#When I'm making a deliberate effort to write better

[don-dake]

Random Cantonese Phrase-of-the-day:

鬼畫符 (🇭🇰🇲🇴 gwai² waak⁶ fu⁴)

Been rewatching some old TV series lately where the constant appearances of 符 in it reminded me of this humorous figure of speech! Heh!

Meaning: Unintelligible or poor handwriting.

Literal meaning: Ghosts/spirits drawing on a 符.

***********************************************

n.b.: Originating from Taoism (though today it has transcended into Chinese and Japanese Buddhism, and Shintoism too), 符 can be described as a talisman — for all sorts of causes ranging from good health, warding off evil, etc., to (purportedly) casting spells on others for more nefarious reasons.

Often in the form of yellow rectangles of paper with enchanted inscriptions written on them, these talismans are mostly unintelligible to the average person, and only (sanctioned) practitioners on the art of 符 inscriptions truly know what they mean.

To the average person, these scrawls are (jokingly?) seen as “writing done by ghosts/spirits” or “writing so unintelligible, only ghosts/spirits may understand them”!

↑ A sample of my own 「鬼畫符」 (囧); am actually embarrassed but it's an appropriate example for this post I guess! While not unintelligible (I hope?), it's still damn ugly!

[nanamiscocksleeve]

"I don't know why people complain about sloppy seconds" with pervy professor nanamin after his favorite student shows up to class already creampied by someone else >_< pervy prof nanami drives me crazyyyy

My god people talking to me about pervy professor Nanami are gonna drive me insane, I love him so much. Are you the same anon that participated in the game and mentioned pervy Nanami with the ropes?

(it might be kind of obvious how much I enjoyed writing this. can't help it. I'd be his cum dump if I could).

"I don't know why people complain about sloppy seconds"

--------

You were his student. HIS STUDENT.

Kento knew better than to get involved with you but something just drew him to you like a moth to a flame. Maybe it was how you were so close to graduating but still looked like an innocent doe-eyed thing, your cute little skirts too short, those thigh-high socks you liked to wear so coquettishly inviting.

He knew you had a boyfriend, he'd seen you two hanging around campus, barely hiding his envy as the two of you got handsy and made out shamelessly in view of everyone. It should be HIM gripping your thigh like that. It should be HIS lap that you sat on while you made out. But with gritted teeth he kept his composure, keeping a cool attitude towards you whenever you were in his class.

Today however, he was distracted the moment you came in. You were walking differently, almost gingerly, like you were holding in a breath. You took deliberate, slow steps to your seat, putting your bag down then turned to talk to a friend, leaning your upper body on the desk. He swears you're doing it intentionally to tease him, to make him lose his goddamn mind, and that was when he saw it; your too-short skirt hiked just high enough to flash him a little strip of your adorable pink panties, a stain of moisture visible, bleeding into the back part of the crotch.

Jealousy hits him in the stomach like a strong punch, practically leaving him winded. You had dared have sex right before his class? With that annoying frat boy who was barely keeping a passing grade? And then had the nerve to flaunt your used cunt in his classroom? Oh, that simply wouldn't do. With a huge effort he grits his teeth and starts his lesson, unable to ignore how you kept squirming in your seat, clearly struggling to keep whatever load your boyfriend had given you inside, to keep it from dribbling into your panties and down your thigh...

It was merciful when he was able to dismiss the class. But he called your name. Your heart skips a beat as you hear his gruff voice but you turn around, wide-eyed and sweet looking, and he feels his cock tighten painfully in his pants.

"Kindly close the door and lock it."

Your breath hitches and you feel like your legs are wooden but you follow his instructions and approach him at the front of the class.

"Is something wrong?" Oh you poor, sweet, lamb, standing there without a clue as to what's going on in your professor's head.

"You need to be more careful of your attire," Kento clips out, not failing to observe the way your nipples hardened under your shirt as he spoke. So he did have an effect on you.

"Excuse me?" you ask incredulously. "Who are you to tell me what can and can't wear?"

"I can if half your cunt can be seen from under your skirt. Yes, that's right," he adds with a smirk as your face reddens. "I saw a lot more of you than appropriate. Were you being intentionally provocative, or are you unaware what an inappropriate length all your skirts seem to be?"

"You-you...!" You gasp at him in embarassment and slight shame, but heat pools in your belly at the knowledge that he had been privy to your upskirt flash. "You perverted old man! I'm telling the dean that you're preying on your students!"

"Hmm go right ahead," Kento says smoothly. "And I'll tell him you're flashing your cunt to everyone that will see. With the way you're dressed, I'm sure there will be no questions left. And to make it even more interesting, I might add that there were...questionable body fluids all over your panties. As a concerned professor, I was only expressing my concerns for my student's well-being." The smile on his face could not be more smug and you wanted nothing more than to wipe it off his handsome, chiseled, face.

"Is that all? You wanted to lecture me about my clothes?"

"Are you aware how inappropriate it is to come to class with another man's semen in your cunt?" He grins as you look gobsmacked, spluttering.

"I-but I!"

"You were very uncomfortable for the length of the class. I could see you squirming." The grin is positively wolfish now.

"How dare you! You have no proof."

"Then you wouldn't mind showing me your panties? Since you're so keen on proving your innocence."

His words send a thrill down your spine straight to your clit which throbbed under his scrutinizing eyes. You could've said no. But the predatory way he was looking at you, jealousy barely contained made you want to do something shocking and brash. With a huff, you stand.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Kneel on that desk chair." You do so, feeling a little turned on as you do so, then try not to react as Kento's large hands hike up your skirt, revealing the pink panties that were stained with another man's cum.

"So utterly shameless," he growls before bringing his hand down on your ass, the resounding smack satisfying to his ears as your cheek stained red, your squeal of shock echoing through the classroom. Kento covers your mouth and spanks you again, your squirms futile as the slaps filled the classroom. When your ass was perfectly red and bore signs of his handprints, he stops. There were tears in your eyes and you sniffle.

"Aw, is the little slut crying from getting a much needed punishment? Will you remember not to enter classrooms full of cum from now on?"

You gasp as he pulls the panties off, running his hands over your thigh-high socks, then coming to your front to cruelly pinch your nipples.

"Have you ever been fucked by a real man before?" One of his hands drops to your cunt and traces your lips. You whine and try to move, which only results in your earlier creampie trickling out of your cunt, dripping obscenely onto the chair. Kento's eyes go feral at the sight.

"Shameless cumdumpster of a whore," he whispers into your ear, almost lovingly. "Let me show you what it's like to carry a real man's load."

You hear his zip being undone and you find that you don't want to resist him. Your hot professor wanted to fuck you, and you were damned if you said you hadn't thought about it before. His tip lines with your entrance and he slowly spreads your folds apart, splitting you into two and he fills and stretches you. You whimper at how thick he is, how good he felt inside you.

"I don't know why people complain about sloppy seconds," he growls in your ear as he starts to thrust. "Pussy is all nice and wet and slick. You'd been needing a second fuck today hadn't you?"

You moan as he begins to rut into you with abandon, the noises filling the clasroom. "Professor..."

"Professor..." he repeats in a high-pitched mocking tone, the humiliation adding on to your arousal. "That's right, I'm your professor. And I own your cunt. You think your pathetic keg sucking boyfriend has any idea how to please a woman?"

His fingers find your clit and begin to circle it and you cry out, your vision going hazy.

"That's right...real men not only fuck their whores, they satisfy them too."

He continues to firmly stroke your clit and to your embarrassment, you cum sooner than you thought you would, the orgasm hot and intense, something your boyfriend had never been able to achieve. You sob in delight as your pussy flutters around his cock, setting his teeth on edge.

"That's right. Let it all out you pathetic slut. How many times were you fucked and left dissatisfied? When you could have been on my cock, getting off?" He sloppily thrusts into you, lewd wet noises filling the air, then with a bark, feels his ball tighten satisfyingly before emptying themselves into your pussy, hot ropes of thick cum filling the cavern.

"Don't waste it," he says as he withdraws, watching your hole pucker in an attempt to keep it all inside you.

"Now you can go to the rest of your classes knowing what it means to be properly fucked. Tell your boyfriend I said hi later, when he tries to eat you out and tastes only me."

(I am now horny. Any hot professors need a cunt?)

[hotheadedhero]

Like 'em Big

AN: I have so many stories to write but I had to do this. Blaming being sick, m'kay? Fever has got me bad and these meds got me loopy. Thinking we need some good, silly fun in our lives, right? Plus, now that I've watched Rise, I'm hungry for some big Raph appreciation. I know I ain't the only one

Part 2

All characters are aged up

Raphael x Reader

Warnings: near peril, easily smitten, possible errors due to fever (what kind of fever is up for deliberation🥴)

Cutting right to the chase. You like big dudes. That doesn't necessarily mean muscles, either. You just love you a big man - someone with a bit of something-something to them. More to love, you know? Given your track record with the greater world, it shouldn't be all that much of a mystery. Cats? Get yourself a tiger that you can cuddle into. Jumpers? Comfort central, baby. Beds? If you can't spread eagle then you see no point. The old-age saying does declare that the bigger the better, so who are you to disagree? How true that is may be up for debate but it’s merely as simple as understanding what your preferences are.

However, this makes dating a difficult ballpark to play in. No matter how tall, jacked, or voluptuous someone is, it never feels like enough. Human biology and genetics can only go so far in the conceivably possible sense. You just want to be absolutely engulfed when you get a hug. Is that such a crime? Apparently, it is. Unfortunately, you also seem to come across the worst jerks when you attempt to date within this set of criteria. One might argue it's your karmic justice for being so superficial and picky but a woman has needs. Not those kinds of needs, either. Get your head out of the gutter.

All hope seems lost and after yet again, another failed date, you decide to call it in for the evening and make your way home. A fresh failure and another wonderful outfit gone to waste. By no means is it anything flashy but you put a lot of work into it: pencil skirt, turtle neck sweater, and a nice pair of boots to compliment the look. The whole shebang! All of that effort for nothing. This is the last time you spend three hours doing your hair and makeup. Block after block, your feet grow heavier with every step. What you would give to come across a mountain-like man you can climb who is also a kindred spirit. Perhaps this dream guy will forever be that - a dream. Men like that don't just fall out of the sky.

"Look out!!"

The sudden shout almost scares you into tripping over and you look behind yourself, wishing you hadn’t. Two very large, very dangerous-looking figures entangled in battle, those of which are approaching your helpless little self. You quickly duck as the giants hurdle over you. One falls on its side whilst the other claws and skids against the ground, regaining its balance. It shakes its head and locks onto you, a guttural snarl rumbling past its jowls. Such a creature is surely from the stuff of nightmares. An indescribable nightmare whose sights are set on you. The smart option would be running away but it's as though your shoes have melted into the pavement. Pawing into the tarmac, the beastly thing growls and lunges for you. Great. This is how you die: torn limb from limb by a demon dog. Well, assuming your clothes join you, at least you’ll look like a total babe in the afterlife.

"Oh no ya’ don't," the other one yells from behind the predator, grabbing it by its tail. “Pretty ladies are not food!”

With a mighty tug, he pulls it back and swings it as far away from you as possible. You release a shaky breath, legs trembling beneath you. That was far too close for comfort. The fight isn’t quite over, however. Just as it approaches him, the green goliath swivels on his feet, full 180, and whacks the creature's jaw with a closed fist. His speed alone has you in awe but the force is astounding, practically earth-shattering. It completely knocks the air around you and pushes you onto your backside.

When the dust clears, the first thing you see is your saviour panting, his spiky shell(?) pointed towards you. Just past him in the distance, you notice three more figures in blue, purple, and orange taking a closer look at the unconscious tyrant. You swear one of them pokes at it with a stick. Witnessing strange beings such as this isn't entirely new. Anyone who's watched Chateau Pretenche knows about the celebrity chef turning into a grotesque pigman. To describe it in one word? Horrifying. It's just whether people choose to believe it genuinely happened or if these bizarre entities exist. Being up close and personally observing it now puts your scepticism in check.

As the humanoid turtle calms, he turns to face you, recapturing your attention. A red mask sits over his eyes and there’s a noticeable snaggle tooth poking past his upper lip. Typically, the prerogative is keeping out of sight but it’s much too late for that. He gradually advances towards you. You watch him warily and he keeps his movements slow for that very reason. It wouldn’t be a shock if you were to try and make an escape. He wouldn’t blame you. Currently, all he wants to do is make sure you weren’t hurt during that fiasco provided you don’t suddenly come out of your bewilderment and run off. You have good reason to but he just saved you. Either that or he’s as ravenous as that beast and wants you all to himself. The irrational conclusion remains as such - irrational - when he descends to one knee and outstretches a hand. There’s an irrefutable kindness in his eyes; a caring nature that can’t be replicated in the face of savage brutes.

"You okay?" he asks.

You continue to gawk without a word but, bit by bit, you reach out for his offer. Your fingers lightly trace the centre of his palm before comfortably trusting the proposal. His hand engulfs yours completely and Raph hopes to mercy that you don’t realise how sweaty he’s getting. He can feel his heart beating like crazy. He wonders how much of that is the adrenaline from the fight and how much of it is being in the presence of such a beautiful gal. As he helps you to your feet, he rises to his own. Someone of his stature shouldn’t be capable of being this delicate but he is. It has you running through a loop and you unintentionally stare at the remarkable behemoth.

Quite pathetically, you nod, unable to verbally respond to his question. How can you? You are effectively starstruck. Once you gloss over the turtle-y features, all you see is the sheer size of him as he towers over you. Height, width, the magnitude of those arms! All of it is glorious. You can hear the universe asking, “You want a big man, huh? How about one who isn’t human?” to which you answer, “Who gives a damn?”. If the only way a man can be this big is not to be human, so be it.

Amidst a whisper, your mouth moves on its own, "You're beautiful."

"What?"

"Huh?" Blinking out of your trance, you realise what you’ve said and giggle sheepishly, "I mean, you're be... ba... booming! Totally awesome with the whole- uh... saving thing." Nailed it. 

He blinks right back down at you. This is certainly a first. He can feel his face heating up and he withdraws his hand lest you endure the wrath of his bashfulness, opting to hold the back of his head. At this moment, he seems to look anywhere but you.

"Heh. Gee, thanks." His humility is adorable and you’re glad he doesn’t question your initial statement. He turns to you once more, regaining some composure. "You sure you're okay, though? That thing was pretty scary looking."

It’s clear that you haven’t sustained any physical injuries but even bearing witness to something so unsightly can have lasting effects on one's mind. His brows furrow gently in concern down at you and it occurs to you that there’s a soft heart under all of that shell and muscle. Bonus points. This makes you smile for the first time in front of him and Raphael is sure that the streetlights got brighter.

You laugh fondly, “Yeah, I’m okay. Thank you.” Twiddling your fingers, your lips purse up in his direction.  “Is there any way I can repay you?”

He places his hands on his hips and chuckles cutely, “Just doing my duty, ma’am.”

He may be indulging in his alter ego - the Red Angel of Preventing Harm - but it’s not every day he gets paid thanks when he saves someone. It’s also not every day he gets to save such a pretty woman, either. You, however, can’t just leave it at that. There must be some way in which you can properly thank him. Ulterior motives include getting to know this already loveable lug better but shh. It feels like the odds are finally turning in your favour and you won’t let this slip away from your grasp. That’s when it hits you.

Muttering under your breath, you erratically search through the confines of your little handbag. You are certain that you had one in here somewhere. In the spare pocket maybe? Ah! Found it. Fumbling to take the lid off of your pen, you hold out your hand, gesturing for his. He slowly complies, to which you jot down a series of digits on his palm accompanied by your name and a tiny 'x'. 

"Gimme a text sometime," is the last thing he hears before you disappear around a corner.

Oh? Oh. Ohhh. Wow. Getting your number is the last thing he expected. Did he get hit on the head during that scuffle or something? Was everything from the last few minutes a dream? He bores holes into the writing on his skin, scanning it over and over, scared that it’ll disappear if he so much as blinks. A dumb, wobbly smile not so gracefully decorates his lips as he trudges back to the turtle tank. He takes his seat but it’s obvious that he isn’t all there. Being so caught up in his rose-tinted bubble, he doesn’t register his brothers' voices. In an effort to gain his attention, Michelangelo jumps onto his shoulder, partly intrigued by what their leader is so absorbed by.

"Oh me gosh!” the young brother screams in shrill excitement, “Raph's in love!"

Careful not to smudge the neat ink, he’s quick to hide his hand against his chest. "That's crazy talk!”

Donatello sniffs the air and mockingly covers his nose. "The overwhelming manifestation of your nervous stink indicates otherwise, dear brother."

"I got a girl’s number!” he continues to defend, feeling his face go all kinds of red. “'Course, I'm nervous but that don’t mean I’m in love."

Lies and slander. It was practically love at first sight. He just doesn’t like the idea of his brothers knowing that. It’s easy pickings to be made fun of.

"Don't worry, Big Red. Lucky for you, you got a guy who knows all about the charm." Leonardo points both thumbs at himself as he falls back into his seat and props his legs up on the dashboard. "First, you just need to..."

The "helpful" advice drowns out as the large snapper opens and gazes at his palm again. He just can't comprehend how a gorgeous individual such as yourself could take one look at him and give him your number. It's puzzling but he supposes there’s a first for everything? That also doesn't mean he won't text you. The only thing getting in the way of that is fear. Raphael thinks he’d rather go toe-to-toe with that mutant dog again than have to face the risk of embarrassing himself. To anyone who knows him, it’s no surprise that he caves under pressure. No. He will do it! A chance like this is one in a million.

Oh boy. What could possibly go wrong?

[maskedbyghost]

OKAYY IMA TRY MY BEST HERE TO EXPLAIN, so like reader and ghost were married but got divorced because of how toxic ghost was being but they never can really stay away from each other because they are both still in love with each other and ghost keeps coming to her house and they always argue and then fuck after, and like the argue part is really just the reader yelling at him and telling him how much she hates him and how much she wants him to get out , AND SOTHING I REALLY LIKE IS WHEN THE READERIS PUSHING HIM AND PUNCHING BUT HE NOT MOVING AT ALL, and after she is panting out of breath and then they fuckkk, I KNOW ITS KINDA CHOPPY AND NOT IN GREAT DETAIL BUT WOULD LOVE TO SEE IT <33333

sorry for the wait, i didn't have time to write anything for a few days, but i'm back bitchesss!!! 18+ below!

it’s late. the kind of late where the world feels too quiet, where even the hum of the fridge seems too loud. you’re curled up on the couch, trying to lose yourself in a show you’re not really watching, when there’s a knock at the door.

your stomach twists. you know who it is before you even get up. he’s the only one who would show up unannounced, especially at this hour.

when you open the door, there he is—ghost, or simon, or whatever he’s calling himself tonight. he’s leaning against the doorframe like he belongs there, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, his dark eyes locking onto yours the moment the door swings open.

“what the hell do you want?” you snap, gripping the edge of the door like it’s the only thing keeping you upright.

he doesn’t answer right away, just tilts his head slightly, taking you in like he hasn’t seen you in years. like he doesn’t know every inch of you better than he knows himself.

“couldn’t sleep,” he says finally, his voice calm, like it always is.

“so you thought you’d come here?” your voice is rising, sharp with anger. “you can’t just—”

“you gonna let me in?” he interrupts, and that calmness is what sets you off.

“no,” you spit, pushing against his chest. “no, you don’t get to do this. you don’t get to just show up here whenever you feel like it.”

he doesn’t move. doesn’t even flinch. it’s like pushing against a brick wall, and it only makes you angrier.

“you’re unbelievable,” you yell, shoving him again. and again. harder this time, your palms slamming into his chest. “i hate you. i hate you for ruining everything. for ruining me.”

his jaw tightens, but he still doesn’t say anything, just lets you keep going. lets you push and punch and yell until your chest heaves and your fists stay pressed against him, trembling with the effort.

you’re out of breath, the heat of anger and frustration flooding your cheeks. and he’s just... standing there, looking down at you with that maddening calm like none of this is breaking him apart too.

“feel better?” he asks, his voice low, almost teasing, and it makes you want to scream.

“fuck you,” you whisper, but your voice cracks, and you hate yourself for it.

his hand moves then, slowly, deliberately. he cups your jaw, his touch warm, firm, grounding you when you don’t want to be grounded.

“you don’t mean that,” he says, so quiet it’s almost a whisper.

and then he kisses you.

it’s not gentle. it’s rough and desperate, teeth clashing and hands grabbing, his body pressing you back against the wall as if he can’t stand even an inch of space between you.

you hate him. you hate that he can do this to you, that he can unravel you with a look, a touch, a kiss. but you kiss him back just as fiercely, because as much as you hate him, you hate how much you still love him even more.

the door slams shut behind him, forgotten, as you pull him deeper into the house, into you, where he’s never really left.

his lips crash into yours with a hunger that feels almost punishing, like he’s angry with himself for needing you this much. your back presses against the wall, the cool surface a sharp contrast to the heat coursing through your body. his hands are everywhere—one cupping the back of your neck, the other gripping your hip hard enough to leave bruises, like he’s afraid you’ll slip away.

you claw at his jacket, shoving it off his shoulders as your lips part with a gasp. his breath is ragged, hot against your skin as he leans down to press open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, your neck.

“this is a mistake,” you whisper, even as your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer.

“yeah,” he mutters against your skin, his voice low and rough. “but you keep letting me in.”

his words send a shiver down your spine, and you hate how much truth they hold. but there’s no time to dwell on it, not when his hands slide beneath your shirt, his calloused palms warm against your bare skin. your head tips back, a soft sound escaping your lips as his thumbs trace slow circles over your ribs, like he’s savoring every moment.

you push at his chest again, but this time there’s no anger behind it, only desperation. “simon,” you breathe.

he pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark, searching. “tell me to stop,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. but you don’t. you can’t.

instead, you grab the collar of his shirt, yanking him back down to you, and that’s all the answer he needs. he lifts you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carries you to the bedroom. the door hits the wall with a thud, but you barely notice, too lost in the way his lips move against yours, in the way his body feels pressed against you.

the world outside ceases to exist as he lays you down, his weight a grounding force against the chaos in your mind. your hands explore every inch of him, memorizing the planes of his body, the scars, the parts of him you know better than your own.

his hands roam your body with a desperate sort of reverence, like he’s rediscovering something he thought he’d lost forever. each touch leaves a trail of fire in its wake, making your head spin and your breath hitch.

his lips are relentless, moving from your mouth to your neck, then lower, marking a path that feels both possessive and apologetic.

“tell me you hate me,” he murmurs against your skin, his voice shaky. but the way his hands grip you, the way his body presses against yours, says he’s begging for anything but that.

you don’t answer. instead, your nails dig into his shoulders, pulling him closer, anchoring yourself to him even as your mind screams at you to stop.

“simon,” you whisper again, and it’s almost enough to undo him. his name on your lips is a mix of anger, need, and something softer.

his movements slow for a moment, then he comes up until his forehead presses against yours as he takes a shaky breath. “i can’t stay away from you,” he admits, his voice breaking just slightly, and it feels like the most honest thing he’s ever said.

your lips find his again, softer this time, almost tender, as if to say, i can’t stay away from you either.

whatever fragile restraint was holding him back shatters in an instant. he pulls you impossibly closer, his body moving against yours with an urgency that leaves no room for doubt.

every kiss, every touch, feels like an apology and a promise all at once, and you lose yourself in the push and pull of him, the way he claims you like you’re his and always will be.

in a second you both lose the clothes that were the only barrier between the two of you, and as he slowly enters you he whispers “you’ll never get rid of me,” his tone soft.

you don’t answer immediately, not with words at least. instead, you pull him back to you, your lips meeting his in a kiss that’s just as desperate, just as consuming, as the first.

he tightens his hold on you, pulling you closer, his arms wrapping around you as if he’s afraid you might disappear. “i won’t let you go,” — thrust, “i swear, i won’t let you go” — thrust, “you are my everything,” — thrust.

the words feel like a vow as they leave his lips, his thrusts deep and measured, each one punctuating his promises. you respond with a soft gasp, your body arching into his, the connection between you both intensifying with each movement.

“then prove it,” you breathe, your hands clutching his back, urging him closer. he pauses for a moment, his forehead pressed to yours, his breathing ragged as he searches your eyes.

the vulnerability in his gaze is raw, like he’s offering you everything, but it’s more than just physical. “i will, baby, i promise” he says, before capturing your lips again, his movements steady, determined—he’s showing you, with every inch of his being, that this time, he won’t let go.

---------------------------------------

@daydreamerwoah @spicyspicyliving @blackhawkfanatic

[nomadwrites]

bubblegum pink ⋆˚✿

gojo satoru

summary ⋆୨୧⋆ in which you've managed to convince the greatest jujutsu sorcerer of your time into getting pink highlights. what could go wrong? a lot, you learn.

contents ⋆୨୧⋆ spoilers!, pure fluff & rusty writing

notes ⋆୨୧⋆ let's start off easy, shall we? feedback is most certainly welcome & would be much appreciated! enjoy ₊˚ෆ

"come on, it's only temporary!"

"not a chance! do you know how much time and effort i put into caring for these lustrous locks?"

"it'll grow out anyways," you huff, setting down the contents of the hair dye kit on the bathroom counter. "and here i thought you were the adventurous type."

"adventure is one thing, but this? this would be an act of vandalism," satoru feigns a look of betrayal, silver lashes framing his wide blue orbs, "like defacing the mona lisa."

you gasp in exaggeration, clasping a hand over your mouth. if there was one thing on the boy’s long list of things he loved about you, it'd be your ability to keep up with his personality.

"sure. but don't you get tired of always having the same old hairstyle? maybe it'd be nice to switch it up every now and then, yknow?"

"i hardly doubt anyone could ever get tired of this." he gestures to himself, standing tall, a smirk gracing his features.

“you’re insufferable.”

“and you love that about me.”

you do your best to hide the smile that threatens to break free, chewing on your bottom lip. “oh but you’d look absolutely gorgeous,” you plead, voice dripping with honey as you cross your arms over your chest, leaning against the countertop. you bat your lashes at him, round doe eyes peering into sparkling azure pools.

the look you give him makes his heart do flips and his gaze softens ever so slightly. he can't say no to you, not when you're gazing up at him with those puppy-dog eyes of yours. you’re perfectly aware of the effect you have on him, but that’s not to say you’d ever take advantage of him. if anything, you’re just as smitten.

satoru adores gratifying you, answering to your every beck and call, no matter the request, even if they can be a little odd at times. who was he to deny you anything when you looked so entrancing?

he pretends to ponder, drumming his fingers along the cool ceramic of the sink counter. if you're quiet enough, you might hear the way the gears in his head shift as he puts on a show of overtly dramatised deliberation. it almost makes you snort, but after a minute or two of silence, he caves in, shoulders slumping.

"if it makes you happy," he breathes, flicking his gaze back to you as you perk up with excitement, light practically radiating off of you. he might come to regret this in a few hours, but when he sees the way your eyes sparkle with a radiance that seems so pure, he thinks it won’t be so bad. after all, it is only temporary.

"just so i get to hear it again," he pauses, slender fingers intertwining with yours as he guides you over to him and plops down onto the closed seat of the toilet, long legs splayed on either side of you. "you think i'm gorgeous?"

“not quite yet,” you say, running your fingers through his silver locks, admiring the soft lavender undertones. his glasses are sitting just above the tip of his nose, brilliant sapphire depths on full display. no matter how many times you’ve looked him in the eye,, it always manages to knock the air out of your lungs. “i’ll see what i can do.”

“aren’t you a sweetheart?”

“i am.”

he exhales, humming in agreement as he relaxes under your touch and relishes in the scent of your skin, not the fragrance of perfume or shampoo, but you.

this is nice, you think. free time has always been hard to come by, even more so for gojo than you. things had changed after the star plasma vessel incident. he had changed, and although he did his best to hide it, you knew better. you were there to ground him, to remind him of his humanity and his purpose for becoming a sorcerer. you were there to keep him afloat.

"so!" you clap, startling him enough to knock his glasses askew, "let's get started!"

"booo," he pouts, like some child. he likes to think you're like this because of him, that you've spent so much time with him you've essentially become a miniature satoru gojo. the thought of it makes him feel all warm and mushy inside, something he really only feels with you, despite how popular he is with people.

you get to work, skimming through the pamphlet of instructions. satoru attempts to help you, mostly by staring whilst seated on the toilet, questioning if you really knew what you were doing. you stick out your tongue at him as did he, tugging on his lower eyelid.

you manage to end up with a bowl of bright pink sludge, the scent of chemicals wafting through the enclosed space of your bathroom. satoru grimaces, both at the smell and how awfully pigmented the dye seemed, cautiously eyeing the mixture held between your gloved hands.

“no turning back now.”

“you’re sure this is temporary?”

“mhmm!” you say, throwing a towel over his shoulders to shield his black linen shirt from any stray drops of hair dye. contrary to popular belief, the all-powerful jujutsu sorcerer doesn’t make use of his infinity when there was no real need to, his reasoning something akin to him wanting to experience moments of normalcy with those close to him.

“i’m great aren’t i? strong, handsome with a heart of gold,” he’d said, standing in akimbo.

“in an alternate universe, sure.”

you smile at the memory, recalling the way he tutted when you responded, earning chuckles from both shoko and geto.

“y’know on second thought–” satoru’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts, “maybe blue would be a better option? make my eyes pop and all that,” he stalls, turning to look at you.

“it’s not gonna be this bright toru, it’ll be a lot lighter once we rinse you off. besides, i’ve only got pink right now–“

“great! so we should–“

“but you already said we could–“

and you’re both tugging, trying to grab ahold of the bowl. “toru stop it! you’re gonna–“

splat.

"ah," he blinks.

silence falls between the both of you, letting the sound of droplets hitting the floor echo loud in your ears. you’re wide eyed in disbelief, and it takes you a moment before you press your lips together in a futile attempt to conceal the snort that bubbles from your throat.

———————-

“don’t you look pretty?” geto teases, snapping a photo of satoru’s lifeless body as he sits limp at his desk, looking as if his soul had left his body. you’re sure it did last night after rinsing him off in the shower, fully clothed, the sight of him drenched in fuchsia finding a permanent home in your brain. shoko echoes after the raven-haired boy, resting her head on a closed fist.

satoru’s once moonlit hair now a splotchy mess of soft pink, the hair dye staining his eyebrows an even brighter shade of bubblegum. you had to practically drag him out the bathroom by the feet afterward.

“what have you done?” he whined, voice breaking.

“me?!” you gasped, “you had a part to play in this too!”

it was a miracle he’d even changed out of his wet clothes, albeit it taking around an hour or so. you’re sure he laid on the floor for the rest of the night after you’d left, geto being the first to find him in the exact same position this morning. thankfully, you hadn’t had to drag him to class.

at the very least, this would be another fond memory you’d share together.

[recycledraccoon]

I have evolved into Scuttlespring anon, just say anything about them. I love them so much

THE ANON PANTHEON GROWS

Ok so. Gorgug likes Mary Ann because she absolutely infuriates him but also, and perhaps more importantly, because she has a type of confidence I think a younger Gorgug would have deeply envied. She's so weird, but entirely sure of herself. She likes what she likes and anyone who would have a problem with that is absolutely beneath her notice. She has friends not despite her oddities, but because she refuses to bend about them and that confidence is incredibly attractive in a person. Mary Ann Skuttle see's something she wants and she just...goes and gets it, easy peasy. Tiny little kobald strides, but when she puts her foot down with force, Gorgug thinks she could crush a mountain under with nothing so much as a blink or falter of her stride. She's certainly physically strong enough for it, and while Gorgug is undisputedly the better fighter, Mary Ann has a physical strength hidden under soft pastel pink hoodies and can, has, and will knock Gorgug on his ass. Gorgug got THRASHED at those Bloodrush field tryouts, and I'm certain he probably got his ass handed to him more than once during the year while at practice but before he quit the team. She made him so damn mad, everything that year was, and endlessly kind Gorgug got real mean to her over it. She was better than him, more casually confident, and didn't blink ONCE at his outburst. And later? When she was resurrected and freed from possession? He talks to her, acknowledges that it was just a game but he had been actually mad to be so easily knocked aside. He never really had to work at Bloodrush to be good at it, he just was, until suddenly she proved herself better.

And yet, without flinching, Mary Ann, famous for not giving a shit but listening to Gorgug say how much he had, just....asks if he has a girlfriend. Unparalleled confidence, shooting a shot he was unprepared for. Planets aligned even as his own orbit was knocked off course. And then, when he admits he doesn't even know where to get a quokki pet, something its been explicitly known to be something she really cares about? She writes down her number, letting him see that folded paper. She initiated this, and he got swept up in it, but instead of just handing over the number and allowing him to be swept up- Mary Ann Skuttle puts the number away and tells him shes gonna put it where you get quokki pets, and if he wants her number he's going to have to go get it. He's not allowed to just be swept up in the force of her, she wants him to put in effort, prove to her and himself that this isn't just a moment but a starting point. He cant be swept up by the tide, he's gotta swim. Gorgug liked Zelda, but their relationship started because they thought she was in danger and Gorgug had the best in. He stumbled into that relationship unsure and off balance, he never would have had the confidence to pursue Zelda without his friends hands on his back and their advice in his ears. Later on he gets more serious, he did love her and he put in the work to maintain that relationship, but it didn't work out and that's ok. Ever confident Mary Ann tho? She doesn't want unsure stumbling steps into this relationship. If Gorgug doesn't make the active decision to chase her, to WANT to be with her and putting deliberate effort to get there, then she doesn't want him at all. Gorgug, confused, asking where you even GET a quokki pet? And she smirks, calls him a loser, and walks away leaving him reeling and dumbfounded. Mary Ann Skuttle wants Gorgug to work for this. And who is Gorgug Thistlespring, but someone who puts in the work for things he wants? He did the seemingly impossible by creating his own subclass of Barbaficer, even if he had to take four years of schooling all at once. He puts in the work and makes the impossible possible, the greatest wizard of this age. So yeah. Yeah. Gorgug Thistlespring likes Mary Ann Skuttle because she makes him work for it.

[breathe-2am]

On lou's article

Disclaimer: i am on the whole not crazy about actor interviews. I think most of the time they're awkward promo, but 911 interviews in particular just kinda suck. Most of the more indie/fandom publications have an interviewer who has a preconceived narrative they push and won't ask about anything that doesn't cater to a very insular section of the audience, which means the majority of the article is an actor finding new and inventive ways of saying 'stop asking about this, i want to talk about something else'. But the more mainstream ones aren't much better- remember when oliver stark had to correct that journalist about his character's NAME? Idk what the deal is but man the interviews do not do this show any favors (to say nothing about the plotlines that are teased and then never make it onscreen tim what are you even thinking).

So there's just something very... refreshing? About lou's interview. He really focused in on tommy's character and thought process, and how he made little choices in his acting on how best to portray it. I really love tommy's face journeys, so it's awesome to have him break them down step by step. There's a real deliberate craft to his acting, and i enjoy learning about how he gets into tommy's head. Something cute i noticed is that when he's explaining tommy's thoughts and actions he often will use first person, saying stuff like i'm thinking this or i'm feeling that- to the point where he has to specify when he's talking about himself as lou. To me it's a clear testament to his work embodying a character with a complex internal world- even when the writing is weird or abrupt, he puts in the work to make it make sense.

Idk what i'm even trying to say here. I think i would enjoy actor interviews if they were more like this one. Idc abt a future plotline that probably won't happen. Idc abt a non canon ship that has been nixed over and over for years (too gently if they haven't gotten the message yet imo). Idc abt any of that tell me why u made that expression when u said that line and tell me why u said it that way. Tell me what ur thinking, what ur character is thinking. I'm spending my free time analyzing these scenes and it's really cool to learn that someone is putting in the effort to construct something that is meant to be delved into.

[jasmineoolongtea]

Hi!!! How are you? I really like your blog and I saw you're taking requests rn? I have a little request, with either Gojo, Yuuta or Megumi, whoever you'd like to write it for/whoever fits better.

Basically, I just had a really big exam recently and the results came out and I didn't make it. It's hurt me a lot but I'm trying to be okay, I hadn't got a lot of time to study for it honestly, so I was like 50/50 confident but it still hurts seeing my efforts go to waste. And my parents are trying to be understanding, they really are, but it's not the kind of understanding I need right now. They're like, "Oh darling it's okay, you did your best even though we were confident you'd crack it easily," when all I need is to be held and told it's fine and that I'm worth more than just an exam. So I was thinking something where the reader gets off a call with her parents and is crying quietly in the bedroom because their attempts to make her feel better only made her feel worse and then the character (whoever you choose!) notices and it's just cute cuddles and reassurances?

a/n: hiii, i'm doing alright!! i'm so sorry to hear that and i've gone through the same things before. it does suck when that happens and it's gonna suck for a while but remember at the end of the day, it's just one exam and this one exam won't determine everything, plus i'm sure you'll bounce back even stronger in the future!! instead of just doing one i'll do all three of them and i hope that you feel better soon anon + sending a virtual hug your way ε(´｡•᎑•`)っ 💕

gojo satoru knows eavesdropping is bad, more so when it's deliberate. but in his defence, he only had good intentions when he approached your room with a mountain of treats and gifts practically ready to burst out of his arms the minute he saw your face.

well, at least that was the initial plan. that is, until he heard an unfamiliar and frankly terrifying sound originating from behind your door.

maybe he should have had more tact when opening your door, possibly even knocking beforehand as a way of announcing his presence to you, but in that moment, thoughts like those were the least of satoru's worries when he met your tear-streaked face peering up at him from your curled up position on your bed.

a loud thud echoes within the walls of your room, various objects suddenly falling from his grip as he makes his way towards you. you don't look at him though, curling further inwards into yourself as if in an attempt to hide your swollen eyes and flushed face away from him. you can't hear it, but satoru's heart cracks slightly at the mere sight of you like this.

"hey, sweets." his voice is soft, possibly the softest you've ever heard him speak. you're still turned away from his, your sobs dying down as you attempt to trap them in your throat. the bed frame creaks slightly with the new addition of his weight.

it doesn't take a genius to tell that you're clearly not in the mood for talking or jokes or any of the typical antics that he would pull out of his arsenal to see that smile of yours that he loves so much. it also doesn't take a genius to see that things like your phone aren't doing much to alleviate your pain since you keep glancing anxiously at it every 2 or more seconds.

he takes it upon himself to flip your phone screen upside down and place it inside your bedside cabinet, out of sight, and this earns him a shaky sigh of relief from you. the grip you have on your knees relaxes ever so slightly more but he knows that this isn't going to solve everything.

you don't react any further, it's as if you're frozen in your position, lost in whatever dark recesses of your mind you're trapped in. featherlike touches dance across your skin before being replaced by a much more solid, palpable feeling of his arms wrapping around your figure and suddenly there's a glimpse of light peaking through all of the gloominess.

the moment you register that it's satoru that's pulling you into him, you can't help but just let yourself go and sink into his steady grip as you bury your face into the expanses of his chest. finally just succumbing to the sheer exhaustion of just trying to hold everything in, you start sobbing unabashedly, letting all of the emotion pour out of you with satoru being more than ready to be the one to soak it up all for you.

a gentle hand caresses your back with drawn-out strokes as you allow yourself to be comforted by the steady beat of his heart, a reminder of his presence right next to you. "it'll be alright." he murmurs quietly, his words of comfort only audible to you, the only audience he cares about right now. you feel a soft kiss being placed on your forehead as his lips linger there for a moment longer.

satoru might not know why you're feeling so down but at least he knows that he can be the person to make whatever burden you're dealing with just a little bit lighter and sometimes, that's enough for the both of you.

there's a lot that fushiguro megumi is known for being good at such as studying, handling pets and wild animals, being quiet and brooding (according to everyone else except himself).

there's also a handful of things that megumi is known for being bad at such as conversations, getting his hair to stay down and comforting people in most scenarios.

maybe it's just him but he always finds himself tongue-tied at the worst times and is secretly so busy with being worried over the idea of him putting his foot in his mouth and saying the wrong thing that might make things worse to the point where he just chooses to say nothing, not realising that this also doesn't help the situation.

so when he stumbles into your room, after hearing the tail end of your conversation with your parents over your phone that only resulted in you breaking out into tears and is now faced with a deeply upset you, safe to say that he's very unsure on what he should do.

carefully, he makes his way into the room and sits on the opposite end of the bed from you. as he gets closer towards you, you feebly attempt to wipe off the tears streaming down your face in an attempt to downplay how you're feeling, lest you worry him.

that should be the least of your worries, he thinks silently to himself.

the room is largely silent, both of you avoiding looking directly at the other, that is until megumi suddenly speaks up. "...do you wanna talk?" he asks, his voice slightly hesitant. the same old fears of potentially saying the wrong things, especially in such a delicate situation like this, are swirling around in his mind again and he can't help but listen to them.

you shake your head, glumly. he so wishes that he could take away your pain and sadness in an instant, even if he were the one to bear it instead if it meant that you would stop hurting, but unfortunately, the world doesn't work like that.

"okay." he pauses for a moment, as if pondering on what next he should say or do, in this case. he reaches out his hand and gently grasps your wrist, pulling you towards him and into his chest. like waves caught up in a current, you let yourself sink into his grip and fall into his comforting embrace.

for some reason, when all you can feel is the warmth of his body radiating off of him and onto you with the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest against your cheek, you can feel most of the sadness that previously flooded all of your senses start to melt away, like ice thawing when the sun comes out. you wrap your arms around him and in return, he rubs tender circles upon your back.

you whisper a "thank you" under your breath and he nuzzles his face against the crook of your neck.

megumi may be bad at talking or using his words to express what he's feeling or even to communicate with others, however, when it comes down to it, it seems that he doesn't need to rely on words to be there for the ones who truly matter to him.

some people might think that okkotsu yuuta is being dramatic when he says that one of his worst fears is seeing you sad but to him, this fear and worry of his is very much a real one and it breaks his heart when he notices your once joyful expression has now morphed into something much more melancholic.

he's on his way to your room after seeing how downcast your mood was today, compared to your typically more cheery demeanour when he suddenly stops in his tracks after he picks up on another female voice coming from your room.

your mum's voice rings out from over the crackly speaker of your phone. "oh sweetie, i'm sure that was just a silly mistake and it'll-"

you cut her off bluntly, "i'm sorry, mum. i just think i need some alone time right now." and with that, you quickly hang up your phone in dejection, throwing it slightly off to the side as a deep sigh escapes your lips.

yuuta clears his throat awkwardly from his place in the doorway and you're suddenly now aware of his newfound presence in your bedroom. his tone is clearly apologetic as he speaks, "i'm sorry. i didn't mean to overhear your conversation, i was just on my way to check up on you after noticing how down you were today."

"i-it's fine, yuu." you reassure him, well as best as you can in your current state as you hastily try to hide any traces of your crying from him. "i'm just not really in much of the mood to talk right now." you don't dare to say more, afraid of the sobs that you've been choking down up to this point might break out.

he nods solemnly to himself.

"then do you mind if i come in?" he asks tentatively and you shakily nod back in response. he walks into your room and takes a seat next to you on the bed, though leaving a slight space in between you two as if he knows that sudden proximity to someone else, especially when you're in a state like this, might just be too much for you.

he raises his hand, stopping at a short distance away from your face and tilts his head at you, as if asking for permission. slightly confused you nod, thinking that he's going to cup your cheek or something, but instead, he brings his finger to your cheek and starts wiping away the tear streaks running down your face. his touch is so gentle, and the care and love he has for you is so evident through how delicately he's taking the time to caress your face as well at the same time.

you can't help but feel your lip wobble slightly with how tender he's being with you. the corner of your eyes start to burn a little bit as you attempt to hold your tears back though you feel your resolve wavering ever so slightly with each brush of his fingertips.

yuuta slowly moves his other arms around you and pulls you towards him into his embrace. you take that as him allowing you to latch on to him and so you do as you burrow your face into his shoulder, sinking into the comfort of his touch. he hums softly under his breath as he whispers words of gentle reassurance. it feels like a weight has been lifted off of your shoulders as quiet sobs escape from you.

he pays them no mind though, only seeking to soothe you with his touch and reassuring affirmations. you squeeze his hand twice as a silent 'thank you' and he presses a fleeting kiss against yours in return.

to yuuta, this is nothing worthy of a thanks from you as this is merely a drop in the ocean if it means that your heart is just a little less heavy.

[ranticore]

selected pages from Shapeshifter Problems, a small exploration of old old concept art & thoughts on shapeshifter tropes (specifically the question of the 'true form') i posted to patreon earlier this year. there's a bunch more haha. here's some OLD art and bg process for writing said the black horse. I don't like my old art but looking back at it I'm really happy how I've developed since, I used to make everything too sharp, straight-sided, or skinny. I had to make a conscious effort to change that and now it's so much better.

image transcriptions under the cut (just the text sorry)

Image 1: "These are more of those older designs - the horns were a deliberate play into devil imagery on Puck's part while giving Félix this form (all to cause more torment of course) but again I couldn't vibe with it. Such clear statements of intent didn't work for me.

The scars remain canon but not quite so stark, more a difference in texture (again, moving away from visual details). His forehead scar is ALWAYS there."

Image 2: "Félix. These are really old - from 2019-2020. They're the first attempts at Félix's horse form. At the time I was leaning into some goat-like attributes. I liked the idea of something that looked like an emaciated amalgam of many familiar creatures but if you look closer, it actually doesn't look like any animal at all. The original body shape and proportions were inspired by moose. I didn't know how to draw convincing horse shapes which is why he had these hands and claws for so long. I still draw the little flower wheel pattern on his sides sometimes... a secret just for me. His belly fur, squared off ear shape, and beard are still defining characteristics"

Image 3: "More old art from 2020. Bottom left is my first ever painting on my iPad using Procreate. I still prefer SAI for creature drawings, or at least the original sketches underpinning a lot of my art. Below on the bottom was my attempt at a scarier form for the character but I ultimately decided that it ran contrary to the atmosphere I was trying to create. Top left is my first 'real' horse painting and it includes the tail shape which has not ever changed, and feathers, which I nixed because I wanted to learn how to draw the feet and legs properly and not rely on covering them up with flowing hair (my favourite thing to draw)"

Image 4: "Like the black horse designs, these humanoid designs for Félix (circa 2019 - OLD art!) started very complex and simplified over time. I decided to avoid visual complexity, but made the mistake of solidifying specific 'rules' for how the Púca servants' bodies work, and I deeply regret this. Because I wrote Said the Black Horse in 2021, I was still operating under the old mindset and that caused it to become somewhat established canon.

In his original iteration his tattoos represented magical contracts between him and various faeries, so they were supposed to be always visible as a reminder of that contract.

<- a really early furry version, I was playing with the eye on the neck as a design feature. Ultimately I feel that although it looks cool, the medium he exists in is proser. So I needed to move away from visually complex designs and towards designs which were interesting to different senses instead."

Image 5: "As time went on the design simplified. I enjoyed making fun textures using procreate brushes. These designs lack his forehead scar but do include his impalement scar. If you've seen my Hanged Man card you'll know how he got that one. But when I made the charts like this about how his body 'worked' in 2020, again I ran into the same issue I always do when writing about faeries... the more I explain it, the most 'logic' and 'science' goes into it, the less it feels like a faery story to me. Overexplaining is anathema to the faeries of Inver. so even though I like these design notes they just don't fit in this setting."

[monstersandmaw]

I love the Yautja inspired fic over on patreon! I can't comment there but I wanted to tell you. I love how unique they all are and I can't wait for Stark to come around to reader.

I was also wondering if Stark was not only a "I hate humans"-situation but a "While I nearly killed the reader I smelled them and shit am I turned on right now? Better hate them even more for it"-situation as well.

I adore Buddy too he is so cute and yet badass. Also Elder has this very calm and wise vibe. He seems like he's "fond of everyone" (in his team and reader at least) because he's so old and somehow finds everyone amusing and cute who doesn't have the experience he has. I love that. Also Alchemist is such a little freak (fondly speaking).

I'm also curious how Cannon behaves. I am super duper excited and AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA, thank you!

Can't wait for them to slowly integrate reader into their relationship.

I hope this isn't annoying. Sending lots of love and support!

*flailing* thank you so much!!

(EDIT: think I fixed this now so that anyone can comment on public posts????? I wonder, are you unable to comment because of a Patreon error or because it only allows certain tiers to comment? I didn't deliberately set that up, so if it's the latter, I can look into sorting it!!)

Anyway, back to the boys!

Stark doesn't hate humans, per se, but he does really hate change. It unsettles him and makes him feel like he's losing control. And he really likes to be in control... 😉. And having an alien species (the human reader) on board, messing with his mates' heads and hearts (and chemistry) is a big change for him. He'll come around, eventually, but he'll take his own time... (and some help from the others).

The reader's buddy, Runt, is super fun to write. He's definitely a lil cutie but he can kick ass too when he needs to. He's spent his whole life proving himself to others, so he's tough as fuck (maybe tougher than most others), but he's definitely got a very soft and submissive side too, which he enjoys exploring with his mates in the safety and privacy of their ship.

Elder is super calm, and definitely has a lot of experience and wisdom, but he knows how to have fun too. He will indulge his mates in almost anything, if they ask it of him too.

Alchemist is a huge freak, and they all adore it.

Cannon is Big Chill. Doesn't speak much but has a very deep soul/mind, is very affectionate with his mates, and Very Protecc. He gives amazing cuddles too :).

The next chapter with Runt is going to be a spicy one :). It's about time he got his reward for helping his human out and saving her life, after all! We also learn a bit more about my little headcanons for their biology in this one (it's basically just an excuse for some weird alien sexy times).

Thank you so much for taking the time to send me this! It means the whole flipping world that you did, and I'm so grateful. Thank you.

EDIT: Chapter Five is now up :) Reader POV

(If folks want to read it, all chapters are now free to access over on my Patreon - first chapter here. I'm not sharing new writing on Tumblr because of AI scraping issues, and I want to protect my work and efforts as much as I can. Anything that was free to read on Tumblr is (or will be after early release) free to read on Patreon. I realise far fewer people are going to click off-site to go read them, but that's something I'm willing to accept to protect my efforts).

[dairy-farmer]

Pretty sure I'm the anon who sent the 'Tim wearing people's merch and sometimes fucking that same person while doing it' ask awhile back. (I say pretty sure because, while I have started keeping track of the things I sent you when I started sending you a lot, I didn't at that point and Tumblr doesn't keep track of anonymous asks you send apparently 😑. But it definitely looks like my writing style and lt felt familiar when I saw it. If it was actually someone else's all I can say is Ope.)

Anyway!

Tim also uses the wearing of merch to signal his displeasure with certain family members i.e. by very pointedly not wearing their things. This punishment only works because his family is a bunch of creepers who have cameras and microphones in his bedroom (just for security! They definitely don't use it to watch Tim sleep or masturbate or fuck! Why would you ask that? Shut up! What were you doing at the devil's sacrament, Goodie Proctor?!) So of course this means that someone is usually watching Tim get dressed and luckily the bats gossip like old women so whoever is watching on at a given time will immediately share important things with everyone else.

Well, if you made Tim upset recently? It's not just that he won't wear your merch, oh no no - it's not as if Tim only wears the merch of someone he's particularly happy with or interested in on a given day, sometimes he just really wants to wear his Impulse t-shirt! No instead, to make sure his displeasure is known and that it's clear he isn't just wearing someone else's merch, but specifically not wearing yours, Tim will make a show of not choosing someone's stuff.

Bruce being particularly stubborn and not listening to Tim's advice? Tim holds up a pair of Batman pajama pants and turns his head dismissively while dropping them back into the drawer. Jason insults his choice on family movie night? Tim takes his Red Hood hoodie and pointedly drops it in the dirty laundry basket, even though he didn't wear it recently. Damian is being particularly rude lately? His Robin 4 novelty watch is shown to the cameras and deliberately put in the back a drawer. Dick won't stop smothering him after a very minor injury (I literally just sprained my ankle, Dick, I didn't break a leg 😑)? Takes his favorite Nightwing blanket off his bed and just kicks it into a corner before pointedly putting his newest Signal blanket down instead.

It's honestly a great system, because it means Tim can show he's upset with someone without *shudder* talking about his feelings, and it doesn't even take any real effort - no shouting or arguing or cold shoulders! And to show when he's forgiven the person he's annoyed with without 'rewarding' them by wearing their things immediately (yes, I am no longer mad at you. But you haven't done anything to earn me wearing your things again)? He will drink his coffee out of your themed mug (most of his mugs are novelty ones with silly little phrases, and he only uses the hero themed ones for this reason specifically).

One day, he is just so very pissed at everyone - mission went off the rails because they didn't listen to his plan or there was a big family event planned but everyone canceled or something- that he comes down to breakfast already dressed in a suit, even though he doesn't have any WE business that day. (This causes mixed feelings in everyone because, while it sucks that Tim is upset with everyone, he looks really really hot in that suit and since he never wears them outside of business meetings and galas, it has a similar effect on them that seeing Tim in, like, lingerie would. Honestly, that probably does make it an even better punishment because Tim looks extra hot today but definitely isn't going to fuck any of them anytime soon: Tim may be a slut, but he's also petty and stubborn ❤️)

tim punishing anyone who makes him angry by making a point to NOT wear their merch and when they all manage to piss him off refusing to wear anything but his suit which he KNOWs they all love seeing him in so he's punishing them twice as much- first by not wearing their merch and then by wearing his suit❤️

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

HAPPY 1K!!!! That's SO exciting and well deserved!!

Might I humbly request a ficlet with...

Z. "You'll do anything for attention, won't you?"

and ⭐Celebrity AU

Thank you so much, I hope you enjoy! 🍓

I'm celebrating 1k followers, requests are open

Just how much I'll do

Rated: M

Words: 989

Tags: Celebrity AU, modern AU, rockstar Eddie, nepo baby Steve, fake dating, sexual tension, finger sucking, enemies to lovers

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“Ah, there they are,” Eddie says. “Took them long enough.” 

Steve stops chatting with the waitress to follow his gaze. Something is glinting beyond their window, in the tiny space between two cars on the other side of the dark street. A camera. The waitress hurriedly puts down their dessert and scurries off. Steve watches her go with a disappointed frown. Using the moment of distraction, Eddie reaches out across the table and tangles their fingers together. 

The frown melts into a bitchy scowl and Steve flinches like Eddie’s hand is something gross. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Eddie laughs, loud and unashamed in the hushed quiet of the restaurant.

“Aw, sweetheart,” he coos. He flips their entwined hands so they’re facing the window, running his thumb over Steve’s knuckles in a slow, deliberate motion. His smile is wide and teasing as he leans over the table and into Steve’s space. “I must admit I’m a tad bit insulted. I make an effort to look nice for you, take you to the fanciest restaurant in town, and you’ve got nothing better to do than flirt with the waitress all night? Why, Stevie, do you even still love me?” 

“Quit it, Munson,” Steve snaps, trying to yank his hand away, but Eddie holds firm. A few quizzical heads turn in their direction and he’s quick to stop struggling. When he speaks again, his voice is a low hiss. “You know as well as me that this is all a publicity stunt. Don’t forget about the deal.” 

“Sure,” Eddie drawls, snatching a chocolate-coated strawberry from his plate and popping it into his mouth. The chocolate bursts between his teeth and tangy, juicy sweetness explodes all over his taste buds, making him hum in pleasure. The place may be way out of his comfort zone, markedly different from his usual dark and edgy night clubs, but at least the food is excellent. “We go on a few dates together, let our friends out there take their little photos, write their little news stories. After a few months, we break it off amicably - no hard feelings, you’ll always be special to me, yadda yadda. My label gets off my ass about my ‘out of control’ lifestyle, your old man gets to beat those completely unfounded allegations of homophobia just in time for the big election. Look how supportive he is of his queer son, after all. A true champ, a beacon of tolerance and open-mindedness, a shining example for all of us.” 

Steve, who has just taken a sip of his wine, snorts so hard, Eddie’s surprised it doesn’t come shooting out of his nose. He has a nice laugh - pretty like the rest of him, but there’s a bitter little twist to his mouth that never seems to quite disappear. Eddie catches himself wondering what his smile would look like without it. 

“Please,” Steve sneers, putting his glass back down with a bit too much force. A few drops of wine splash over the rim, staining the table cloth red. “My dad’s a bigoted old asshole and we both know it.” 

The hand that’s still tangled with Eddie’s tightens, almost painfully. A small part of Eddie imagines the things Senator Harrington must call his darling son behind closed doors. 

“Makes me wonder, though,” is what he says, “why you agreed to play along in this little farce? Why help him out if he’s such a douchebag?” 

For a second, something pokes through the facade of bored indifference on Steve’s face, something open and vulnerable and honest. Eddie wants to grab a hold of it and pull it all the way to the surface, lay it bare and never let it go again. But it’s gone as quick as it came, slipping through his fingers like mist. 

“Whatever,” Steve mutters, and the bitter curl returns to his lips. “Not like you’d get it.” 

He's right, Eddie thinks. He probably wouldn't. He hasn't seen his own sperm donor in twenty years. He doesn’t know what it's like, growing up in the shadow of an overbearing father, constantly forced to uphold your family's image, to live up to expectations. 

But something in the way Steve says it, all haughty and derisive, like Eddie isn't even worth an explanation, makes something ugly stir low in his belly. 

“Oh, I think I get it,” he says, plucking another strawberry from his plate. Steve watches with a furrowed brow how he lets it dangle between them, waving it idly about as he speaks. “I think it must be hard, constantly begging for daddy's love and acceptance, but only ever being fed the scraps. Always so eager, always so willing, but never quite good enough, you poor boy. You'll do anything for attention, won't you?” 

Steve's eyes go wide, perfect lips parting around a punched-out little sound. Eddie grins triumphantly, lifting the strawberry to his mouth. 

But he never makes it there. 

Steve surges forward, fingers closing around Eddie’s wrist. Eddie watches, heartbeat pounding in his skull, how Steve sucks the fruit into his warm, wet mouth. How pink lips slip over his fingers, all the way down to the first knuckle. Chocolate cracks and a thin rivulet of red juice trickles down Eddie's thumb. Steve darts out his tongue and catches it, never once breaking eye contact. 

“Holy shit,” someone whispers. It takes Eddie a moment to recognize his own voice. He knows it's impossible through the glass and the distance, but he swears he can hear how the camera shutter on the other side of the street goes crazy. 

Steve releases his fingers with a slick sound, tongue licking over plush lips to gather the last traces of strawberry and chocolate and Eddie still clinging to them. When he speaks, his voice is hoarse, breath cool against Eddie’s wet skin. 

“Let's get outta here … and I'll show you just how much I'll do.” 

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And then they went home and had hate sex. The end.

[carionto]

How to beat Deathworlders

I don't know what I want to write and it's a little frustrating. So, to fix that, I'm just gonna throw this at me - Giant Ant Planet

The first call to arms Humanity has declared. They mobilize with unseen speed and precision seven of their mightiest Dreadnoughts, hundreds of transports, and amass fifty thousand soldiers, fully armed and trained on the target.

They are headed to a world Humans scouted as having great potential for life to flourish. How correct they were.

In orbit above the planet Chromathium-2-4, the station Truncated Crescent Ellipses was tasked with conducting experiments to test the viability of Human-digestible flora and fauna living on Chromatoff (as the scientists began to call it for short).

When the fleet arrived, the final message from the station turned out to be true - it had crash landed on the surface. From the chaos of the recordings they received, there was a containment breach and the systems were under attack by some unknown electronic waves and incomprehensible code. A hostile act, but by who?

This was two weeks ago. Whoever it was, they would know the wrath of Humanity. Once we find your traces, there will be no hiding for long.

Preliminary scans show the station was dead and only local creatures and plants appeared, in greater density than elsewhere, but no matter. Just some animals.

The first unmanned craft landed and began exploring the wreckage. All of the digital systems were fried, not a hint of power remained anywhere. Attempts to manually power anything up proved fruitless - the data had been replaced with pure garbage code. Then, the drone vanished underground and went silent. Connection failure.

Orbital sights showed nothing, all frequencies were monitored and were free of unaccounted signals. The next group of drones descended and shortly after touchdown they too were seemingly devoured by the ground, all power and electronic signals cut.

A deep scan showed the same dense biological activity, but looking closer at the data it was like a carpet just below the actual surface layer. And for whatever reason the pulse couldn't penetrate below a few meters. Scanning areas further from the crash revealed a much more detailed and sparsely populated map going down the expected three kilometers.

For the third attempt they kept several drones above the landed ones at different altitudes. The moment the drones on the ground were vanished again, a sudden signal struck the ones floating up to seventy meters above and cut them off as well, but didn't seem to reach any beyond that. The visual was not as detailed as they'd like, but it was enough - the tips of large pincers and antennae and beady eyes. Ants.

The fleet maintained a perimeter around the entire system just in case, and spent half a day consulting professionals and former colleagues of the deceased scientists to get a better understanding of the current situation.

Two experiments the team had worked on before and supposedly continued when relocated to the new station stood out - metabolic acceleration, and unassisted neural interfacing via modified brain waves. Far from the wildest here, such as the self-relocating giant sequoia, but ones that offered a plausible explanation.

Ants serve a variety of critical functions in the maintenance of an ecosystem, so naturally they are a part of most late stage terraforming efforts.

Here, however, something went wrong and they evolved alongside technology at an intimate level. Perhaps deliberately made to do so.

They are spreading fast too. Twelve hours ago the "carpet" of underground ants was roughly two square kilometers. Now it was close to three and a half. In mere weeks they may spread across the entire continent, perhaps make it across (or below?) the seas somehow and ravenously consume all life on this planet before succumbing to extinction themselves.

This world is bountiful. Also, we're here already. Hmm...

Eh, may as well. Plenty of us have seen Starship Troopers and only joined to hopefully one day shoot at alien bugs. Guess these are more like home grown critters, but whatever.

With that brazen attitude (and a quick orbital bombardment) the troop ships landed, well, were forced to crash land the final few meters, but whatever electromagnetic warfare these ants were throwing our way didn't account for reinforced alloy armor and hand-held rail guns. Their sharp pincers, acid throwers, and thick carapaces did however.

Actually, fucking hell, they move real fast underground. Uhh...

This isn't looking so good in retrospect. Did they add cockroach DNA in these bastards too? Some of them literally don't care about losing their head, what the fuck!?

Okay, holy shit, abort mission! Good thing we still install regular ignition engines as an added redundancy to the military ships. Not very fast or efficient, but screw you, burn beneath the thrusters. BURN!

*deep breath*

Okay. So. We lost 831 soldiers, and 4625 are injured. And the ant casualties don't matter cuz they're ants. Super mutant ants. Who are going to take over the world if we don't nuke them. Which might not work anyway because HUMAN scientists made them.

Hoisted by our own petard or something.

Right, let's just chalk it up as a... military exercise gone wrong and quarantine the planet. Wait, make that the whole system.

...so this is what it must've felt like to lose the Emu War...

[warmblanketwhump]

hello hello! after an accidental hiatus, I'm back with an entry into the surrender an ask game that @save-the-villainous-cat and @epiclamer put together where we all swapped asks. thanks so much for doing this!!!

here's my ask: Hi! I’ve become obsessed with your Hero Gets Yanked By An Upstanding Citizen Into Their Window And Into Their Heart post and I was wondering if you could- maybe- on the off chance- if you have time- come back to it for another scene? I just love the duo’s dynamic so much, the lovable hero who is trying a little too hard at any given chance, and the citizen who is wholly unafraid to manhandle a superhero into their home and into their life. That’s the vibes I was getting from their short interaction anyway- I love them so much aaagugfyduhijigififiguftgb your writing makes me go insane” Submitted by @yourheartonfire

The hero checks once, twice behind their shoulders, then collapses on to the rickety fire escape. It's off the beaten path, away from anyone. Sure, there's a little prickle of guilt that it's a Saturday night, and there are probably dozens of crimes afoot that need their attention.

But the past few weeks have run them absolutely ragged. If they didn't know better, they'd think that someone was scheming against them deliberately. call after call, summons after summons, each one more dire than the last.

People count on them—people need them, and they like the feeling of being needed. But they're exhausting, aching, injured, absolutely spent. Their leg throbs with a recent injury that they haven't had time to treat, and they can't remember the last time they slept more than three hours at a time.

They lean their head back against the scarred brick of the apartment building, letting their eyes slip closed....

.....and when a wailing siren sounds in the distance, the hero tries not to whimper.

Get up. It's time to go.

And they do get up. Too quickly.

Their toe catches on the edge of the rickety fire escape, and before the hero can react, they're falling, tumbling, twisting, too exhausted and spent to do anything to stop the inevitable pull of gravity on their body.

The last thing they see is the extended metal overhanging of the fire escape before pain shot through their body, and darkness overtook them.

_________________

The hero hoped that when they awoke, they'd somehow find themselves in their own spase, yet comfortable bed, that the last two months had been just a nightmare.

Instead, they hear frustrated, disembodied grunts and feel someone pulling at them, tugging them over something hard and metal and painful for their aching body.

"Get...in...here..."

The hero wants to swat the hands away, but their limbs are dead weight at their sides, and their voice gets stuck in their throat when they try to cry out. So darkness falls again.

_________________

When the hero wakes a second time, they're aware of a throbbing in their bad leg and a pounding in their head, and an ache that's more painful than anything they've ever felt. They're in a dark room, save for a softly glowing salt lamp in the far corner, and they're aware of being tucked under a thick, soft blanket on some sort of couch or daybed.

It's comfortable, safe, warm—and wrong. They have no idea where they are or who they're with, nor how long they've been there, nor how many lives have been lost while they've been knocked unconscious.

They try to call out, but the "hey" comes out as more of a raspy whisper, and the blanket is far too heavy for them to toss from their broken body. In their efforts to move, something gets knocked over with a crash.

"Hey, hey, hey now, don't move. Shhhh." A figure darts into the room and the hero feels two hands against their shoulders, pressing them back into the bed.

"W--where..."

"You're....here. At my apartment. Figured I didn't want to leave you out on my fire escape all night." The shadowed figure flicks on another lamp and the hero winces, hand flying to touch their face—

Their bare face.

A strangled cry flees their throat. Not only have they failed their city, but someone's seen their face, seen how utterly, desperately ordinary they are beneath it all. This someone knows who they are and could ruin it all. Their eyes flicker up to see the stranger standing at the foot of their bed, holding their disguise tenderly in their hands.

"I'm so sorry....I didn't want to take it off, but you were bleeding from a pretty nasty forehead cut, and I didn't want to leave it too long." The stranger's hand lightly ghosts over their hairline, and the hero realizes there's some sort of thick bandage over where the throbbing is radiating from. "I won't tell a soul. Promise. If you have some sort of mind control....thing, you can even erase my memories, if you want, but you need like....a ton of medical attention first. I've done first aid and an outdoor wilderness survival class a couple times, but you probably need some kind of doctor, but I get if you don't want to do that with your identity and all that...."

"Won't....won't bother you" the hero slurs, trying to sit up again, before collapsing back down. Try as they might, they couldn't leave this cursed couch.

"Oh no, no, you're not bothering me at all. You just sorta...freaked me out, is all. And there was a TON of blood, and I couldn't just leave you there, so I just kinda—" the stranger motions with their hands "yanked you right in here, did some first aid, and here we are." The stranger adjust the blankets, tucking the hero in tighter. "You looked pretty banged up."

I supposed I did, the hero muses to themselves. "It's....been a rough few weeks. But I'm okay."

"You sure?" The stranger's brows furrow, and their hand gestures to their leg. "I'm no doctor, but that gash on your leg looks...pretty bad. Shouldn't someone be looking after that?"

Hero hears the subtext of the question. Shouldn't someone be looking after YOU?

The hero isn't quite sure what to say to that. How long has it been since someone tended their wounds, tucked them in, brought them in from the elements, and asked how they were?

"I'm....I'm alright." Hero's mortified to hear the smallest wobble in their voice.

"Hero, that's not what I asked." The stranger's voice is firm, yet gentle, their hand resting on their uninjured knee.

"Right." The hero sniffles, suddenly unable to speak.

The stranger seems to understand the thousand thoughts of the hero's mind that flood the silence, then gently pats their other uninjured leg. "Well, in that case, it's time we get started now that you're awake. I'll get the bandages, and we'll really get you cleaned up and take stock of how much healing you've got ahead of you. No promises, though—I told you, it's only a couple first-aid classes, so don't you judge my wound dressings."

Hero's suprised to hear their own thin, crackly laugh. "Wouldn't dare."

[thevanillerose]

ICHI | YANDERE!TOORU OIKAWA x READER | HAIKYUU!!

~ WRITING COMMISSIONS ~ ~ PATREON ~ ~ KO-FI ~

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not own anything except my own writing. All properties belong to their respective creators.

Girls loved him for his looks. Boys loved him for his volleyball skills. Sometimes the two were interchangeable, but one thing was definitely certain. Tooru Oikawa was one of the most popular students to ever attend Aobajohsai High, if not the most popular.

That was why he was considered #1. Ironic, considering he wore #13 on his bib.

The brunette, handsome faced boy seemed to have everything. There was just one problem.   He didn't.

If he could have everything, then you would most definitely be a part of it. You were the person that kept him up at night, drove him nuts tossing and turning, holding onto himself and imagining you there with him. The thrill that came from playing a good game could not compare to just imagining how amazing you might be. He'd give it up in a split second if it meant he could have you.

Often he would see you sitting at the side and watching his games, cheering him on with that beautiful smile and those gorgeous [E/C] eyes glistening with enthusiasm. You didn't play yourself, but he could tell that you were passionate about the sport, and more importantly, he could tell that you enjoyed watching him play it.

So he made his best efforts to look as attractive as possible for you. You weren't someone who only valued looks, but aesthetics were always important. If he ever got any sweat on his brow he would tug up the bottom of his shirt, pulling the fabric and exposing his midriff while he wiped it. He'd deliberately jog close to where you were sitting, and make sure he was showing off his athletic figure. He even wondered if you'd enjoy hearing his slightly weary panting after he had played hard.

Anything. Anything at all, he'd make sure your eyes were always on him. But he never worried about it. It seemed to already be guaranteed after all. Of course you'd say yes to him when he finally asked you. Why would you ever say no? There was nobody better that you could find.

That was what he thought at least. That was how he viewed things, but from your perspective things were significantly different. You had no idea what went on inside Tooru's head, and so you didn't know of the romanticized thoughts he was having about you. All you knew was that you enjoyed watching him play.

He was such a talent. Even with his injury, he played on like a pro. Maybe he was a little bit arrogant, but nobody was perfect. He had his flaws like everyone else, and you liked him all the same. But...'loved' him? Unfortunately for Tooru, that wasn't how you felt.  

This bitter truth came to light the very day he ushered you aside after a game and took you into a quiet part of the boys' locker room. You initially fretted about being in there, not wanting to seem like some kind of desperate pervert, but Tooru insisted there was no need to worry, as nobody else was in there. He'd made sure to check. He'd made quite sure you would be alone for when he finally asked you:

“[Y/N], will you go out with me?”

At first, those words made you a little shocked. Then...you started to feel that creeping, dreadful sensation. The impending rejection on your own part. Why did you have to ask me this?

 Like a storm cloud, it finally caught up with you and you couldn't escape from it. Holding your other arm, you sighed out softly, immediately shattering the illusion he'd been having this whole time as you spoke in glum but honest return: “I can't, Tooru. I'm sorry.”

 It took him a moment to come to terms with what you had just said. His eyes blinked, and stared at you. He could feel the sweat still lingering on the back of his neck from all that exertion now mingling with a new kind. It was ice cold, like a creeping finger on his back. He could practically hear himself being mocked... Idiot! You think you're all that, but if you really were then she wouldn't reject you!

 No...no! Logically this made no sense! Angered now, he suddenly looked at you with demanding eyes.

“Well you must have a really great reason, right? Because there are so many girls who would kill to be in your position right now, don't you know that??”

 Now this was a side of Tooru that you hadn't expected to ever see. His brow had furrowed slightly, hazel brown eyes zeroed in on you like missiles about to strike land.   “You're kidding, right?”

“...No...I wouldn't lie to you like that. I don't think it's fair to lead anyone on...” you replied, so bewildered by this sudden attitude shift that you almost couldn't think of anything to say at all. “I'm just being honest. My only reason is that I just don't feel that way about you.”

 Tooru had been hoping you would tell him that you just had too many commitments, that there was some tragedy in your life that had happened recently, even that you had a boyfriend already (which he figured would be easy to get rid of), any kind of valid excuse not to date him besides...not being attracted to him.

 But no. It seemed that you really didn't feel that way about him after all, and he simply couldn't wrap his head around that. He would have given up learning the biggest secret in volleyball if it had meant he could understand why you were telling him this. Why it was the case at all.

 Why you didn't love him, despite the fact that he was perfect boyfriend material. Tall, attractive, athletic, smart, well spoken, a high achiever all round. What was anyone else when compared with that?

 What smarted too was feeling like he had wasted all that time trying to seduce you while playing games, even if subtly so, and now it was like you were throwing it all back in his face.

 His stomach turned. This was literally sickening to him. You were looking at him so innocently, as if you truly had no clue how much of his precious world you had just torn down with your cruel hands.

“...Cruel...yeah. It's cruel...” “Cruel?” you asked, confused by his silence followed by this sudden saying. “Yeah...” Tooru nodded slowly, head low and shadowed all of a sudden. “It's cruel how you can so easily knock down everything a person has ever worked for...”

“What? What are you talking about?” you were baffled, literally spluttering before you actually responded: “I rejected becoming your girlfriend, but I'm just one of millions of girls out there- billions even! And if your fanbase here in school is anything to go by, you won't have a hard time finding someone else.”

 You were working on your own logic, just as he was working on his, and both of you were clashing.   “Look, I don't want an argument...so I think I should just go...” you turned away from him.

 To Tooru, the fact that you could even suggest that he would pick anyone else was only one thing. Insulting.

 And how dare you?  How dare you insult someone as perfect as himself?

 His hands shot out all of a sudden and grabbed you by the shoulders. You squeaked with shock but he ignored your cry as he simply held you fast and slammed you back against the locker, making the metal rattle, and causing your body to hiccup. “To--!”  His free hand clamped over your mouth before you could say anything else, squeezing your cheeks as something of a warning.

 This was the first time that Tooru had ever really touched you. There was nothing romantic about him literally pinning you to a boy's locker, stifling any cries with his hand. You only flushed when you felt his knee slip up between your legs, propping your comparatively smaller body up in-front of his own.

 Tooru stood there for a moment, watching you as you quivered in his hold. Your eyes were wide with alarm, and no wonder. That had happened so out of the blue he was almost startled by it himself.  

“...You talk like you know everything, and yet you seem to know nothing about me. Not really.”  Tooru's brow softened in a condescending expression, his lips pouting slightly while he spoke and rubbed his thumb against your cheek. “Because you should know that I'm number one, in every regard. That makes me better than any other boy you might like.”  He dug his nail into the plush skin he was caressing, and smiled as you closed one eye, wincing. “And I bet you like other boys, don't you [Y/N]?”

Just like that, his slightly clammy hand slipped away and you panted, breathing properly through your mouth again. But he didn't let you go though. Instead, that same hand soon returned, only this time so it could gently slip around your neck and grip it with a little firmness. This made you cower all the more, but Tooru only looked at you expectantly with one dark eyebrow raised.

When you didn't answer, he gave your gullet a little squeeze. Then you talked. “I-I do! I can't help that!” “Hmph.” he smirked and loosened up again, watching as you breathed in some air shakily, treating it like precious alcohol. He loved having so much leverage that he could literally control every minutiae of a certain situation. Dating was so much easier when you were completely in charge.

“Maybe not. But that doesn't matter anymore.” Tooru's head tilted, and he smiled sweetly, but it was undoubtedly sinister, “Because you're mine now. And that means no more thinking about other boys okay~?”

You only kept looking up at him in that cutely frightened manner. Tooru couldn't resist it. He pressed his knee firmer against you, watching you go even more scarlet and look down shyly. His hand only tilted your chin up deftly, lips meeting yours in a seductive kiss.

He was stronger than you. He was faster than you. He was smarter than you. You were outmatched. Completely.

His tongue consumed your mouth, hands ravishing your sides while he kept you pinned taut between the lockers and his tall body. His 6 foot figure dominated you entirely, casting you in a heavy shadow which already spelled so many levels of doom. And when he parted from that kiss, wiping his mouth and giving you that famous one-eyed gesture, he then let that cheerful, aroused little smile of his fade into something more sinister and serious again.

Alone in the locker rooms, without a single other soul there to hear either of you, the only thing you could focus on was the sight of him running his tongue across his bottom lip, eyes never leaving you in that hooded manner. “Face it. Nobody is better for you than I am. Don't insult me by pretending I'm not the best that there is.”

His hand reached out then, warm as it cupped your cheek, but cold and callous in intention. The words he spoke were practically oozing with that arrogant, venomous attitude you'd never known he had, only faintly cloaked by a sweetness that seemed all too false.

“We both know I'm the perfect man...”

Like my writing? I can write for you! Check out my WRITING COMMISSIONS!

[is-the-fire-real]

‘Documenting my Jewish conversion’ your opinion on the last year means nothing, then. Absolutely nothing. You will never know the fear that real Jews have been facing since October 7th 2023, and you will never understand the risks that come from looking and acting like a Jew. You people shouldn’t even be allowed to call yourselves Zionists, because you have no ties to the holy land at all.

I bet you think Kahanism is ‘too much’, too.

Wow, Anon, this would really hurt my feelings if I believed for one second you were actually Jewish.

I could leave it at this and move on, but you know what? I'm feeling chatty and it's been a long time since I've made a big post on here, so let's sort out, piece by piece, why I know you're cosplaying.

For starters: if you were really Jewish, you wouldn't be anonymous. Jews who believe gerim aren't "real Jews" post their opinions on their blogs under their names. They are very few and far between, but they aren't shy. I believe that you have chosen to send this anonymously because you ARE shy... because your login info will demonstrate that you are an antisemitic goy who's trying to pick at what you assume is a sore spot.

Second, if you were really Jewish and you'd paid attention to what I've said about "the last year" (and then using the Gregorian calendar date, which is just funny to me), you would know that I haven't actually expressed an opinion on Zionism. I have reblogged material from other Jews expressing their opinions. Those Jews have ranged from Zionists to non-Zionists to post-Zionists to "refuse all terminology"-ists. I have chosen, deliberately, to do what we used to call signal boosting.

When I have expressed an opinion, it has been on the behavior of antisemites on Tumblr who pretend to be something they're not--usually, pro-Palestinian, but in your case, Jewish. I have been wondering what the "pro-Pal" fandom would do now that it's started to collapse from the fans getting bored, and you've demonstrated one possible tactic--so thanks for that!

Third, if you were really Jewish, you would have something to say about being Jewish that isn't what you said. I've read and spoken with countless Jews who talk about being Jewish. Look at the words you've chosen: "risk" and "fear". I have heard Jews express fear, and awareness of risk, but no Jew I've met would reduce all of Jewish experience to risk and fear.

The Jews I marked Yom Kippur with were aware of risk and had prudent fear. But they were not fearful. They were not obsessed with risk. They do not define their Judaism by terror, not even the little old lady in a foreign country who had bad ankles. I'm not going to tell you what the rest of Judaism entails, because you should know it yourself. I'm not going to make your anonymous cosplay easier for you by giving you explicit pointers.

Fourth, let's talk about "looking and acting like a Jew".

The man guiding my conversion has been physically attacked multiple times in the past three months, to the point where he has stopped wearing his kippah in public--especially around his own home because he's concerned someone will find said home and stalk/attack him and his wife. He is the leader of a group of Jews who are reinstating Judaism in a land where there have been no Jews in centuries. There will, for the first time in half a millennium, be a Torah in this part of the world due to his tireless efforts. He has, immeasurably, made the world a better, more spiritual, and more Jewish place. He is the guy the press and the government and the local Christian and Muslim groups contact if they want to ask about Jewish holidays or the opinion of the local Jewish population. He is the guy who writes all the statements put out by the local Jewish organization, of which he is the president and founder. In that sense, even taking off the kippah won't shield him--he is definitionally, visibly Jewish.

And you may tell yourself "Oh, he must be born Jewish if he's doing all that, so of COURSE he's got a lifelong experience with Judaism and of COURSE he's had a lifelong experience of antisemitism so of COURSE he knows more about all of this than you do, Fire."

This man is a convert.

He has, to use your attitude, "only" been Jewish for one-third of his life.

So, like, what did you mean by "looking and acting like a Jew" being a thing gerim know nothing about? What did you mean about how gerim cannot "look" or "act" like Jews enough to experience antisemitism? What was that about gerim not being entitled to opinions because of their ignorance on what being a Jew is like? What kind of phrenology are you practicing to determine who was a born Jew and who converted? What alchemy do you believe in in which the flesh of a born Jew has mystical qualia that mine does not?

I believe that I will enter the mikveh a ger, and I will emerge a Jew. My belief is in line with literally every rabbinical source I have encountered and the opinion of every single Jew I've ever read... except yours. Mysteriously, you don't believe the mikveh is a closed practice only for Jews, and that the only way a goy could ever be permitted to enter a mikveh is so that they will emerge from it Jewish, just as Jewish as those who emerged from their parents' wombs as Jews.

Why don't you believe that? Why are you the odd Jew out?

Is it because you're pretending to be Jewish to sow dissent and hurt random strangers for your own cruel pleasure? I sure think so!

Fifth, let's focus on the next bit in greater detail. Why do you think I'm a Zionist when I've never stated one way or the other?

I'll tell you why!

You found my name on one of the Zionist Blocklists that your fellow antisemites put together. I'm not on all of them, but I have ended up on at least one! And you're going through that blocklist, pretending to be Jewish in order to harass the Jews you found on there. You think you can try to trick me into abandoning my baby-eating ways by suggesting that the "real Jews" don't think I'm one of them.

The funny part about that is that I didn't end up on that list by being a Zionist on main. I ended up on that list by talking about my conversion process, reblogging pictures of Judaica, talking to Jews, and reblogging posts from Jews. That's it. That is why I know those blocklists are utter BS--because I, like dozens of other Jews would tell you if you weren't an antisemitic troll, wasn't on a Zionist Blocklist at all.

I was put on a list of Jews for the crime of being Jewish on Tumblr. You are trying to hurt me because I was visibly Jewish online. You are only here because you found me on a Jew-Hate List.

But go ahead and tell me I've no idea what antisemitism is, or what being visibly Jewish is like.

Sixth: very bold of you to assume I don't have any ties to Israel! Are you sure about that? Are you really sure? It's not something I have ever discussed on my blog, and it's interesting that you would assume this means the answer is "no", when it could just as easily be "I don't discuss that detail of my personal life online with total strangers who are also antisemites and disgraces to their hate movements".

Guess which one is the correct answer! Go on, guess!

Seventh, I don't actually care about what you think about my conversion, even if you are Jewish (you aren't--this is a hypothetical). Conversion isn't a popularity contest. There are a ton of people who don't accept my conversion because I'm going to be Masorti. There are a ton of other people who will assume I don't think they're Jewish because they're not Masorti.

And I just... don't really care about the argument, overall. There are several Jewish opinions which matter to me. The man who's guiding my conversion, the Rabbit teaching my conversion class, and the beit din who will interview me. That's actually pretty much it! If other Jews don't think I'm Jewish, they're entitled to their opinion and they don't have to spend time with me or invite me to their services. They're justified in controlling who accesses their sacred spaces. It'd be nice if they weren't jerks about it, but you can't always get what you want.

Just to be totally, abundantly clear, then: even if you were Jewish, you'd still be wrong to tell me that I'm not and that my opinion is meaningless. It's just useful to point out that you aren't Jewish, about which I have one more point to make!

And last (don't worry, I know you stopped reading long ago, but I like to be thorough), I do not know why you're asking me to refute, or support, an ideology for a nation in which I do not live. I don't have an opinion on Kahanism more complex than "I don't like what I've heard about it". If you'd asked me my opinion on the Vox/PP alliance in Spain, I could write for days! Or if you asked me about how horseshoe theory is validated by the alliance between red fash, green fash, and Republicans in the US--I can and have written about that, too!

I don't write about Israeli politics in depth for the same reason I don't write about the political situation in Ukraine, or Canada, or Myanmar, or Qatar, or Ghana, or Greenland, or any of the other places I don't live. It seems silly for me to pontificate on political situations I don't understand when, most often, all I can offer is what I already said: "sounds bad, if true".

Here, let me liberate you from your self-constructed prison: you don't have to have a strong and informed opinion on every single thing occurring on the face of the Earth. It's okay for you to not know stuff. You do not have to form a hard opinion instantaneously because a stranger on the Internet demanded it. You can, and should, plead ignorance and move on with your life. You will be a far happier person if you are not ruled by obsessive anxiety regarding things you don't know. STOP MAKING HOT TAKES.

But, of course, I kid. I know, the same as you, why you brought up Kahanism. It's because you're the same anon who's going around harassing Jews by pretending to be Jewish, and you finally learned how to spell "Kahanism" correctly, and you're very, very proud of yourself and wanted to show off.

I am glad you found out it's not spelled Khanism!

This is the thing, brother. You are lying through your teeth. You are trying so hard to hurt Jews, and you're convinced this tactic will work. You want to create infighting among all the zionazi scum you despise. You and folks like you pretended to be Jews who were outraged over a bar mitzvah being performed in a television program, and you pretend to be Jews who are salty about the existence of converts. But I've gotta tell you, as a ger, I can still see right through you. It's all pretense.

You are as Jewish as an Easter ham.

Give up the game, anon. You're not clever enough to play it.