

You laugh, trying to calm the situation. “Okay, first of all, she’s not bleeding out. It’s totally natural. Didn’t any of you take a basic health class?”

Lance raises an awkward hand, “I might’ve skipped that day ... or week.”

Sebastian is trying not to laugh next to you, “Did any of you ever have a girlfriend? Or a sister?”

Lando sheepishly responds, “It just ... never came up in conversation, I guess?”

Your daughter holds a pad up like it’s a game show prize, “Alright, class is in session. First lesson: how to attach this to underwear.“

The line goes silent for a second before George finally speaks up, “You know, I have a newfound appreciation for what women go through.”

You giggle, “As you should. Time for lesson one of many. Pay attention, boys.”

***

The phone buzzes with an incoming call, Lando picking it up instantly. “Hey, kiddo! What’s up?”

“Can you come pick me up?” Her voice, cracking with frustration as she tries to keep her tears at bay, comes through the phone. “I’m in a lot of pain but the physical education teacher won’t let me sit out despite my cramps being really bad.”

George, overhearing the conversation, frowns. “Seriously? She can’t be that heartless.”

Max grabs the phone, his protective instincts kicking in. “We’re on our way. Just hang tight.”

Within minutes, the grid kids arrive at the school, walking determinedly towards the gym. As they enter, they spot the physical education teacher, a stern woman with a whistle around her neck.

“Can we help you?” She asks, eyeing them suspiciously.

“We’re here to pick up our sister,” Charles says, stepping forward. “We heard she’s not feeling well.”

The teacher scoffs. “She’s been trying to get out of class because of some little cramps. It’s just an excuse for her to be lazy.”

Mick tries to keep his cool, “Cramps can be debilitating. It’s not just an excuse like you claim. It’s a real physical pain.”

Lance jumps in, “You wouldn’t make someone with a sprained ankle run, would you? It’s the same thing. Why make her suffer?”

The teacher is about to argue but Lando interjects before she has a chance, “Look, we get that you have a job to do but she’s genuinely in pain. All we ask is for a little compassion and understanding.”

“And maybe,” George adds, “in the future, a crash course on menstrual health and how not everyone has the same experience might be beneficial.”

The teacher nods, sufficiently cowed. “I’ll take it into consideration.”

“Thank you,” Max says and the group makes their way to where their sister is curled up in a corner. As she stands up, looking a little pale but relieved to see them, they envelop her in a group hug.

“Feeling okay, kiddo?” George asks with concern, carefully brushing a stray hair from her face.

She offers a weak smile, “Better now that you guys are here.”

Lance winks, “How about we go get some milkshakes? Ice cream cures everything.”

She chuckles, “I could go for that.”

***

The media room is buzzing, cameras being set up and reporters getting ready to fire questions. The grid kids are seated next to each other, patiently listening to their weekly dose of Maxplaining while waiting for the interview to start.

A reporter from a tabloid magazine, aiming for a provocative soundbite, smirks and directs a question at Charles, “Rough race today? Are you on your time of the month or something?”

The room goes silent for a moment, a few gasps and whispers are heard. Charles looks taken aback, his cheeks reddening slightly, but before he can answer, Max steps in, voice firm.

“That’s really inappropriate. Jokes like that are not only disrespectful to the drivers sitting up here but also to female racers and women in general.”

Lando nods, “Our little sister wants to be in Formula 1 one day and she should never have to face comments from people who think that they can demean her because of her gender.”

George throws his hands up, “Come on, it’s 2034 for crying out loud! You should know better than this. We should all do better than this. ”

The reporter attempts to defend his statement, “It was just a joke. No need to get so sensitive.”

Lance counters, “We’re not being sensitive. We just want you to show some basic respect. A natural process shouldn’t be turned into a sexist joke because you have nothing of substance to ask. Women deserve to be treated with dignity.”

The reporter mumbles an apology, clearly caught off guard by the unified response.

Charles finds his voice and glares at the reporter, “Let’s keep the questions related to racing.”

“And,” Mick looks towards a group of FIA officials sitting off to the side, “Someone better make sure to take away his media pass.”

***

After the press conference, back in the drivers’ lounge, your daughter squeezes between the grid kids on the oversized couch and looks up at them with earnest eyes. “Thank you for standing up for girls like me today.”

Max ruffles her hair gently, “We’ve always got your back, kiddo.”

George nods, “We haven’t always been perfect but we’re trying to learn and grow.”

Lando adds, “And we hope, by the time you get here, motorsport will be a much better place for you and all other women aspiring to be drivers.”

Charles bends down to her level, “We want you to race in an environment where you’re only judged by your talent and not anything else.”

“You’ve got the same passion and determination any of us ever had,” Mick chimes in. “Don’t let anyone ever dim that light.”

“We’ll be cheering the loudest when you make it to F1. No one should underestimate you,” Lance adds with a wink.

She beams, wrapping her arms around them in a tight group hug. “Thanks, brothers.”

[luv4fushi]

HEYYY🦅

I really likes your megumi drabble. HE SO CUTE😭😭 i kinda wish you write more megumi 🩷

megumi fluff (?) and angst at your service! sorry it took FOREVER i had 478274 exams these past few weeks ughhh sorry & ily thx for the req ~~~

he likes me, he likes me not

jjk fushiguro megumi x fem!reader

all megumi fushiguro does is apologize when he rejects you. everything changes because of your confession.

content: angst, fluff if you squint, all characters aged up to 17-18!!!, misunderstandings, confessions, eventual relationship!, megumi is so bad at feelings, ooc megumi a little sorry, takes place at jujutsu tech high school and shibuya has NEVER happened so life is good, yuji and nobara are your besties

wc: 5.1k

click on my masterlist for more!

“i like you.”

for a moment, the world stills. everything comes to a halt.

megumi is sitting across from you at your favorite cafe, just down the street from tokyo jujutsu high, the school you’ve been attending for nearly two years now.

in that short amount of time, you’ve grown into a person you think the past you would’ve liked. you’re taller now, more fit and lean. you’ve got bounds of experience from your missions piled on your shoulders, the unwavering burden of being a jujutsu sorcerer making itself at home.

you’ve grown in other ways, too. you’re stronger now, you’ve got a good hold on your emotions. you haven’t seen your parents in months, but the sting doesn’t hurt anymore. you’re wiser. older. you’ve got a handle on your feelings.

then there’s megumi fushiguro.

oh, how enamored you’d been.

he’d spared no glance when he first met you. you had trudged into the classroom, eyes darting at the unfamiliar faces. gojo satoru, the undeniably handsome teacher of yours, introduced you brightly albeit the low energy of the room.

you had weaved your way into the jujutsu world, just as you had been able to slither your way into the lives of your newfound friends.

but megumi, oh, megumi fushiguro.

it had taken you laborious months to befriend the raven haired boy. his uninviting attitude hindered your relationship with him for some time, and you had half-heartedly decided to pursue something else, but your near death experience during a particularly difficult mission with him had sent him reeling. he had held onto you the entire time you cried for your mother.

you don’t talk about that day. he doesn’t mention it, either.

“what?” his eyes, dark blue, blink in surprise. his lips are parted slightly. “what did you say?”

your throat constricts. then, the words flow: “i’m in love with you.”

love. it’s too strong of a word. you’re not even quite sure what it means, or if what you feel is actually love.

the cafe begins to bustle with life again. the barista from behind the counter steams some milk—almond—and she glances up at a customer approaching. the music from the overhead speakers filters it’s way softly into your ears. it’s a cheesy love song, and you can’t help but feel like it isn’t the right time for that.

“are you serious?” he says, almost spitting out his drink.

“i mean,” you shrug, “yeah? i wouldn’t bring you all the way out here to fuck with you.”

he blinks again. his lashes flutter perfectly. it’s annoying how perfect he is. there’s a slight hue of pink to his cheeks, but not enough to confirm anything—just speculation.

“i’m sorry,” he begins, breathing it out all in one go. “i’m really sorry.”

if you’re being honest with yourself, you’d seen it coming from a mile away; megumi fushiguro is different. he’s got the composure of a brick wall. the perpetual frown on his face never, ever leaves, not even when he’s with you. he doesn’t crack, doesn’t shake. his soul is hardened from things that he’ll never speak of with you.

“it’s okay,” you say, but it’s not.

you’ve changed—grown into a person you’re proud of, but you’re still stuck sometimes. you’re still a pushover. still just a small shrimp in the vast ocean. still apologizing for your existence.

“i’m sorry,” megumi repeats.

you know he’s apologetic, that he really means it, just from the way his brows furrow slightly. you know him too well for your own good. you don’t think he can say the same about you.

“it’s fine.” your voice breaks. you duck your head in embarrassment. rejection has never hurt you this badly. “you don’t have to apologize for not liking me back. it’s not your fault.”

you wonder why you’re comforting him when he’s the one who has ripped your heart out completely.

“i’m gonna head back,” he mumbles out, hesitating to reach out and dab away your tears with the napkin he’s been wringing around his thin fingers. “you… should come, too.”

you shake your head. “i think i’m gonna finish my coffee.”

he offers a smile. “you can finish mine as well, if you’d like.”

“nah,” you say, scrunching your nose through watery eyes, “black coffee isn’t really my thing.”

“yeah.” his laugh is soft, almost forced, but you can tell it’s genuine. “i know.”

oh, you think. it really hurts.

he knows.

something inside you snaps. your lungs feel itchy. your ribs squeeze. you think that it would’ve been easier to never say anything at all.

megumi leaves the store. the jingle of the bell above the frame rings through the air. you’re left with your cold cup of coffee and megumi’s cup across from you.

the barista gives you a look of pity. you chug down your drink and chug his, too.

it’s bitter.

-☆

megumi arrives to his dorm exactly five minutes after four pm. he slips off his sweater and changes into a pair of sweatpants and a loose t-shirt. his mind is blank, except for the image of your teary eyes.

he swallows nervously. maybe he’ll sleep it off.

“yo, megumi.” yuji slams himself against the door impatiently. “how’d it go?”

megumi sighs, the irritation swiftly making its way into his fatigued body. he opens the door and yuji tumbles in without an invitation.

“what are you talking about?” megumi mutters with another sigh.

“the confession,” yuji says matter-of-factly.

megumi stares. “you knew?”

yuji’s smile slowly removes itself from his lips. “…yeah? it was pretty obvious.”

“what was obvious?”

“that she likes you…?” yuji tilts his head. “and you like her back, right? so i figured you guys would be all cuddled up in here.”

megumi doesn’t say anything. the gears in yuji’s head begin to turn as he looks around the room, noticing the comfy attire megumi has on.

“you said that you liked her back… right?” he raises an eyebrow. “because it’s not a secret that you do.”

“i left.”

“you left her there?!”

“i didn’t know what else to do.”

“so you said ‘yes, i’d like to be your boyfriend’ and then dipped out on her?”

“i didn’t say yes.”

yuji pauses. he looks at megumi, then at the made bed, then back at megumi.

“for fuck’s sake,” he groans, running his hands through his pink hair. “i’m gonna go.”

megumi stands there, appalled. the door is shut harshly and the hinges squeak. he’ll have to scold yuji about that later. for now, he wants to take a nap.

maybe he’ll feel better about everything when he wakes up.

-☆

on the other side of the building reserved for dorms, yuji crosses his way into the girls’ section. it still feels wrong no matter how many times he’s made this trip before.

he meets you on the way there. you’re dragging your feet, headphones strapped on your head, and lips quivering.

“hey,” he calls out, tapping your shoulder. “you okay?”

he waits until you hang the silver headphones on your neck. they’re megumi’s, he realizes as he sees the fading stickers on the metal plate.

“hm?”

“you okay?” he asks again. his eyes scan you for any signs of distress, and he can practically see it radiating off of you.

“yeah,” you hum, “i’m cool.”

“want me to grab nobara?” he suggests with a grin.

“sure,” you say.

the sun feels hot on your back. you hate the way the school is so widespread for having such a small population.

“i can grab some ice cream,” yuji rambles. “and i’ll get us a notebook so we can write shitty things about megumi.”

you pat him on his back, but his sturdy body almost sends you flying backwards. he catches your wrist just before you fall, and he’s laughing at your expression with glee.

“you’re so funny,” he says through his fit of laughter. “you’ve gotten scrawnier. you needa eat more! i’ll get us snacks, too.”

you pout. “shut up, yuji. not everyone can be as buff as you and todo.”

“oh, todo is a whole different story.”

“tell me about it,” you say, playfully rolling your eyes. “i’ve seen him beat you up into a pulp.”

“hey! in my defense,” yuji says, his hands coming up to the sides of his ears, “i couldn’t do much against him!”

you’re nearing nobara’s dorm, which is right across from your own. you like how homey hers is compared to yours. she’s got a knack for interior design, or so she claims.

she swings the door open the moment you reach the inside of the building. you’re halfway down the hall when she sticks her head out from the frame of her room. her black roots are showing more than usual.

“how was it?” she asks once you’re close enough so that she can whisper.

you want to tell her that there’s no point in keeping it a secret. you had told yuji about your feelings far before you even mentioned to her, mainly because yuji had been your first friend at jujutsu high. megumi isn’t here, either, so there’s no reason to whisper when everyone knows.

“bad,” is all you reply with.

her eyes soften a considerable amount, an expression you’ve never seen on her face before. she takes a small breath and pulls you into her room by your arm.

you’re met with her fragrances, vanilla and strawberry—a nobara kugisaki signature scent. she had begged gojo to buy her shelves to place her k-pop albums on and sure enough, the white furniture stands proud at the far corner of the room. there are fake vines hanging from her ceiling right above her desk, where she has an organizer messily places over a few books.

“you wanna dye your hair?” she jokes, looking back at you. “my roots are coming in so we might as well dye yours while we touch up mine.”

“is orange all you have?” yuji’s nose twitches. “i don’t think she’d look good in orange.”

“gee, thanks,” you sarcastically respond.

“sorry.”

nobara clicks her tongue. “wanna unpack?”

“kinda,” you say, your body going limp once you’re at the foot of her bed. you sprawl yourself on the silky sheets and stare up at the ceiling.

“get out, yuji,” nobara demands. she doesn’t even acknowledge his downturned lips.

“i know everything already!” he whines. he shuts the door behind him with much more care than he had with megumi’s.

“still!” she insists. “i wanna have a girls’ talk.”

“i’m one of the girls.” he crosses his arms.

nobara’s shoulders sag. “fine, but you need to go buy ice cream.”

“was planning on that already,” yuji replies. he taps quickly at his phone, presumably asking gojo for his credit card.

when yuji leaves the room, he promises that he’ll get your favorite flavor. once nobara senses that his presence is completely gone, she turns to look at you.

“i’m sorry for making you confess,” she whispers. her tone is comforting, genuine, soft. she takes you into her arms and squeezes your shoulders. “i really thought he liked you back.”

“it’s not your fault,” you reply earnestly. “i chose to do it out of my own selfish feelings.”

“you can cry,” she says, patting your head. at times like this, nobara seems years wiser than you are. her touch is warm.

you bite your lower lip. “don’t wanna. i think i’ll be fine.”

“okay,” she says, and you feel her chest vibrate with the word. “you’re allowed to cry, though. megumi would’ve been a shitty boyfriend, anyway.”

all you can do is let out a watery laugh. you don’t tell her that he would’ve been an amazing lover. he would’ve taken you out on dates at your favorite places because he’s observant like that. he would’ve known your favorite foods, though he knows them even as friends. he would’ve kissed you tenderly because that’s the type of boy he is. he’s the type to love carefully, like he’s afraid he’ll lose someone forever if he doesn’t.

“i’m up for dyeing your hair,” nobara pipes up after the silence that penetrates the room. “yuji’s right, though… i don’t think orange would suit you… ha.”

you giggle. “let’s just touch up yours, yeah?”

yuji’s footsteps can be heard from outside the door when you’re a third of the way done with nobara’s roots. she complains about how long he’d taken, but there’s no real malice in her voice. he explains that he had ran into trouble obtaining gojo’s card (“i had to beg him for it!”).

the ice cream is all melted. it’s gooey and delicious and makes you smile. as you look around your friends, your crinkled eyes say more words than you ever could.

“you’re welcome,” yuji says into your ear. “you don’t have to thank us for any of this.”

-☆

the next morning comes by quicker than you want it to. you mentally prepare yourself for seeing megumi in class at eight in the morning. you haven’t made a mistake as bad as confessing your dying, unrequited love on a wednesday afternoon quite like this before.

nobara had suggested walking with you the night before, but you’d sternly told her that you could handle it. looking back, maybe you should’ve agreed with her offer.

megumi isn’t in class when you come in. he’s usually there at least five minutes before gojo starts teaching. something inside you tells you it’s because of yesterday—as much as you hate to admit it.

he walks in through the sliding doors a few minutes late, but gojo pays him no attention. megumi has privileges like that—at least, with gojo. he’s practically your teacher’s son, and though you’ve never heard of the full story, you’re well aware of gojo’s slight favoritism.

the class is short. all jujutsu sorcery classes are. they mainly consist of typical real school lessons, only because under the law, jujutsu tech is still a high school. the other, much bigger portion of class with gojo is focused on maintaining cursed energy and providing yourself with the best possible victory in battle.

when it’s over, you don’t know if you should be relieved or upset. you won’t be able to see megumi after this, assuming that he’ll avoid you for a good month or two. however, you think you’d rather die than attempt to make conversation with him.

“don’t do anything stupid,” gojo warns, signaling the end of class.

you hear yuji snicker quietly and say, “yeah, nobara.”

the bickering brings a smile to your lips. from the corner of your eye, megumi shifts in his seat.

you decide that it’s best to let the feelings marinate, as stupid as it sounds. it’s an infinitely better choice than moping around and begging megumi for a chance. you may be soft, but you’ve got pride.

“see you guys,” you announce, more to yourself than to anyone.

“alright,” yuji calls after you, “see you later.”

you can’t help but feel a little disappointed with the lack of clinging when it comes to you. your absence doesn’t seem to cause a ruckus like it does for most people. you wonder if it had been yuji retiring early; would everyone else ask him to stay a minute longer?

that’s how life is for a while.

you attend class, spar a little, and sleep. some days you go out into the city with nobara. you avoid the cafe, even though it’s your favorite. perhaps it’s because you’re still embarrassed by megumi’s rejection. on other, slower days, gojo takes you all on outings because he’s basically everyone’s replacement father.

it’s still as tense as ever between you and megumi.

the boy doesn’t make any effort to reach out. you don’t blame him, though you should. he steals small glances at you, particularly when you’re smiling and forget to cover your teeth with your hands. that’s all he takes from you, and he can’t be the only guilty one, because that’s all you give.

on this day, gojo takes you all out to the fair. it’s annual, taking place in the beginning of summer, and it’s a great way to practice forming barriers and such. the fairs always bring out a few nasty curses that need to be exorcised—the four of you are already used to being dragged out here for that sole purpose.

as if gojo knows, he sends you out in pairs. of course, you’re paired with megumi fushiguro. at first, you open your mouth to reject gojo’s demand, but you notice the way megumi doesn’t seem to care and your resolve hardens.

“it’s really awkward around you guys.” gojo pretends to act busy, flicking something from his nails. he’s got his sunglasses on and the ladies around him fawn.

“huh?” you and megumi look at him with accusing glares.

“is something going on between the two of you?”

“no,” you say almost entirely too quickly.

“right,” he drawls, a smirk forming on his face. “anyway, good luck out there. get rid of the little ones and then—i don’t know/-meet up with yuji and nobara if there are gross ones that’ll kill you.”

megumi nods. “okay.”

“this was what i was talking about,” gojo mutters as he walks off. “it’s soooo awkward…”

megumi gives you an apologetic look. “for the record, i don’t think it’s awkward.”

“it’s fine,” you say. you find that you’ve been pardoning him quite a lot. “you don’t have to lie.”

his face flushes. “i’m not.”

“i confessed to you and you don’t like me back, so there’s really no need to tiptoe around it anymore,” you rush out. “just treat me like normal. i don’t really care.”

he looks hurt, and you want to laugh.

you discover that, in those days of being alone, you’d rather megumi treat you like a friend again than be completely ignored. at least then, you’d have a part of him. at least then, he’s not slipping through the cracks of your heart, becoming a distant memory.

you want him to be anything but a memory.

“you want me to treat you like normal…?” he repeats your words. he paces himself just a few steps behind you when you begin to walk away from the conversation. “what does that mean?”

“i think you know what being friends is like,” you attempt to joke, but it comes out harsher than intended.

the fair is getting more crowded by the second. the shopkeepers are yelling out cheap deals and there are children that snake in and out of the lines of people. paper lanterns are hung at the front of tents to attract foreigners—it seems to be working because there are more people surrounding shops with lanterns than without.

megumi takes a breath. “how could i do that?”

your steps falter. “what do you mean?”

“how can i go on to treat you like normal,” he says softly, “when i know you’re in love with me?”

you bite the inside of your cheek and taste blood. “i don’t know. you’ve done it before without knowing my feelings. you can do it all over again, right?”

you look over your shoulder to see his lips part. he’s given up on the cool-guy persona. his vulnerability begins to show through the dents in his personality.

“you’re saying that you’ve liked me for that long?”

“yeah,” you admit. something about this is more freeing than you could’ve imagine. “i think i always have.”

a man shoves himself into you. he’s older with a beer belly and a scruffy beard attached to his face. he barks at you to move out of the way as he drags his young daughter through the sea of people. megumi’s warm hands come to rest on your waist, pulling you aside and closer to his toned chest.

you do your best to ignore your beating heart.

“i’m not,” megumi starts shakily, “lovable. i don’t know why you like me.”

your body goes cold. it's even worse than when he'd rejected you.

“curse,” you say, detaching his hand from your body. “i feel it around the back alley.”

the night ends. nothing is solved. you go to bed and curl into yourself.

-☆

loving megumi is weird. there’s an odd sense of comfort to it, like you’ve known him for longer than you actually have. he makes you feel safe even though he's gruff and a little mean about it. maybe that's just part of his charm, though, because it makes you love him even more.

he seems to have taken your words seriously; he starts to treat you like normal again. he doesn't avoid you anymore, and the obvious tension surrounding you two has disappeared for now. he lets you take a few of his sweaters when you forget to do your laundry and he buys you your favorite snacks sometimes.

it gets to be too much. you almost wish he'd go back to ignoring you. the grass is always greener on the other side.

summer goes by slowly. it's the prime time for bad feelings to manifest into curses. you push away your lingering feelings, convincing yourself that you've gotten over it. it's been more than enough time now, coming up on two months since you've confessed. you don't want your resentment, if you can call it that, to form any bad curses—you'd hate for them to be attached to megumi. that'd be a burden too hard to carry.

a few missions involve partnering up with megumi. gojo thinks you two work well together; there's a sort of synergy that you have with each other that is hard to come by sorcerers nowadays. you don't mind the compliments, or at least you pretend you don't.

the missions aren't difficult, but maybe that's because you've grown stronger. megumi has, too.

summer passes. it still hurts.

"you're confusing me," you whisper.

you and megumi are shopping for a surprise birthday party that gojo is forcing you guys to throw for nanami kento, a good coworker of his. you've met him more than once, and you're not really sure if he'd appreciate such a last minute party. regardless, you and megumi are tasked with finding enough balloons to fill the poor man's office.

megumi doesn't allow you to hold any of the bags. he lies and tells you that it's out of habit—nobara makes him carry her shopping bags every time they go out—but you know he's doing it just because he wants to. you're perfectly strong enough to carry a few paper bags, and he doesn't carry nobara's bags like he claims he does. megumi doesn't even go shopping with her unless yuji's there and even then, yuji holds the bags.

"sorry?"

"why are you doing this?" you refuse to look at him.

"doing what?"

"this," you say, gesturing at the two of you. "why do you act like we're close enough to do this?"

you cringe at yourself, aware of how hypocritical you're being. you had wanted this, wanted him to go back to being a friend, to treat you like he had before you went and ruined everything. why are you angry? why do your eyes well up with tears as he steps closer to you?

"we aren't close?" he asks. his arms fall to his side.

passerbys give you curious glances. he takes off his sweater, the one he always wears depsite it being humid out, and wraps it around you. the paper bags filled with confetti and paper plates are set down by your feet. he pulls the hood over your head to hide your wet eyes.

"we are," you mumble out sorely, "but not like this."

"i'm sorry," he says, and you're brought all the way back to the day you had told him about just how much you liked him.

"'s not your fault." you sound like you're trying to convince yourself and not him. "i'm being an asshole. you can forget about this."

you don't want him to feel guilty. he can't help how he feels, after all. you don't want him forcing himself to love you.

"what you said that day," he coughs out. the bags crinkle as he lifts them from the pavement. he continues, "what did you mean by 'always'?"

you squeeze your eyes shut and he pauses next to you. you can feel his soft gaze on you and you're glad you can hide behind his sweater, the cloth draping over you like an oversized blanket.

"i don't know..." you tilt your head up to look at him. he looks like the boy you think you'll always love. "i think i was doomed from the start."

"doomed?" he says, a little amused. "loving me is dooming? how sweet of you."

you need to remind yourself that he's not playing with your heart; this is how he copes—and how you cope, too. he must know you better than you had thought.

you nearly scoff. "it's because you're you. you're so good at being you that it hurts."

megumi slows. you hadn’t even noticed that he'd been guiding you down the sidewalk the entire time until now.

"i think it applies to me, too," he say quietly.

"what?"

"'always' applies to me, too." the clarification does nothing to settle your nerves.

"i don't understand," you blurt.

he gives you a look, as if to say, "really?", but he keeps talking, "i think i'm used to this feeling because it's always been there."

"what feeling?"

he shrugs. "you pissed me off when i first met you. you're really stupid, you know?"

your face morphs into an irritated expression. "thanks. you're pretty great yourself."

he laughs and it sounds like music to your ears. "i wasn't finished, dummy."

"sorry."

"you're pretty... a lot more than you think you are," he admits shyly, "and i guess that annoyed me because i kept feeling all weird around you. i got used to it, i think—that weird feeling. but it's always been here. it never left."

you stumble, tripping over your feet at megumi's statment. you don't want to interpret it the wrong way, but with how he's looking at you, you can't help but maybe think that he likes you too.

"this isn't how i wanted to tell you, but," he breathes in sharply, "i don't like it when you cry."

it's awkward. perhaps a little funny, if you really look at it, but it's megumi and you can't hate him. you'll never find it in yourself to truly hate him.

nanami's surprise birthday party isn't much of a surprise. though gojo nor nanami say it, you all know yuji is a favorite of theirs, and no one is surprised when yuji says that he had accidentally revealed the party a few hours prior.

gojo has fun. even shoko, who never shows up to any of these events because of her busy schedule as a doctor, seems to enjoy herself. nanami pretends like he's not entertained, but he has on a fond smile that looks weirdly similar to the way megumi smiles. you're all old enough to party now, as gojo puts it, so it's a little less like a classroom celebration and more like a familial one.

it's the third of july, nearly two months and a half after your confession, when megumi hints that he feels the same way about you.

you don't know what to make of it.

-☆

"i like you."

you're in the middle of getting ready to go out with nobara and her favorite upperclassman, maki, when megumi tells you he likes you back. your eyes widen and the mascara you've just finished putting on smears on your lid.

megumi hands you a makeup wipe as if he's done it a million times before. (he hasn't, but he just knows.)

"w-what?" you stutter out, your breath catching in your throat.

"it took me a while to figure that out," he says.

he's flat on your bed, covering his face with his arm. his t-shirt rises with each of his nervous movements. according to the rules set by gojo, he shouldn't even be here in your dorm. he shouldn't be on your bed and listening to your playlist through your shitty speaker gifted to you by yuji.

"are you joking around?"

"what?" he sits up and turns to you, frowning. "why would you think that?"

"is this you pitying me?"

"i just," he sighs, frustrated, "i needed to tell you before i chickened out. i meant what i said the other day, you know?"

"about you getting 'used to' the strange feeling?"

he nods and then slouches back against your pillows. if it had been any other day, you would've felt shy about sleeping in his scent.

"yeah," he says, running his slender fingers through his jet black hair. "i really did mean it. i think i just—i don't know—pushed you away because i was afraid."

you've given up on applying your makeup by now. your hands are shaking too much, anyway.

"i'm scared sometimes, too," you reply, catching his eyes in the reflection of your vanity mirror.

you see the side of his lips turn upwards. he looks as handsome as ever. he's gotten older since the first time you met him, and it hits you harder now that he's on your bed, his features sharp and his body lanky and tall. there's a sort of intimacy that you sense between the two of you.

"i'm not afraid anymore." his legs swing over the bedframe and he easily reaches the ground even though your bed is raised. "i'll be brave for the both of us."

oh.

"what do you think?" he tilts his head.

you stay home that night.

-☆

"so are you guys dating now?" yuji exclaims.

you both freeze.

"fuck off," megumi says instead of answering the question.

"god," yuji huffs out. "finally! all those peptalks and you don't even tell me that you got the girl?"

megumi blushes from beside you. neither of you had expected yuji to be awake to witness you two watching the sunrise on the hill beside the school.

"you know," yuji grumbles, "it took a lot of convincing to have you realize that you've been in love this entire time, megumi. the least you could've done was tell me."

megumi ignores him and snuggles further into you.

"why are you up so early?" you ask, shuffling underneath the blanket that is covering you and your boyfriend.

"instinct." yuji's shoulders drop, defeated. "'k, i'm gonna leave you guys to be romantic and shit up here. have fun explaining this to nobara later."

nobara almost wrings your neck out when she catches megumi holding your hand that saturday morning. she tells him that he needs to make up for the months he left you feeling sad. he says he's already forgiven, and he's not wrong (because you're weak when it comes to him, just like he's weak when it comes to you).

you think that you would've chose to love him no matter the outcome. loving him is easy like that.

a/n: oh my god. this was a word dump and not proofread. i am so sorry this took forever to come out but i ended up changing the plot like a billion times cus it wasn't good enough.. LOL. hope u enjoyed this!!! thx for making me write more megumi because i love writing him (he's been my fave character since the anime came out three years ago hehehe). ngl it was kinda rushed bc i wanted to get this out but i think it turned out fine!!!! ok thx once again ily muah xx

[doberbutts]

Tbh I think the comparison to white people might be some simple us vs them thinking (maybe not all the time, though). White people complaining about oppression = nonsense/overeaggeration (if you're myopic), therefore comparing transmascs to white people is a way to call what they say nonsense. Or, if you're under the impression oppression=good person points, then white = bad/wrong, therefore transmascs are bad/wrong. Idk. Lots of these folks have some black/white thinking.

I think the answer is much easier than that.

The majority of people I see using the race analogy to draw a parallel of white vs black racism and trans man vs woman oppression are white themselves. Not everyone, but I would say my casual scroll of Bad Take Havers usually reveals whiteness here.

It does not surprise me at all that the very same white people doing this do not have the nuanced racial understanding to be able to reflect how, for instance, both black communities and latine communities experience racism in different yet similar ways, and how there is both bad blood and also shared history and solidarity between both communities, with many people who exist somewhere in between (afrolatinos) and people who exist completely outside of this equation (other marginalized races of color) or on the fringes (other mixed people of color but with only one of the involved races in this venn diagram) that also may experience their own oppression.

And so, they don't even think to use the comparison of black and Latino understanding, instead choosing to reach for white vs black racial dynamics. They don't have the understanding necessary to get why that's neither a good comparison nor is it a fair one to use especially when this particular conversation was started by trans mascs of color and how prior conversations regarding trans men and mascs occupying a marginalized gender were started by both (cis *and* trans) women of color and trans men and mascs of color.

It also does not escape my attention that those insisting that not only do trans men and mascs have privilege (something I do not completely disagree with, although I think as always it is more nuanced than "have" vs "have not") but also that trans men and mascs are specifically an *oppressor class* are also largely white, and show an inability to understand that "privilege" does not always equally translate to "oppressor". This comes to a head when discussing trans men in powerful positions- teachers, doctors, politicians, business owners, religious leaders, even celebrities- and whether they are pushing harmful rhetoric or if they are holding the line and refusing to budge.

And, while not true in all cases and certainly no one is perfect, because people are people and thus imperfect at the best of times, the majority of all trans people in power hold the line and refuse to budge regarding harm to our community. We can all think of examples- usually celebrities- of otherwise, but those pushing for laws and change are generally hand-in-hand with each other keeping step and refusing to leave their fellow siblings behind.

This does not mean that we cannot *contribute to* or even *lean on* transmisogyny- remember, there were cis women on the Supreme Court gleefully voting away abortion rights even though it directly affects them. There is no identity that makes you immune to bigoted bias, and no identity that protects you from doing harm to others. That is on each of us to do better, to each out in fellowship and solidarity to our fellow humans, and to lift each other out of the pit.

Much like how a Latino friend of mine may experience privilege in that he does not experience the antiblackness I do, and much how I may have privilege that I speak English as my mother tongue and he doesn't in this largely English-language-dominated country, neither of us are inherently each other's oppressors unless we are acting on oppressive bias. Intentionally or otherwise.

Oppression is action, not existence.

But again, I am not surprised a group of largely white people do not understand nearly enough of this nuance as it applies to race to then be able to apply it to gender.

[sillylittlegirlthoughts]

would you do high school harry with a girl who hes just sat next to for most of the school year (therre so clearly in love but deny it) and idk he just doenst want to go to his lesson but also doesnt want to skip on his own so he asks her and they skip AND if you alright writing it they just get high (from personal experience 😇😇) and talk and you can make them do what ever i dont care

skippers | w2s

thank you anon for this request! personally love this idea and sorry if it is shorter than anticipated but if you would like another maybe where they go back to school or you meeting harry’s parents after this then lemme know!

harry lewis x reader!

requests are always open! check a previous post to see a list of those i would love to write for

The bell rang through the school as the commotion of the class and corridors began to rise, every student heading to their next class. She too added to that as she rushed to her next class. English, was a subject that she despised, but the boy she sat next to made it not so bad.

Her and Harry got arranged seating at the beginning of the year. As a result of them both being extremely sheepish when around new people caused them not to speak for the first few weeks and only exchanging smiles of acknowledgment when passing one another in the halls. One Friday the teacher set a pair assignment for the weekend, when both her and Harry bonded over the thought of comics being better than actual novels they soon realised their common interests did not stop at that.

Their english classes were not spent practically and somehow they did even less work than they used to. With a few warning and many classmate judgements the pair found themselves inseparable.

Whether it was them both ignoring the smitten nature of their relationship or they were too busy thinking of each other to think of the reason why, Harry and Y/n had both failed to acknowledge the obvious connection they had.

It became extremely obvious to their classmates and their friends that they talked about one another too much to be ‘just friends.’

She walked and waited outside Harry’s class waiting for the dismissal. Harry came out of the room, lugging his bag on one shoulder ruffling his hair with the other hand. “You alright?” She asked, furrowing an eyebrow at the distressed boy. “Yeah, yeah. Just knackered. Don’t want to do this bullshit of a class.” He moaned as they trailed alongside eachother.

“Harry it’ll be alright. We always have a laugh in English!” She exclaimed as she tried to put a smile on his face. “I really dunno. I don’t want to go. But I don’t want to bloody skip by myself either!”

He looked around aimlessly as he contemplated what to do. “Y/n, would you come skip with me?” He asked her, his eyes filled with hope.

“I thought you’d never ask!” She joked.

After they had managed to make it off school grounds they headed towards a football pitch secluded in the back of a park nearby.

“See! This is so much better than English!” Harry uttered as he dropped his bag on the ground, running to a football in the net. He brought it out and took a kick of it. The ball was quite filthy and deflated too but Harry was having an exceptional amount of fun. The ball hit the netting at the back of the net as Harry ran around in excitement. She giggled at him, admiring how much fun he was getting out of the sad little football he had found. He ventured for the football and brought it to the spot. “Have a go.”

“What?”

“C’mon! Have a go. It’s easy just do a little run up and kick with the inside of your foot.” He lectured her, running his hand across the inside of his foot whilst doing so. “Right then.”

She giggled as she ran slightly to the ball, watching Harry shout to her with words of encouragement. She kicked the ball and it flew into the net. Harry yelled and ran to the girl, embracing her as he swung her around. “That was class, y/n!”

“Harry! I just seen you bloody do that about six times!” She stifled a laugh, admiring the boys complete giddiness.

“Yeah but from you! That brilliant from you!” He stated as he walked back to his bag, propping himself against the post and he sat down. “Oi!” She hit the boy playfully over the back of his head, and sat down facing him.

At first they contemplated how they would manage to pass the remainder of the day out in the bitter cold but it was soon resolved when Harry brought some things for them to smoke.

Their bodies were soon warmed up and their minds were flowing. As they both lay on their stomachs and talked about their mates in school they noticed how much fun they were having and dodging the thoughts of any trouble they might get in later.

Harry couldn’t stop laughing at anything the girl said, he admired her true smile and how much it enhanced her beauty. His brain was fumbled. He finally admitted to himself this afternoon to his true feelings about her and he didn’t know how to act. He had pushed it away for so long so it didn’t bother him but now that he had admitted it to himself he couldn’t help but feel so out of place. He was awkward, fidgeting with his fingers and constantly running through his hair to the point where she asked,

“Are you okay?”

He stared at the girl blankly as his eyes grew heavy and his expression started to seep into confusion.

He then did something so impulsive that it even stunned him. He leaned in and she followed suit and then he connected their lips, the kiss was slow and sweet. She was a gentle kisser and her hands trailed to his hair slowly tangling through his blonde mess. She could feel him smile through the kiss and they slowly pulled away and he rested his forehead on hers and they both just smiled in content.

[cerealboxlore]

Kindergarten Hero (idea ramble)

After re-watching Kindergarten Cop, I got to thinking that a similar scenario would fit Captain Marvel. Hear me out. As the beloved and iconic hero to Fawcett City, he'd go out volunteering all the time just to help out his city in any way he can. Rescuing cats from trees, helping the elderly cross the street, working in soup kitchens, volunteering at animal shelters, you name it, he's there with a great big smile, happy to help. He doesn't have to stop a big bad villain in order to be a hero, as he tells the public that it's the everyday heroes that inspire him to be kind in return. Heroes like first responders, volunteers, etc. Especially, teachers.

I can see Captain Marvel being a common sight at schools for special events to help pass down wisdom to the kids and to have some fun with the citizens he protects on a daily basis. Reading to the third graders, playing basketball with the 7th graders, helping the 12th graders figure out what paths they want to pursue in life and how to apply to colleges (thanks to the wisdom of Solomon for the last one). He gets told that he's a marvel with the kids, and that he'd be an excellent educator. He laughs it off, claiming he could never be as good as the present teachers, but it does linger in his mind just a little.

One day, while stopping by to say hi to some kids during recess at a random school (the patrol was quiet so he'd figured he could waste time this way), Captain Marvel overheard from one of the teachers in charge outside that it's a shame he can't stay longer. The teacher says that one of their kindergarten teachers is out sick, and with a substitute shortage, it's been a struggle to wrangle up the kids without hassle. They all have their hands tied with their own classes enough as it is. Without thinking about it, Captain Marvel says he's happy to volunteer for the position temporarily while they seek a more permanent solution.

Captain Marvel (Billy) thinks this will be easy! Teaching kindergarteners? Psh! He's been through kindergarten before (as Billy), and he's used to helping kids. Of course, teaching is going to be easy, I mean, how hard could it be?

Within the first ten minutes, Captain Marvel wants to admit defeat.

It is not easy to teach. It takes a strength stronger than Hercules to be able to get a classroom of little gremlins to sit down and do their classwork. The man is 6'5ft and the sight of tiny kids running around him is quite a funny sight to the other teachers, who can be heard laughing at him in their classes. Already there's a kid crying, another with glue on their head, and too many of them are trying to eat things that should not be eaten! He never thought he'd have to tell someone not to eat a Lego, but he supposes more impossible things happen whenever he's doing a magical mission.

He's determined not to quit though. If regular teachers can do this every day, then so can he. With the wisdom of Solomon and the stamina of Atlas at his side, Captain Marvel manages to find a way to speak to the littles, and manage the class into respectful students. He teaches the littles to respect their peers and parents, and passes down the importance of being good to the world around them.

He entertains them with lessons from history, the stories from around the world, and how the past can shape the future even centuries later. He gets to show his passion for geology (canon, actually!) to the littles and the science behind it. He even gets to bring in Tawky Tawny for class one day, where Tawny reads to them and they can pet his soft fur.

At the end of his temporary substitute era, Captain Marvel is glad to have that experience. He's grown closer to his city, and learned that Billy would love going back to school after seeing the Captain doing such a good job through his eyes (not back to Kindergarten, of course, ha!).

Anyway, that's me rambling on about Captain Marvel. I had more thoughts about this, but this post is long enough. Maybe next time!

[chezzywezzy]

Yandere Gwi-Nam (1/4)

Word Count: 3.9k

I remembered that I actually wrote this whole thing for fun several months ago. Might as well use this for an easy peasy ease back into society.

R stared at the email on her phone, her brain scrambling to make sense of the Korean typo in the email. Although she stood in the main hallway, gathering many stares from the native Korean high school students, the posted signs were not the most helpful.

She took in her surroundings once again, adjusting her old and well-loved frog backpack, loaded with stationery. The hoard of students desperate to make it to class on time sometimes collided, and R was astounded at the sheer student population of the public high school. Unlike from her home country, the high school seemed well-funded and quite modern, even compared to the college she was actively attending at home — which had given her this opportunity abroad. The atmosphere made R somewhat anxious.

R sighed, deciding the best course of action — after a few failed attempts of grabbing a frantic student’s attention — was to go to the right and follow past the principal’s office. R’s entire goal was to find the teacher’s lounge. And although one might think to ask the principal, she was terrified of making a poor first impression. 

The hallway had grown vacant and silent, only the sound of her footsteps echoing. She noticed her tattoo cover-up sleeves were scrunching slightly, and while walking, looked down to adjust it.

She suddenly heard loud, quick footsteps come from behind. Just as she went to glance over her shoulder, a hard shoulder smashed into her back and knocked R forward onto the ground. She scraped her knees, which created instant panic. As she scrambled to sit and inspect her knee, there was a cruel snicker.

R scowled, recognizing the tear in her leg sleeve. Luckily, R was always analy OCD and overprepared, and knew she could clip it with a pin and hide it under her knee-length black skirt. 

Two shoes stopped in front of her. R looked up, unamused. A student who looked far more mature than his peers by a few years toward her with black banks and a Korean-styled mullet. As she was still adjusting from her native tongue to Korean, his words did not register at first.

R’s scowl disappeared as she intently focused on the words.

“Since when does our school let in foreign [unknown]?” he sneered.

R blinked, only assuming it was foul language spitting from his mouth, and rolled her eyes. “You are making a bad first impression on a new teacher.” She intentionally left out the assistant.

She watched as his breath and stance stiffened. “Shit.” He glanced her over, a slight smirk growing. “The school must be desperate if they took in a foreign [whore] with fake hair and tattoos.”

R’s eyes widened and her cheeks darkened, pulling the dark brown wig over her head to hide her brightly dyed hair. She finally brushed herself off and pinned the sleeves together. R returned to her feet, only then recognizing the slight burn in her knees.

“Listen, kid. How about you mind your business and I’ll mind mine? I can already tell you’re an asshole, so I’d recommend you get to your class before I bring you with me to the principal’s office for harassment.”

The student sneered and crossed his arms. There was a momentary tense staredown before he seemed to loosen up, clicking his tongue and walking off — but not without snatching one of her decorative to-do list papers. R sighed, not caring enough to pursue her to-do list. She already seemed fairly unprofessional with her frog backpack, so a pink sticky note with Hello Kitty on it was better off left out of sight.

Despite the aggravating experience, R continued on her way, plastering a smile on her face. Eventually, she found the teacher’s office empty. However, a teacher named Ms. Park had left a name on the door with R’s name and the classroom number. R sighed with relief, heading off to the classroom.

R burst through the classroom door. Ms. Park had been speaking, but all went silent except for the muttering of students. R was nervous, but as time passed, the classroom became as familiar as any other.

~~~

R blasted her somewhat generic pop playlist since the old songs from the 2000s never grew old to her. She was chowing down on her boxed lunch, which was cutely styled like everything else: a Hello Kitty lunchbox, as she succumbed to capitalistic desires of that brand easily. 

The concrete, half-built foundation was where she went during the lunch period to get some peace and quiet. During the semester, construction had been placed to a halt except for weekends, as there were frequent noise complaints from school staff and students. To R, it was her perfect hide-away location from prying eyes.

As she finished up her homemade kimbap — an accomplishment R was proud of — Shake It Off began echoing from her phone. R grinned, and she stood up. She sang poorly, but sang with it regardless, even incorporating some equally poor dance moves during the chorus.

R halted mid-song as her stomach had a sharp, sudden pain, hissing loudly and grasping her stomach. She cursed under her breath.

“Eh? How unathletic are you? How embarrassing.”

R gasped in fright, swerving to face the onlooker. She sighed out of relief, recognizing the infamous rule-breaker from her classroom (although he rarely attended class). R had a neutral opinion of the boy, as he was notoriously the “bully’s gopher,” but hadn’t ratted her out or spread any rumors about her unprofessional underbelly. 

“At least I’m more athletic than the gym instructor,” R shot back, noticing that the stomach pain had left.

Gwi-nam’s eyebrows raised, adorning a cheeky grin. He often put up an air of unapproachability, but due to R’s semi-authority, it seemed he neither cared to intimidate nor to fake manners. 

“You could get fired for saying something like that.”

“I could get fired for a lot of things, kid.”

R went over and sat back on the cement steps, furrowing through her lunchbox and sipping on an internationally imported Capri Sun. Gwi-nam leaned on the crudely placed metal rails, leering over the woman. He eyed the package curiously, as well as the rest of the cutified objects.

“I’m amazed someone like you got transferred here,” Gwi-nam scoffed. “There’s nothing professional about you.”

“My college GPA, past internships, letters of recommendation, and my polyglot status say otherwise. Besides, Ms. Park says I bring a modern level of cultural diversity.”

“God, you’re full of yourself.”

“So what?” R chortled, slurping up the rest of her juice. “I deserve to be a little self-confident. I worked hard to get here.”

Gwi-nam rolled his eyes. “Whatever. What the hell are doing out here anyway? I bet you’re too weird to make any friends.”

“Not at all. I just like to eat alone,” R insisted. “Why are you here, kid? Don’t you have anywhere else to be or lunch to be eating?”

“I don’t have friends. Just people I hang out with.”

“Hm. Well, how about some bribery to get you back with your people? Here’s a chocolate bar.”

~~~

R handed the student sitting next to her a tiny container of cut canteloupe and some chopsticks. “At this rate, you owe me an entire hot pot.”

Gwi-nam snatched the bowl, immediately digging in hungrily. “No way,” he grumbled with a full mouth. “That would count as taking advantage of a student. Besides, with how fat you’ve gotten, you obviously have some food to spare.”

R clicked her tongue angrily, swatting Gwi-nam’s neck. “How dare you comment on a woman’s wait like that. With those manners, it’s no wonder why you don’t have a girlfriend.”

The comment made her feel somewhat insecure regardless. Gwi-nam wasn’t wrong. R had been wearing baggier shirts recently, as no matter how much she exercised or ate healthily, it hardly impacted the small stomach bump she had developed in the last two months. The only explanation was that it was from poor sleep, stress, and overworking. 

“I’m too busy for that.”

“Too busy because you’re beating up some helpless classmate, right? Don’t think I don’t notice when your knuckles are all messed up. You’re called the bully’s gopher for a reason.”

“You fucking bitch,” Gwi-nam sneered,“ don’t call me that. Just because you know a fucking language doesn’t mean I won’t kill you.”

R sent a glare before snatching back the cantaloupe from him. “God, you’re rude and sensitive.”

“As if. Now give me my food back.”

She rolled her eyes. She very much assumed he had home problems and had taken some level of pity on him since the boy showed up in the building every day since their first encounter and had neither friends nor food. But after enduring an all-nighter, she didn’t feel like putting up with his foul attitude.

R shoved her food back into the lunchbox and stood up. As she did so, Gwi-nam’s hands latched onto R, causing her to almost trip. Gwi-nam shouted in irritation, but the sensation of standing had made R feel dizzy enough not to notice. Black dots clouded her vision and she stumbled forward slightly.

“Hey!” Gwi-nam exclaimed, grabbing and pulling her back to the step. 

R sat, and it felt as though her stomach vibrated with agony. She let out a hiss of pain and laid back, the lunchbox long forgotten. R gasped and rubbed her stomach, feeling a sudden leaking sensation. It was as though her stomach was hollowing out.

“What’s wrong?” Gwi-nam huffed, aiding in lowering her slowly onto the steps. 

“I… I don’t know — I feel…”

“What the fuck —!”

R was confused, focusing on nothing but the sharp cramps. But as Gwi-nam scampered away, R twisted her head up to see what he was looking at. R screeched as she noticed a waterfall of bloody blobs leaking from her white skirt. R reached for her phone but barely felt the ability to move from the cramps. It was as though her period was on blast.

“Call a fucking ambulance!” R shrieked, to which Gwi-nam clumsily withdrew up from his pocket. 

He called 119, but nothing other than confusion was displayed in his expression. R heard the muffled voice of an operator, to which Gwi-nam stuttered in reply,“ I - I need an ambulance at the front gate of Hyosan High.” Another few seconds passed before Gwi-nam spat out a few stuttered descriptions of the emergency. 

He pocketed the phone before grabbing R’s arms and tugging her up. R grunted, a few tears sliding down her cheek. When R’s legs gave out, Gwi-nam scoffed in annoyance and scooped her up, trying to disregard the blood that stained his jacket.

R grasped onto him for dear life, stuttering,“ What are you doing?”

“What does it look like, stupid?”

A few minutes later, Gwi-nam arrived at the front gate at the knick of time. He flinched at how loud the sirens were as the ambulance pulled up. Nurses rolled out and helped get R into the back, with Gwi-nam deciding to get in the back.

~~~

“Ms. R, it appears you had an intense miscarriage,” the doctor informed the woman, staring at the clipboard. “You were being too hard on yourself during the pregnancy.”

R paled and shivered. “I didn’t… I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t know you were pregnant?”

“No.”

“I’m sorry then. However, you should be able to head home now. Your boyfriend is waiting outside.”

“He’s not my…” R mumbled, watching the doctor walk off. 

The nurses helped R to her feet. She was thoroughly cleaned, adorning nothing but the white robe. However, with the state of her old clothing, they had been discarded with instructions to head straight home and change. R slipped on her shoes and shuffled weakly to the open doorway.

His head bobbed sleepily, Gwi-nam was sitting by the door. R wiped away her tears and softly shook his shoulder. R was surprised he had waited, as by the time everything was okayed, the sun had set. Ms. Park had called at some point, but R would deal with the repercussions of a missed afternoon session and after-school office hours when she got home.

“Gwi-nam,” R called.

His head shot up and a snort escaped. His eyes were wide and his brow furrowed. He rose, immediately eyeing her up and down. “What happened? The sons of bitches wouldn’t let me go in to see you.”

R chuckled, insecurely grasping at her stomach. “It was… just a stomach ulcer that got stuck. They had to get rid of it, that is all. I’m alright.”

Gwi-nam’s shoulders instantly relaxed. “Eh? All that blood for an ulcer?”

“It’s been growing for two months now.” R glanced around. “You should head home now. Let me get you something from the vending machine. It’s not much, but —“

“You were the one in the hospital,” he gruffly mumbled. “Besides, you were the one who said I owed you a hot pot.”

“Nonsense. Your parents are probably waiting for you.”

He snorted obnoxiously. “No, they’re not. So, let’s go.”

Gwi-nam grabbed her arm and started dragging her down the hall to the exit. R protested but with his tight, unrelinquishing hold, she gave in and joined him at a nearby convenience store. After some fuss between them, Gwi-nam was able to take what she grabbed and pay for the food together. R was as grateful as she was surprised by the student’s kindness.

When they sat at the window, R inquired quietly,“ Are you sure your parents aren’t waiting for you?”

“As if. My dad’s probably off at work while my mom’s fucking her new boyfriend in a hotel.” R frowned, to which Gwi-nam snapped,“ Hey, don’t fucking look at me like that. I don’t want your pity.”

“It’s not pity,” she replied. “I’m upset. You deserve better people in your life.”

Gwi-nam tried not to show that the comment had taken him aback, covering it up with a glare and a scoff. However, despite his best cover-up, R noticed how blood rushed to his cheeks. R sent him a sweet smile, unaware of just how impacted Gwi-nam was.

~~~

The door to the classroom slid open loudly, and without looking, R stated,” It’s not like you to be so early for our sessions, Cheong-san.”

When R received no reply, she looked up. She was taken aback to find Gwi-nam standing at the entrance, harboring an unsure and anxious expression with his backpack shouldered. R tilted her head and sent a smile.

“Gwi-nam, come sit. How can I help you?”

“I need help with English, obviously.”

R chuckled as the man plopped into the seat next to hers, backpack on the floor. “I assumed. I was more so asking what you need help with for English.”

“Oh. Uh, with… the homework.”

R found it endearing how nervous he was, glancing constantly at the door. She knew he would rather be caught dead than at a study session, but was incredibly proud of his courage. Gwi-nam pulled out the paper. The class was assigned various Robert Frost poems to decipher. Gwi-nam had been assigned to Stopping by Woods. And instead of just using a translator, Gwi-nam came to R.

“Do you need help with the grammar functions?” R inquired.

Gwi-nam nodded, grabbing a pen. R began explaining the concepts and switching words to make the sentences more comprehensible to a foreign speaker. Gwi-nam was surprisingly attentive until a ding came from R’s phone.

R glanced briefly at the notification, noticing the time. “Ah. I have a scheduled student appointment in a few minutes, so I have to cut this short. Can I pen you in for next Monday?”

“Eh? Why?”

“So that you can come again. If you do, I’ll even bring you a snack. How does three-thirty sound?”

Gwi-nam shoved his notes back in begrudgingly. “Whatever,” he muttered, not meeting R’s eyes.

“Great! See you then. Get home safe, Gwi-nam.”

He didn’t reply, quickly shuffling into the hallway. R’s heart warmed, and a part of her felt somewhat proud that she was making an impact on her student’s life to some capacity.

~~~

R awoke with a gasp, clasping at her bedsheets. It took not a moment after for her alarm to go blaring in her ears. She immediately shut it off and focused on regaining her breath. 

Everything was going well in Korea. Work, friends, lifestyle, school (as exhausting as it was to be doing college at the same time as her transfer abroad) — all except the overlying issue.

R had managed to attract a stalker. 

It started small, and she was convinced it was a student of hers. She constantly felt watched when nobody was around. Things would go missing from her bag or desk. Then one day, while she was in the office on her own, she glanced over and saw a shadowed figure staring through a crack in the door.

That’s when things seemed to escalate, especially the paranoia. She became more organized with her things and knew when things would disappear. She carried a safety weapon at all times. Sometimes, when a hooded man followed her for a stretch, she’d break for a run.

And then things escalated again — one day, the hooded man ran, too.

That was when, after calling Ms. Park in distress, they went to the police together. R knew that Korea tended not to take cases like her’s seriously, and it’s not as though she knew how to talk to a police officer that well.

With thorough convincing from Ms. Park, they kept an eye on the neighborhood R lived in from time to time. But that hardly seemed to do any good, because that was when R noticed that hooded man outside her apartment building. And then outside her apartment.

R invested in every home safety feature. Door cameras, motion-detecting lights, and a silent break-in alarm if it came to it.

She was terrified and was considering moving, to say the least. Calling the police was a lost cause since they “couldn’t do anything with the footage” and “a crime hadn’t happened yet.”

So R lived in fear. The stalker had even invaded her nightmares.

When R grabbed her phone, she noticed that one of her bear-shaped sticky notes was beside the phone. She went through her notifications before she roused herself. And only then did she notice the content of the sticky note.

Written in messy, almost intelligible Korean, was written ‘The cops can’t do shit.’

R shrieked. She noticed her underwear drawer was ajar. She noticed that her lights had been unscrewed. And the silent alarm hadn’t been triggered. R was a mess getting ready for work, taking photos of the various evidence. And although she tried to compose herself on the subway, she was still a wreck when she got to campus.

As she walked past the school gates, she gasped when a fist punched her shoulder suddenly. R veered her body toward the culprit, recognizing Gwi-nam immediately. He wore a casual expression.

“Gwi-nam,” R stated, recovering from her shock – and momentarily forgetting her troubles.

The student clicked his tongue, motioning to his head. “Your hair is falling off, teacher.”

“Ah!” R, embarrassed, readjusted the wig furiously. “Better?”

His nostrils flared and he eyed her up and down. He nodded.

“Thank you. I hope to see you in class later.”

R walked away, feeling her student’s eyes follow her intensely.

Only then did the panic come back. She was in a rush, greeting students only briefly until she arrived at the teacher’s office. R wrapped her arms around Ms. Park from behind, who jolted in shock.

“R!” she exclaimed. 

“Help.”

R released her and handed the now attentive Ms. Park her phone. The woman scrolled through the photos, growing paler by the second. She handed the phone back.

“You can’t stay there anymore.”

“I know that — but my landlord won’t accept it as a reason to break the lease. My credit score will be destroyed.”

“Fuck the credit score!” Other teachers glared, causing Ms. Park to clear her throat and compose herself. “You have to move out today. I’ll help you after class.”

“My assignment will be late.”

“R. This is not up for negotiation. So stop worrying and let’s leave this for after school.”

She nodded, blinking away the blurred tears. She sat at her desk, rummaging through her items quickly. Ms. Park nudged her, a twinkle in her eye.

“You know, you’re out here doing miracle work for our students. I was checking class B’s overall grades, and I found that On-jo has gone from a D+ to a B-. And even better, Gwi-nam somehow went from failing to a B+. I’m sure you’ll get a bonus from the principal for all your hard work at the end of the school year.”

R smiled, some of her uneasiness lifting off her shoulders from the news.

~~~

Much to R’s dismay, it quickly became apparent that R had forgotten to pack a lunch. She had grabbed her lunch box, but the contents were nonexistent. Thus, R knew she’d have to head down to the cafeteria vending machine grab some carbohydrate-filled junk, and break the bad news to Gwi-nam.

On her way, she noticed Gwi-nam leaning on a wall on his phone. R hummed, approaching. Gwi-nam immediately noticed, eyes glued to her figure. R paused in front of him, fumbling with her fingers.

“Well, Gwi-nam, I… woke up late this morning, so I didn’t pack a lunch. Do you have money for the vending machine?”

“Eh? Late? How unprofessional.”

R rolled her eyes. I’ll take that as a yes. Just make sure you eat.” R spun to head over to the cafeteria before pausing. “Oh, one more thing. I’m proud of you and the progress you’ve made in class, Gwi-nam. I hope you know that.”

She walked over to the cafeteria, not noticing how the student gulped and his cheeks grew red, unable to tear his gaze away from the woman.

The cafeteria was crowded and R struggled to evade students. She replied to greetings from students and eventually made it to the vending machine. R checked her phone as a goofy lunch wrap slowly unraveled. Alas, the lunch period was already fifteen minutes through.

The wrap was nearly loose, sliding down the front. It did so slowly, and R nearly screamed when she realized it was about to stop moving.

R had had a bad enough day and kicked the machine. Just like that, the wrap plopped down. As R grabbed it, the noise level in the cafeteria skyrocketed. R swerved to observe the commotion and was unprepared for what she saw. A hoard of students were flying through the glass entrance, until students suddenly slammed it shut, locking out a small group. Screams echoed, and despite the unknowing threat, R dashed toward the entrance, shoving her wrap into her skirt pocket.

And that was when another hoard approached. Students covered in blood ran at the group, and although they tried to run, the students caught them. Blood spewed against the glass, and R shrieked. Although R was frozen in place, everyone around her was running amock in panic from the sudden brutal attack. 

R stood just on the other side of the pane, not far from the front door. Students ran, and then so did the blood-covered students. The doors went crashing open, and R’s life flashed before her eyes as a student she immediately recognized pounced at her.

[clownery-and-fuckery]

The fact that Harry is canonically FEARED by people in Jamrock really surprises me. Like, I know he's the "human can-opener" and that has boosted his reputation and name among the people, but learning what he was like pre-amnesia is a whirlwind of an experience. Why don't more people talk about it?

This is coming from the wiki page so some things might be a lil inaccurate (I honestly don't know how well I can trust that source just yet) but it says he was on drugs/drunk for the majority of his service (even pre Dora), I imagine this got worse especially during those six years after Dora left him. By that time, he had already partnered with Jean, and had probably rejected his promotion number one.

After Dora left, the substance abuse got worse, but his work got better. It was hard to discourage their best detective, I guess. Even though he was actively funding the thing he was trying to shut down. It's a conflict of interest, he shouldnt have kept his job.

Also, during "THE UNSOLVABLE CASE" its said he left a man unable to walk, held a woman hostage, and shot wildly at a man.

That's just one case. You don't get a reputation like Harry's from one case. You don't make someone run at the mention of your name in the area. Ruby didn't run because of that one case.

Harry was a scary man. An ex gym teacher, off his rocker on an amount of drugs he couldn't count on two hands. He was talking to the tie before he lost his memory. The skills probably weren't a new thing. I like Harry, too, but his routinely "the women are the bourgeoisie" bit isn't just a post-amnesia thing, that's a cemented belief that's hung around his head long enough to become a foundation of every belief, even if you're an ultra-liberal. I don't think he was that popular with anyone he met.

The public were honestly right to be afraid of him.

But the RCM promoted him again. Or they tried. Because, what, Jean somehow managed to cover up everything Harry had done? What else has he done? How bad did things get, if beating a man with a ledger isn't anything more than a footnote in a case file?

Speaking of Jean, he confuses me a little. I mean, he respects Harry enough to cover up everything he did/does, but when it comes to talking about/to him, he puts him down, chews him out, makes it sound like he thinks Harry's actions are unacceptable (which I'm inclined to agree, at least pre-amnesia) but he also actively tries to make this narrative of Harry being crazy and wild and dangerous a thing, to everyone. Even Kim. Especially Kim, at the end. Look at this dialogue:

Those are the words of someone hurt over and over, watching a cycle repeat in another. But Jean still, when he doesn't really need to, decides to cover up Harry's missing gun and badge, and hears him and Kim out at the end of the game. He tears Harry down out of habit, but he also helps him out of that same habit.

He uses the word bewitched. That interested me, because it's infinitely more affectionate than manipulated, or tricked or just lied to. Jean uses it in a sympathetic manner, because he, like the RCM, like Dora, had been drawn in by Harry, and forced to stay until they left, like Dora, or became too bitter to go, like Jean.

It set up an interesting narrative for an aftermath. Would Kim, too, be driven away? Or would he get so sucked into the endless torment of being Harry's favourite, that like Jean, even if he wanted to, Kim wouldn't know anything else? Or had Harry actually changed? Does he get better, or does he get worse?

I would love to see more exploration on Harry after the events of Disco Elysium. I want to know how his reputation shapes how he acts after, I want to know how people interact with him. Its so interesting to me. It's all a bit of a jumbled ramble but yeah!!! :D

[eris-snow]

𝐁𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐠𝐨𝐮 𝐈𝐬 𝐆𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐨𝐟𝐭

Tags: bakugou x gn!reader, todoroki shennigans, fluff, sweet, funny, humour, swearing

Todoroki conducts a highly scientific experiment and has come to prove that his highly scientific hypothesis is indeed correct.

Bakugou's going soft. Prove me wrong.

I mean, if you look at it with blinders, it's hard to see where he's coming from, but Todoroki can assure you that this is not just a theory anymore.

Can science explain how Bakugou's features simply melt when you kiss him? Can math explain how unexplainable his actions are towards you without the expression called love?

Shoto doesn't think the universe can explain a soft Bakugou. And that's why he's here to explain it for you-

"Todoroki, was it necessary to draw the blinds-."

"Yes."

Bakugou loves you to bits. Whether it's buying your favourite food back or loving little gestures, whether it's prioritising your safety even when on the battlefield...Bakugou's rough edges are slowly but sure smoothening out.

Not for everyone, of course, as Shoto has deduced. He still gets on the blond's bad sides and for some reason, he refuses to be called bestie, but hey, at least there's no punch to the face anymore.

Bakugou makes sure to walk on the outer side of the pavement. He makes sure to kiss you good night and whenever it's raining, he holds the umbrella for you so you can walk hands-free.

When you're sick, he goes all cabin fever and cooks for you. He checks your temperature and if you're feeling up to it, he'll explain the homework to you and show you your next few assignments.

He calls you Sunshine, which is so soft and nice compared to his other nicknames such as:

"ICYHOT, DID YOU MIX MY SHIRT WITH YOURS? MY SHIRT IS PINK NOW YOU HALF-BRAINED, TWO-QUIRKED PEPPERMINT BITCH-"

(Oh shit-)

There are stars in his eyes whenever he looks at you, and Shoto bets his father's black card that your boyfriend is already saving up for a ring, one as special and unique as you because you do way too much for the lovesick idiot.

You apologise for him.

You put up with him. (Mad respect.)

Everyone acts like being with Bakugou is such a dream, but being his partner is not easy.

Flaws that take time to be corrected are the separation marks for most couples, and the fact that you stayed by his side to build him up from his fucked-up asshole self takes more mental strength than any superficial fan could imagine.

Is Bakugou going soft? Absolutely.

"That brings me to the end of my presentation." Shoto bows, facing his class.

There are way too many crinkles on Aizawa's forehead. "The presentation was supposed to be on the latest news in the Hero community." His teacher says flatly. "Not another collection to your conspiracy theory folder."

Shoto is about to respond, before Bakugou speaks up first.

"YOU THINK I'M GOING SOFT—?"

[boinin]

Chapter 271 spoilers

So, a couple of interesting things about chapter 271, which is all from Rin's POV and mostly in flashbacks. The main reveal was about the Itoshi parents.

They're not particularly important figures in Rin's life, but apparently this is not due to neglect. The parents in this chapter seem conflicted in how to raise and guide their children, rather than actively harmful in their parenting. The worse you can say about them is that they seem hands off. Sae does the heavy lifting when it comes to consoling and advising Rin, not their mom or dad.

What's most interesting to me, in terms of Rin, is that they're never fully depicted. Rin's memory shows them in detail, but never with eyes. Compare this to how he recalls Sae, his kindergarten teacher and fellow kindergarteners. Even the bloody pigeons are well rendered in his memory—but not his parents.

Lastly, the body language of the parents speaks volumes. Rin and Sae's mom is somewhat present in their lives, or at least tries to be despite her own doubts. Their dad though? Really avoidant. His body language is evasive, and the only time he seems truly present is when he's comforting his wife.

As an aside, while their dad has dark hair, Sae looks just like him now that he's older. Their mom has lighter hair like Sae, but the way her hair sits looks like Rin's. She's also willowy and tall like Rin. Nice seeing how they both inherited different things from their parents.

Other than that? The panels of baby Rin trying to be a Kaiju are too damn cute. We're starting to get a sense of where he started, and how those natural instincts of his got twisted and repressed over time. I really liked this development, even if it refutes my theory about what his ego was.

The other thing that's really clear this chapter is how protective Sae is towards Rin. He steps in without a second thought to take his mother's reprimand about the broken toys—even though their mom seems to know he's lying about it. He's quick to suggest taking Rin out of the house for ice cream when he senses his little brother feeling bad.

Sae's aim seems to be to cushion Rin from every bad thing, whether or not it'd be ultimately beneficial for Rin to undergo that experience. Which makes you wonder—how does his outburst post-Spain fit into that agenda?

[igotanidea]

Home : bat!family x bat!sister

Summary: no one gets to offend my siblings and father. No one but me. I'll make sure of it.

***

Maybe it was a bad idea to apply for that Erasmus program and leave her brothers and adoptive father alone for whole three months. Sure, studying abroad, expanding knowledge, learning language and customs was an amazing experience, but it came with the cost. The price of being in fear that her family would get themselves in trouble, pain, fight they could not recover from.

The first two weeks of her adventure was the worst, since she was waking up at most random night hours, ready to jump into fight, those vigilantes instincts and habits kicking in.

Those were the nights when she was turning and tossing in her bed unable to close an eye and in result sneaking out her dorm room and walk around the campus like the ghost. The quietness and peacefulness of her surroundings at the academy were so different from those she knew in Gotham, it was almost disturbing.

There was no denying that Y/N was the smartest in the family, even Tim admitted it once (obviously not while talking to her, but she overheard his conversation with Bernard) but at times like this she was second-guessing her choices.

Due to her specific upbringing and family background she also never managed to form any deep connection with her fellow students, preferring to stay by herself, focus on the task and putting a lot of work into expanding her knowledge and skills in technology. She never complained, but from other people’s perspective she was an eremite. Kind, polite with perfect manners when someone asked her for something or while working in group, but still highly reserved. Just like her adoptive father, whose relation to she was trying to keep a secret. And it worked up to the day when one of the lecturers accidentally called her  “Miss  Wayne” in front of the whole class. The second he did it the air in the auditorium froze. She might have been in different country, but for God’s sake she was studying technology, of course everyone heard about the Wayne Enterprises and the  Bruce Wayne.

“You’re his daughter?” one of the boys in the lower row turned around and eyed her suspiciously

“Yes. Adoptive one.”

“Of course. He’s well known for taking kids in, right? Seems like some sort of complex or maybe even a disease” he smirked and it made the girl clench her fist. Her relationship with Bruce might have been rocky, but no one except her and her brothers were allowed to judge and offend him.”

“Care to elaborate on that?” she hissed, eyeing the guy with ice cold gaze

“Miss Y/L/N! Mister Olsen! Please calm down and sit down!” the teacher tried to make up for his mistake but it was far too late for that.

“You misspelled my name once, might as well keep calling me Wayne now.”  the tone of her voice matched the gaze. She was not going to let the guy easily, but getting in trouble with the dean was not a part of her plan. “Now, can we continue with the lecture? I don’t know about anyone else in her, but speaking for myself I would love to actually learn something useful.”

***

Y/N was the middle child. Younger than Dick and Jason, older than Tim and Damian which placed her literally halfway  in the family. Because of that she was a mix of responsibility and carelessness, doing her own thing, not always the right way, but still capable of getting away with a lot more than the others. Not as family oriented as Dick, feeling a bit overshadowed by Jason, highly competitive with Tim and more independent and individualistic than Damian. Still, even despite her “boss bitch” attitude, she was sandwiched between her brothers which made her the best negotiator and mediator in the family. Y/N also had a strong sense of fairness and morality and would always try her best to do the right things. Objectively, not subjectively. And making fun of her family was not one the things she could forget. However, before taking any action she had to gather intel, figure out what the guy knew and then come right at him.

***

Waiting till the end of the class was probably the greatest torture she ever had to endure, every minute stretching into infinity and when it was over the sense of relief almost made her drop the plan. Almost.

“I’m not done with you, Olsen.” she was faster to the door, stopping her potential victim from getting away.

“You want more, Wayne?”

“Please. Hit me with your best shot. What is your problem with my family, exactly?”

“Let me think” he tapped his chin. “There are so many. Like for instance, your oldest brother. What was his name again? Oh, right! Dick. Suits him quite well, doesn’t it. A prick, if you ask me. Definitely a show-off with no skills.” He scoffed “Shall I continue?”

“ Please. You got like three more people to gossip about.”

“The second in line, Jason, right? Oh, the unhinged  one. Violent, mocking, thinking he is better than anyone else around, when in reality he’s just a lost, scared child. Probably a dumbass too.”

“Pretty sure he would agree with that. Now what about Tim and Damian?”

At this point Olsen was getting a bit surprised that the girl in front of him was still unfazed. Her calmness, a sign of silent inside fury making him slightly uncomfortable.   Not enough to stop however.

“Drake…..” the name rolled of his tongue while the boy was wondering what words to choose “oh, he’s the gay one, right? Such a shame that the renowned Wayne family has someone like that as a member. Bet your father would never take him in, if he knew. A fairy becoming the next CEO of his renowned company. How ironic!”

“Hm.” Oh, Y/N was so much like Bruce at times and it showed in the least expected moments.

Damn that girl! How could it not make her angry?

“And …… Damian, the only biological child. Absolutely maladjusted and unaware of social norms and boundaries. Tell me, how was it like to have your youngest brother violate your boundaries and personal space?”

“It was. ….educatory. Just like it was with everything you just said. You presented yourself as someone with some serious psychological issues and possibly an unhealthy interest in my family’s life. So thank you, it truly was illuminating.”

***

“What the hell did you do Y/N?” a very alerted Dick appeared  on the other side of the screen

“I have no idea what you are talking about.” The girl sighted and fell onto the cushions bringing the computer onto her lap to see her brother better

“Don’t lie to me now, sis.”

“I wouldn’t even dream of it.”

“Bruce has been on the phone for the last fifteen minutes and from what I figured it’s about something that happened on the campus.”

“The only thing happening on the campus are students who skip classes.” She mumbled “maybe except that one time when one of the boys lost some stupid bet and blew up the fountain as some sort of punishment. That was funny.”

A little grunt was heard on Dick’s side and for a second he disappeared from the screen.

“Dick?”

“Sorry, I had a little interruption.” He rubbed his forehead “Now, back onto what you did…..”

“Did you say that someone blew the fountain?” third face appeared on the screen in the corner, taking over the conversation.

“Hello, Jason.”

“Hi sis. Maybe I should have joined you in your academic career. Seems like you have a lot of fun there. Besides, I never really finished school, since you know…. I died.”

“We know.” Y/N and Dick said in unison

“Always a good opportunity to remind you, right?” he grinned “Now, sis, tell me, how was it going full rogue on fellow student? I gotta admit I’m proud of you here.”

“So that’s what this is about?” Dick’s eyes grew wider than ever “I;m gonna ask you once again, Y/N. what did you do?”

“Nothing permanent.”

“What…..?”

“Cut her some slack, Grayson.”

“Look who decided to join us.” Y/N smirked “improved your computer skills much, Damian?”

“I got tired of being left out.”

“Since when do you care about the group?”

“Leverage, sis. Knowledge is power, I thought you knew that.”

“Ok, that is enough!” Dick finally lost his patience “I’m trying to have a conversation with my little sis here. Both of you, get out of the line!”

“Mhm, keep dreamin’ Dickhead.”

“For once I agree with Todd.”

“You have no right to…..”

“Guys…..” Y/N tried to mitigate them, but deep inside she enjoyed their bantering. It was a while since she experienced it and only now realized how familiar it was.

“I was here first!” Dick yelled “And I’m the oldest”

“No one cares Grayson! You are a Bludhaven resident now.  Just because you visit the manor does not mean you can keep Y/N busy using the wayne’s devices!”

“Don’t you have someone to kill in the crime alley, Jay?”

“Unlike you, I succeeded in all my latest missions.”

“Is that what you call coming back to your safe house bloodied and injured. You were on the verge of death!” Damian smirked “you were absolutely inept, that’s not a success.”

“You were what, now?!” Y/N shrieked. Her second oldest brother was sometimes too careless.

“It was not that bad, Y/N, I swear. And how the fuck do you know about it, demon?”

“I have my ways.”

“I would suspect Drake of spying on me, but you?”

“Speaking of the devil, I’m surprised Tim hasn’t already join us.” Dick muttered

“Oh, he did.” Y/N pointed out

“WHAT?” her brothers cried. Now there was another one fighting for her attention and it was not a secret that Tim was her favorite making the situation harder.

“I did.” Tim chuckled  “Well, to tell the truth Y/N let me in the channel. We have our ways with technology. Something none of you could ever fully understand. “

“Of course not….”

“Cheer up, Dami. You can’t monopolize all the areas.”

“I would beg to differ.”

“Ok, everyone hold up here. I think we lost the point of the conversation. The thing was that Bruce was on the phone, probably taking to the dean about….”

“Y/N played a little prank on her classmate, is that right?” of course Tim was the one who everything best.

 “He deserved it.”

“Y/n…..”

“Stop using the big brother voice on me! It’s not going to work!”

“How about we use Damian’s youngest one?” Dick teased

“I refuse to be used in this….”

“SHUT UP DAMIAN!” Dick and Jason shouted together and shared a murderous look between one another. Now they were both desperate to find out what happened since Tim would rather die than spill the bean. It was infuriating. They were the older brothers! This had to mean something.

“Ok, that’s it.” Damian stood up and the view of the empty chair in the place where his face should be was highly disturbing.

“That is not good.” Y/N said out loud something that all of them already knew. Her presumptions turned out to be right a second later when the shouting and yelling reverberated through the speakers and a blur of black and green rushed into Dick’s room.

“hey, I want to join the fight too!” Jason started up and with a speed, Wally West could be jealous of involved in the mix of limbs and screams.

“Wait! I though Dick was in Bludhaven! Tim?”

“Not today. We’re all in the manor.”

“And you idiots were talking to me through four different computers?”

“Are you actually surprised?”

“On second thought, not at all.” She sighed. It’s a good thing you are the reasonable one here…..”

“There you are, Timmy” now the situation has turned as it was Dick who appeared in the door of Tim’s bedroom “you are not  getting out of this. If you want Y/n to yourself you have to fight me.”

“And me!” Jason tackled Dick to the ground with a loud thump

“Losers!” Damian jumped over their bodies and came right at Tim

Because of their actions, Y/N was the only one who noticed two men stepping from the shadows and exchanging some words. Apparently Bruce wasn’t capable of putting the boys in their places and asked Alfred to try this instead. And a single grunt from the butler did a miracle as all of them stood up and started explaining and apologizing. Funny as it was, Y/N knew that with Bruce’s arrival she was heading straight towards preaching from her father.

“Y/N.”

“Hello Bruce.”

“Did you break his arm?”

“You broke his arm?” Dick was halfway out but turned back immediately

“No.” Y/n shook her head “I broke his arm and hurt his legs.”

“Don’t forget that you also demolished his dorm room.”

“That wasn’t me. That was….”

“Did you go at him as a vigilante? Wow! Way to go, sis. Now I truly am proud of you.”

“Ok, both of you, out!” Bruce lost the rest of his patience pushing Dick and Jay away. “Now that we are alone…….��� he sighed deeply closing the door tight  

“I;m not sorry.”

“Oh, I know. And I’m not mad, because I’m sure you had a reason to do it. So tell me, why?”

“you…. you want to know ?”

“Of course. Look Y/n, I’m aware I won’t get  a father of the year cup from you, but I care all right? Did that boy hurt you and you took retaliation? Just tell me….”

“He was talking shit about our family.”

“And you felt the urge to protect the Wayne’s honor?” Bruce smirked “this is so not like you.”

“Honor, my ass. We’ve lost that ages ago, Bruce. The only thing I was protecting was my sole privilege of mocking you. No one else is allowed to do it.”

“I’ll be sure not to tell your brothers that you miss them. “

“That would be most welcome.”

“And you have to know that we don’t miss you either, y/n.” father and daughter’s gazes met and they both nodded in silent agreement, right corners of their mouths lifting almost unnoticeable. “You coming to visit next week?”

***

Something was wrong.

Something was terribly wrong and that tingling sensation became unbearable the second she climbed the manor’s stairs and reach for the doorknob with a heartrate so fast it would send anyone else straight into cardiac arrest. Y/N however kept her cold blood, focusing on what may happened inside and considering her options and strategies for a potential fight.

She could not expect  that the moment she opened the door four figures would jump out from the shadows making the noise that would bring the dead from behind the grave. It startled her and as a result she stumbled back, hitting the wardrobe and making it shake. She could not expect that on said wardrobe there would be packets and packets of paint and that those would fall down straight on her making her look like some abstractionism painting.

“I hate you all.” She muttered while her brothers run away in four different directions.

“Welcome home, miss Y/N” Alfred approached her with a tissue so she could at least wipe the paint from her eyes.

“Home.” She whispered “Yes, it definitely feels like it.”

It was good to be back.

But she was still going after them. .....

Later. When they would least expect it.

[love-is-patient]

I have religious trauma.

I was raised in a household where my dad wanted to be God, and so characterized Him in a way that left me constantly paranoid.

God was a judge, God was a debt collector, God was a hammer waiting to strike.

My mother was likewise delusional to a point. She used religion as a manner of control, manipulating my egotistical dad and our chaotic little world so she could feel better about herself.

I was abused in the church. I’ve been so many churches since childhood I can’t count them.

I was told I was possessed because I was a child with adhd and couldn’t sit still in a pew. I was told that if I didn’t see visions or speak in tongues, I wasn’t saved. I was told that I must be thinking about God at all times or I wasn’t good enough. That I was lukewarm, unlovable, unworthy.

I was too afraid to take communion. I cried and turned away from the altar multiple times because I was a too dirty to touch the offering.

I was told so many awful things that I grew up with a persistent religious paranoia on top of my already anxiety inducing life.

So… why am I still a Christian, after all of that?

Stockholm syndrome, right?

It would be easy to write it off as that, but I did turn away from religion. In the back of my mind. I stayed cautious in case God was still watching.

It wasn’t until I got rid of the destructive influences in my life that things changed.

My perception of God changed when I left the awful people using His name in vain- or for personal gain.

When I grew up, learned to be discerning about the character of people.

Many people live under the assumption that I did- that God is a tyrant who is waiting for you to mess up so he can smash you and send you to hell. Paradoxically, that almost makes Satan sound preferable.

But that’s not who God is, and he doesn’t want people to go to hell.

Even if you haven’t had good parents, you’ve seen what they’re like. They get excited to share experiences with their children. The first taste of lemon, the first puddles to splash in. First words, first laughs, first steps.

God wanted that for us.

Satan got jealous after his rebellion in heaven. He saw God had something good and wanted it for himself again - even if it was just to spite God.

He offered humanity a choice and we took it.

We can debate why it happened until we’re blue in the face, but what matters most are God’s decisions afterwards.

Everything that has happened since the fall has been God trying to bring his wayward children back without force.

Just like when you see that friend of yours making the same bad decisions day after day, and you know their quality of life would improve if they just stopped. It’s heartbreaking, frustrating. You can give them all the advice in the world but they’ll just keep on doing the thing and complain to you about every headache afterwards.

Now you know a little what God feels like.

Only God is a little more patient than we tend to be.

God doesn’t ask much from us, not as much as people, which is weird to think about.

God doesn’t measure your worth by how good you are at your job, how badly you do in school. He doesn’t equate your value to how rich or poor you are, he doesn’t judge you the same way people do.

The first thing he asks of you is to love him and love each other.

He loves us so much that he opened heaven again if we ask for it.

He came down as flesh and blood in Jesus and took all the punishments we should’ve had. In Jesus death and resurrection, we have a way home.

All he wants for us to do is acknowledge that.

He doesn’t hate you if you can’t pay tithe. He doesn’t talk behind your back if you make a mistake. He doesn’t demean, debase, abuse.

Why am I still a Christian?

Because God was there for me when people weren’t.

God didn’t abuse me as a kid, people did, and used God as a shield.

God didn’t lie to me, call me names, break my things - my parents did.

God didn’t order me to do unbelievable things in order to reach him - my pastors and teachers did.

God didn’t tell me I’m unworthy - people did.

Even if you don’t believe in God, if you’re angry at him, feeling hurt and betrayed.

Maybe take a closer look and see if it’s really the people around you making you miserable, instead of an untouchable, invisible hammer.

[j2hoes]

Hopes And Fears Part Three. (Wally Clark x Reader)

Summary: Y/N’s death is traumatic. So traumatic in fact, she can’t even look at Wally without reliving what happened to her.

Word Count: 2.4k

Gif Not Mine. Requests Are Open!

Warnings: Mature Language

I’ve grown fond of the early mornings whilst stuck at Split River. The first glimpse of the sun shining over the gardens, a warm hue welcoming the day. With no students roaming the halls, all I hear is the quiet sounds of nature. On the odd occasion, I’m even able to spot a rabbit or deer, grazing gently on the acres of freshly trimmed fields surrounding the school buildings.

It’s become a habit of mine, each morning I find myself lounging besides the flowerbeds. Allowing myself to feel each blade of grass that delicately brushes my skin. For a while, I forget that I’m no longer alive. I can simply exist.

It’s not uncommon for Wally to join me. Sprawled on his back, gazing up at the clouds. Pointing out different shapes and imagining different backstories for all of the cloud animals he sees. Besides that, neither of us speak much. Only enjoying one another’s company as we relax in the morning light.

Spending this time has given me the opportunity to process everything. Wally helps me to work through my emotions and thoughts. Nothing ever being too much for him to listen to, though I’m still afraid to divulge everything. I’m sure he can sense that I’m holding back, yet he doesn’t pry. Content to just listen. In all honestly, I truly believe that these moments with Wally have helped me more so than Mr Martin’s support group has. Despite attending every session since my memorial, I consistently leave the group feeling unfulfilled. Unsatisfied. In fact, it doesn’t seem as though the teacher wants us to discuss the past, our lives and our deaths. Only wanting us to focus on the present, the state we are confined to. I find myself struggling with this a lot.

“What do you think you would be doing if you hadn’t died?”

Pushing myself up on my elbows, I look over to Wally, who is resting on his stomach, absentmindedly plucking grass from the ground.

“I was supposed to go to college, play football. Hopefully make it pro, that’s what the plan was anyway.” He tells me, full of confidence yet his tone of voice suggests that’s not the pathway he would’ve chosen for himself.

“What about like outside of a job though?” I pry, the boy has my curiosity heightened. “Like, surely you have other things that you wanted to do?”

His eyes focus in on the pieces of grass that he’s now twisting together in a makeshift sort of chain. Deep in thought, I can see the cogs working in his brain as he tries to think of an answer for me. I’m sure it’s not something he’s necessarily thought of before, following the path that his mom set out for him upon birth.

“You’re gonna laugh, but I always wanted to get married and have a family. I know that times have changed and you lot don’t really believe in marriage and stuff that much anymore but I’m a family guy. Always have been.” He admits, finally looking at me and I see the honesty written across his face. “It just sucks that I’ll never actually get to experience it.”

My heart aches for him. One fatal accident and his entire future was stripped away. Never getting to experience the things he always dreamed of. It breaks heart, knowing what he could have had.

“Wally, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s no big deal, really, I’ve spent the last few decades accepting my fate and it’s not so bad here.” He tells me, a sadness shining in the brown of his eyes, trying his best to cover it up with a soft smile. “What about you? Other than taking over the world with your best friend, what was the plan?”

Giggling slightly as he references Abby’s speech, I start to wonder what my life would’ve looked like. Truthfully, I have no idea. My life revolved around dancing and cheer, other than that I have no clue as to who I am. Up until my death, I didn’t believe I was worthy of love, the one chance I took was with Spencer and look how that turned out.

“I suppose I wanted to leave Split River, Abby wanted to go to New York so I figured I would study there.” I reply, knowing New York was never my dream. I just couldn’t bare to part with her once high school ended. “It would be quite nice to live on a farm. Out in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by animals, I think that would’ve been my dream.”

“Now this makes sense.”

Crossing my legs underneath me to sit up properly, he’s unable to hide the bright smile on his face. Clearly finding some amusement in what I said.

“What makes sense?” I ask, to which he laughs quietly. Pulling a clump of grass out of the ground, I launch it in his direction. “Hey, you dickhead, I didn’t laugh at you, so you can’t laugh at me.”

“No, no. I’m not laughing at you.” Wally speaks through chuckles, rolling on to his back. “It just makes sense now why you like to sit out here.”

His arms are thrown across his face, shielding his eyes from the sun. I can’t help but stare as his muscles flex, admiring the sight in front of me. Following his body, I find myself biting the inside of my cheek as I notice his top has risen up his stomach ever so slightly. Highlighting the small trail of hair that dips below his shorts.

“Did you have a girlfriend?” I blurt out, before I even realise what I’m saying.

Slapping my hand across my mouth, embarrassment floods my body, eyes wide as Wally smiles. Eyebrows raised as he looks over to me. Sly smile making its way on to his face.

“No. No girlfriend. Why?”

“I was just wondering. I mean, star high school quarterback, you must have had girls queuing up for your attention.” I’m able to stop myself before I begin a long-winded rant. Helping to ease at least a tiny amount of my embarrassment.

Wally rolls his eyes at my comment. “Well in that case you must’ve had boys queuing up for your attention. What with being head cheerleader and all.”

“Ha ha. Okay, I know it was a stupid question.”

Fortunately for me, I’m saved from making a fool out of myself even more by the sounds of cars entering the parking lot. In unison, we both turn to face the sound. Observing the students that have started to filter into the building, chatting loudly amongst one another as they do so.

My vision locks in on Spencer and his gang of hooligans. They’re jumping all over one another without a care in the world as they make their way into the school. Trail of awestruck girls following behind in the hopes of garnering the smallest amount of attention from one of the jocks.

If only I was able to tell them what they’re really like. Perhaps they wouldn’t make the same mistake that I made. Perhaps I’d be able to save them from the same fate that I suffered.

“So I was thinking we could have a pool day. I think Charlie would be up for it, maybe not Rhonda, but it could be fun for us all just to chill out. You haven’t really spent much time with anyone else apart from in our sessions with Mr Martin.”

Wally’s words echo around my head though I’m not paying any attention. Despite, no longer being able to see the group that I was fixated on, I’m still closely watching the area that they had just previously been walking through.

Two weeks later and Spencer and his friends still evade justice. Police presence at the school has increased drastically with crime scene investigators cornering off the old toilet block. Maybe I’m impatient, but it feels like they’re getting away with it. Receiving no consequences for their heinous actions.

“Y/N, are you listening?”

Wally’s words finally drag me out of my thoughts and I meet his eyes. “Yeah, pool day, sounds good.”

“And we’re inviting Charlie and Rhonda.” He states, eyebrows raised as he knows I wasn’t truly paying attention to a word he said.

“Oh, no. They’re nice but can we just do it alone? I’m not sure I feel up to doing a whole group thing.”

Wally nods, though his eyes narrow. Sensing there’s something off with me. He’s good at noticing whenever my demeanour changes, or whenever something is bothering me. It’s part of his nature.

“Yeah of course. We should probably head to group first though.” The athlete pushes himself off the floor as he speaks, waiting for me to stand as well which I reluctantly do, not before releasing an annoyed groan. “You know, one of these days, you might actually enjoy the sessions.”

Rolling my eyes, I follow Wally towards the gym. He holds the doors open for me as we enter the building, his small act of chivalry makes me giddy. I make no effort to show this however, politely thanking the boy as I walk through.

“Ah here they are! Took you two long enough.” Charlie jokes as we enter the gym, taking our seats. I sit between Dawn and Rhonda with Wally seating himself between Charlie and Mr Martin.

“No guesses what they’ve been up to.” Rhonda comments, lollipop hanging out the side of her mouth as she does so.

“Thank you Rhonda.” Mr Martin chimes in, stopping the conversation from escalating any further. “So today, I figured we would get to know our newest member. Y/N you’ve been here for a couple of weeks now and we still don’t know too much about you.”

“I’m sure Wally could tell us all about her.” Rhonda remarks under her breath. So quiet, I almost don’t catch it.

“I’m sorry, is there something you want to say?” I snap, my tone harsh and confronting.

She laughs in response, the annoyance on my face evident as I glare at her. Her snarky and sarcastic nature hasn’t proven to be a problem for me, though I think that may be about to change.

“Y/N, tell us about your death. We’re all dying to know what happened. No pun intended.” The teacher interjects, attempting to diffuse the tense situation yet I still feel on edge.

“No thank you.”

“Oh come on Y/N, none of us are going to judge you. You know that.” Charlie tells me, offering me a reassuring smile.

“No, she’d rather just listen to all our trauma. Isn’t that right cherry pop?”

Rhonda’s words strike a chord within me. I’ll admit, the other ghosts have been very open about their deaths with me. All discussing in detail what happened to them to result in this fate. Sure, I haven’t divulged into the details of my death as of yet, but it’s for good reason. Not only am I still trying to process it myself but I don’t want them to look at me any differently nor do I want them to take pity on me when they learn the details.

“Do you have a problem with me or something Rhonda?” I ask, swinging around in my chair so that I can face her directly.

Upon doing so, I take note of how Charlie and Wally are quick to sit up straight. Feeling the anger radiating off me and awaiting any possible confrontation that may be about to occur.

“As a matter of fact, I do.” The girl retorts, crossing her arms over her chest before she continues speaking. “You waltz in here and make no effort with any of us besides Wally. Who, let’s not forget, you made to feel like a piece of shit on your first day after that unreasonable outburst. You listen to all of us recounting our deaths, the most traumatic things that could’ve happened to us and still none of us know what happened to you. It hardly seems fair.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry Rhonda. I’m sorry that i’m still processing what happened to me. I’m sorry that I’m not ready to discuss it with a group of strangers. I am so sorry that I’m not getting over everything as quick as you would like me to.”

My voice is raised as I speak, hurt that she would even think that my choice not to share what happened is a personal attack on the group. No matter how hurt I’m feeling, the anger completely outweighs it. Angry that she can’t see that I’m still struggling and angry that my murderers are still attending this school. Instead of being locked behind bars for the rest of their life, like they deserve to be. Nobody can understand what I am going through and that makes me so astonishingly angry.

“Boo hoo. You’re still processing, we’re all still processing. Not to mention the fact that we’ve barely seen Wally these past couple of weeks because he’s been trailing around after you, trying to make you feel less threatened by him. He’s even taken off that stupid football shirt that he loved so much! I hate to break it to you, but he was here first.” She argues, tears well in my eyes as she mentions Wally. I lock eyes with him and see his downcast expression. Was she right? Was he only spending this time with me to make me feel better and less scared? “You should do everybody a favour and fuck off back to the old toilet block where you came from.”

“Rhonda!” Charlie exclaims, clearly shocked by her words.

“Is that how you really feel Wally?” I ask hesitantly, the dejection evident in my voice.

He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. Nodding slightly, I understand completely. Pushing myself out of the chair, nobody speaks as I make my exit from the room.

“Lovely chat.” Rhonda shouts, one last attempt to get a reaction from me. Even as I shove open the doors with an obnoxious slam, I don’t look back.

The entirety of my body feels heavy as I drag myself down the hallways. Nobody comes after me, not even Wally. I feel truly alone, hurt and confused. Death was supposed to be peaceful and yet here I am. Suffering more than I ever did when alive.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

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