#already making it a tag because i will be doing more posting about this

[leighsartworks216]

It's Nothing

Sylus x AFAB!Reader

Inspired by my late as fuck period and joking with my friend that I was the next virgin mary. Not proofread cuz I want to post it but I'm tired of looking at it

Warnings: pregnancy scare, menstruation, period fic, anxiety, overthinking, lack of communication, communication, silly, cuddling, kissing, swearing

Word Count: 1,450

Main Masterlist

First Love and Deepspace Masterlist

Second Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

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"Sweetie? What has you so distracted lately?"

"Nothing! Nothing at all! I was just, uh- thinking about work, that's all!"

"You're a terrible liar. Tell me what's wrong."

"It's-" You falter, searching desperately for an excuse and coming up woefully empty "It's really nothing, Sy. I'll tell you at some point, just..."

"... Just not right now." He sighs, but nods, dismissing the subject. A frown lingers on his face as he turns back to the movie. "I trust you, sweetie," he says after a long pause, when it seemed the topic had been dropped completely.

The guilt sinks down into your stomach, but you bite your tongue and cuddle further into his side. The rest of the night remains tense.

You want to tell him. Admit what's on your mind. Finally release this stress from your body. But you can't! Because... what if he leaves you? And maybe you're just being paranoid for nothing - but you can't take that risk, not with Sylus, of all people.

Your period is over a week late. That's not terribly unusual, but it is suspicious given the fact you've stopped using protection in the bedroom. Well, not necessarily stopped, since you're on birth control, but things get heated and he's finished inside of you without a condom. So... what if your birth control didn't do its job 100%? You know there’s a small percentage of it failing, so what if this time is the time it chooses to be ineffective?

Dr. Zayne is the only person you've told about your fears, when you went in for a checkup and nervously asked if he could run a pregnancy test for you. You're not sure if being your childhood friend made the next line of questioning about your sex life more or less awkward. You do know that that test came back negative... But Zayne said after the fact that it could be too early to tell.

So all you can really do now is wait until you do or don't get your period again.

You know it bothers Sylus a lot, your secrecy. You two have both progressed so far in learning how to trust each other, even with the stupid things. This just... doesn't feel like one of those stupid things. You've only just put a name to the relationship, you don't want to ruin that now when things are so new and nice.

So you hold it in. You try your damndest to put it on the back burner and show him as best you can that everything is fine and that you still love and trust him.

You wake up with your body's internal clock. With the N109 Zone being so dark, knowing when day is is a bit tricky. But, Sylus is asleep beside you, laying on his stomach with his face buried in his pillow. He doesn't have a shirt on. A wide expanse of tan skin and rippling muscle is left exposed as the blankets all pool around his hips.

You smile to yourself, albeit a bit mournfully. You're glad he's still sleeping beside you, even if you've both been a bit rocky lately. It's all your fault - you know. You'll make it up to him somehow. You have to.

Slowly, as quietly as you can, you slip out of bed and creep to the bathroom...

"Sy!" You see him startle out of sleep, hand already wrapped around the gun under his pillow as he sits up, searching for the danger.

"What is it?" he asks sharply. You run and jump onto the bed, landing partially on top of him. He tosses the gun onto his nightstand and lifts you by the waist to reposition you into his lap as he sits up properly. "What's got you so excited?"

"I'm not pregnant!"

He blinks up at you with a frown. You grab his shoulders like an excited kid, looking at him expectantly. He feels like he’s skipped several chapters into a book and the plot twist reveal isn’t making any sense. "What are you talking about, sweetie?"

You're practically vibrating in his lap with energy. It's the most light he's seen in your eyes for the last week and a half. It's... relieving. "I'm not pregnant! We haven't been as careful with protection lately and then my period was supposed to come, but it didn't, so I had a pregnancy test done, but Zayne said it could be too early to tell when it came back negative, so I've been waiting and waiting to know if I really am and-! And I'm not! I'm bleeding again, Sylus! I'm not pregnant!"

He shakes his head, brow pinched with a pained expression. "That's the 'nothing' you've been distracted by all week?"

"Um..." You grin sheepishly. "Yeah?"

He takes a moment, eyes closed and lips drawn into a frown. That guilt that settled in your stomach during your movie night returns, doubled in intensity. You got over-worried and kept secrets from your boyfriend, when you could have just told him from the start how weird it was that your period is late and how worried you are about what it could mean.

"Sy...?"

"Mmm."

"Are you mad at me?"

He finally opens his eyes. The expression eases slightly as he shakes his head with a sigh. "Have the cramps hit yet?"

You shake your head. "Um, no?"

Suddenly, his arms are wrapped around you and your world tilts on its axis. A heavy weight settles above you. Sylus's nose presses against your neck. "Good. Let's stay here for when they do."

You try to wriggle loose. He tightens his hold around you and nips at your skin sharply. You jolt, but it stops your struggling. “Why do we have to stay here for my cramps?”

“Because, sweetie,” he sighs. You’d think he’s annoyed, if it weren’t for the way he runs his nose along the column of your throat and eases his weight fully onto your body. “When your cramps start, you’re going to want a heating pad and a massage. And since you hate my massages-“

“I do not!”

“-it’s better if I just lay here and provide all the heat you desire.”

His logic isn’t faulty… And, honestly, having him so close to you again, without the barrier you built between you both, is really, really nice. So, you relent. You wrap your arms around his neck and begin playing with his hair. He lets out a contented hum, pressing a kiss to your pulse.

“So… you’re not mad at me?” you ask again.

“No, I’m not mad. I was… worried. Suddenly you were pulling away from me with no explanation and no warning. I thought…” You gently pull on his hair to remove his face from your neck. He follows with no resistance, resting his chin on your chest as he looks up at you with such serious eyes, tinged with sleepiness and lingering concern. “I thought you didn’t trust me anymore.”

You frown at the admission. For over a week, he thought you were pulling away because you didn’t trust him… “I guess I didn’t help any, keeping my worries a secret…” He doesn’t agree, but you see a slight quirk in his brow. “I’m sorry, Sy. I didn’t… I just… This is so new. I was worried that if I was pregnant, you’d be upset or leave me or something.”

He scoffs. “I’m not so easily scared off, kitten.”

“And I know that now.” You lean forward and press a lingering kiss to his forehead. His eyes flutter shut, furrow in his brow relaxing. When you pull away, they open to look at you once again. “I promise, from now on, I won’t keep secrets like that from you anymore. You’ll be the first to know if I’m worried about anything.”

He grins slightly. “Thank you, sweetie. I promise to be just as honest with you.”

He lifts himself up just enough to capture your lips. Your mouths move together in a languid dance, sealing the deal you two have just made. It lasts several minutes. Neither of you really ever want it to end, but Sylus needs his sleep and you’re going to need all his love and care when your uterus decides to rain hellfire on you to make up for lost time. He pulls away slowly, trails light kisses down your jaw, and tucks himself back into your neck.

Everything feels so much more secure now. Despite all your fears, the relationship has grown stronger. And you know, you’re both going to be okay.

-

Bonus:

“Is the thought of having my kids that terrible?”

“You know that’s not why I was worried, you asshole.”

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry

[sigilslvt]

Until The End • Suguru Geto

☣︎ Summary: Suguru Geto. The name that used to give you butterflies and come wrapped in nothing but sunshine now only makes you feel a deep void in your heart. Three years ago, your high school sweetheart defected. He gave no warning, offered up no signs of his emotional state, he simply... left. What will you do now when he shows up after all this time?

Pairing: Suguru Geto x Fem Reader

Tags: fem! sorceress reader, ex boyfriend! suguru, angst, pre and post jjk0, mentions of murder, smut, oral sex (f receiving), p in v, creampie, whiney geto, stalking, heartbreak, pregnancy, death

WC: 6.6k

A/N: hehe, i know i said happiness would come soon, but the mood struck, so ANGST! feel free to send suggestions for a happy fic, though!

The wind stirs through the sprawling campus of Tokyo Jujutsu High, carrying the soft scent of rain on the horizon. It’s spring, your favorite season. You’ve always loved the way rain kisses the apples of your cheeks when you look to the sky to see the pillowy clouds just before a storm starts. You’re sitting on the steps outside the training hall, your knees tucked up to your chest. It’s quiet—a rare, fleeting moment of peace. The faint hum of distant voices from other students training filters through the air, but it feels like a world away. From behind you comes a familiar voice, warm and teasing, breaking the spell of solitude.

 Your favorite voice.

“Spacing out again?”

You turn your head, a grin already forming. Your beautiful boy is approaching, his hands casually shoved into his uniform pockets, that usual spark of mischief glinting in his beautiful purple eyes. His presence feels like sunlight breaking through the clouds, and you can’t help the way your heart leaps. He’s a comfort you never knew you needed until he walked into your life. His hair, tied neatly in its usual ponytail, catches the light, and for a moment, you’re reminded of how effortlessly radiant he is. He saunters over, his movements unhurried, and settles down beside you as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Because it is. It’s so natural to just gravitate toward each other at this point and you love it. He loves it. He feels like he belongs, truly belongs when he’s with you.

“I was just thinking,” you reply, your voice soft. He leans closer, tilting his head in that way he always does when he’s truly listening. It’s one of the things you’ve always loved about him— how present he is, even in the smallest moments. His head rests on yours, making your body feel all warm and tingly inside. The faint smell of his cologne, a subtle mix of cedarwood and something floral, lingers in the air between you, grounding you in the moment.

“About what?”

You hesitate, glancing down at your hands, the delicate scars lining your fingers feel more pronounced under his gaze, like they’re a testament to the battles you’ve fought and the fears you’ve buried so young. “About the future. What comes after all of this. After Jujutsu High. Our lives are just gonna consist of curses, curses, and more curses.”

“And each other.” He interrupts.

“You know what I mean.”

He hums thoughtfully, the sound low and soothing. “You’re not thinking of quitting, are you?”

“No,” you say quickly. “It’s just... hard to imagine what life will look like. Fighting curses, protecting people who will never even know our names. Sometimes it feels endless.”

Suguru is quiet for a moment, his gaze fixed on the horizon. The sky above is streaked with shades of orange and pink as the sun dips lower, casting long shadows across the courtyard. Then he reaches over, his fingers brushing against yours. The touch is light, tentative, but it’s enough to send warmth blooming through your chest. It’s… testing. To see if his normally strong and steadfast girlfriend will allow him to comfort her. You relent, intertwining your fingers with his and he squeezes your hand.

“You’re not alone in this,” he says, his voice steady. “No matter what, we’ll figure it out together. I’ll be with you until the end”

You look at him, your breath catching. There’s something unspoken in his eyes, something deeper than words. It’s in the way he looks at you, the way he always seems to know what you need to hear. In that moment, the uncertainty that’s been gnawing at you fades, replaced by a quiet, steadfast hope. You believe that as long as he’s by your side, you’ll be able to face whatever comes next.

He smiles then, his thumb grazing the back of your hand. “I’ll love you until the end, you know,” he says, almost teasing, but the words land heavier than you expect. You laugh softly, brushing it off, but a part of you holds onto them, tucking them away in the deepest corners of your heart.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Three years later, that hope feels like a distant memory. Especially now.

You stand frozen in the doorway of your apartment, staring at the man who had disappeared without a trace. Suguru Geto. His name feels foreign now, like a ghost of the boy you once knew. He looks older, sharper, his features etched with a hardness that wasn’t there before. Worn by the hatred for non-sorcerers. His dark hair is longer now, loose and falling over his shoulders, and he sports a gojogesa rather than his usual black t-shirt and sweats. But his eyes— those same amethyst eyes that once held so much warmth are fixed on you with an intensity that makes your chest ache.

He’s standing there so casually. As though he never left. As though he hadn’t broken your heart and left you to pick up the pieces. “I need you,” he says, his voice low and urgent. It’s the first thing he’s said to you in three years, and it cuts through you like a blade. The weight of his words crashes over you, dredging up emotions you thought you’d buried: anger, longing, confusion, and an unbearable grief.

Your fists clench at your sides. “You need me?” you echo, your voice trembling with anger. “You left without a word, Suguru. No explanation, no goodbye. You killed over a hundred people and then killed your parents. You said goodbye to Shoko and Geto. And now you just show up and expect me to—”

“I couldn’t break up with you,” he interrupts, his tone desperate. He takes a step closer, and the faint scent of him—still cedarwood but now tinged with something darker, heavier—invades your senses.

“That’s why I didn’t tell you. I couldn’t tell you how I was feeling because I didn’t want to let you go and I knew we wouldn’t be on the same path from then on. I told myself that if I didn’t end it, then… then we would still be together. Still be okay.”

Your breath catches, your heart pounding in your ears. “So what? You didn’t want to give me a chance to change your perspective!? To steer you in the right direction? You thought leaving without a trace was a good option? Do you have any idea what that did to me!?”

He flinches, guilt flickering across his face. But there’s something else there too, something darker. “I couldn’t stay,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not with the way the world is. Not with the way sorcerers are treated. I had to do something.”

“Defecting was the answer?” you demand, your voice rising. “Turning your back on everything we fought for?”

“It’s more complicated than that,” he says, his tone sharp. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Then make me understand,” you plead, your voice breaking. “Tell me why you chose this path. Tell me why you left me.”

For a moment, he says nothing, his gaze dropping to the floor. The tension between you is suffocating, the silence heavy with unspoken truths. Then he steps even closer, his hand reaching for yours. You don’t pull away, even as your heart twists painfully in your chest. Even as every atom that makes up your body tells you to.

“I left you because I loved you,” he says, his voice raw. “I knew that if I stayed, I couldn’t protect you or create the world you deserved. I didn’t want you to get caught up in my choices until I was sure I could do it. I hoped that you could see that all of it— all of this was… ” he trails off for a moment, seemingly rerouting his brain. “Do you remember that one day in spring? When you wondered about what life would be like after high school?” he asks.

“What about it?”

“I helped you through it by telling you what you wanted to hear, but… but really I was happy that you were questioning things, too. Because ever since Amanai… since Toji… I realized that we were just slaves to those who will always see us as dirt on their shoes without knowing all that we sacrifice for them. I saw the look on your face and I knew then that I couldn’t keep fostering a world where that’s all that we know. Where our kids would know. I found a better way. This is the better way. The only way for us to live happily and free from the shackles of being a jujutsu sorcerer. We can live for ourselves, not for the weak. No more fighting. No more loss.” he explains desperately.

The sincerity in his voice is like a knife to your heart. You want to hate him for all he’s done, to push him away, but the love you still feel for him won’t let you. It’s a cruel, unrelenting thing, binding you to him even after everything. That bond solidified by the knowledge that even though he did things in a sick and twisted way, he meant good. He wanted to make the world a better place. For you. Always for you.

And while you’re trapped in your thoughts, he brings your knuckles to his lips, breaking you from them in the way he always used to do. Your gaze softens and you take him all in while he’s in this state. For a second, he looks once again like the boy you fell in love with. Soft. Caring. Strong. But you can’t let go of the fact that he isn’t him anymore. Not fully. And you resent him for taking that boy from you. “I hate you.” you spit, an obvious lie.

“I love you.” he replies.

“You should go.”

“I know.”

And yet neither of you move. Not for a few moments. And it’s thanks to those few, uninterrupted moments that he has the time to work up the courage to press himself to you, bringing your hands up around his neck. He’s so close you can feel his breathing on your forehead, but you don’t look all the way up into his eyes, afraid you’ll wake up from a dream if you do.

“I need you.” he echoes the first words he said to you in three years.

And just like that… you’re done for.

You finally look up, gaze landing on his, the expression on his face full of the very need he claims to feel. When your eyes soften the way they always used to for him after a silly argument, he knows… he knows you need him, too. His lips mash into yours and the kiss is desperate, teeth against teeth, swallowed breaths, and strained grunts as he closes the door to your apartment behind you, placing his palm on it to protect your head before slamming you against it.

He breaks the kiss to look at you. Really look at you… and all he can think is that you look so much more beautiful up close. Three years of watching you from afar, of keeping tabs on you without getting caught did nothing for him the way seeing you right here in front of him did. You look tired. So tired. He hates seeing you like this. Knowing you slave your life away for weak people, spending every day putting your happiness— your life on the line.

He’s ripped from his thoughts when you stand on your tippy toes to nuzzle your nose against him. “I’m right here.” you murmur, seemingly reading his mind. He nods, kissing you again, but this time it’s slower. Passionate. Loving and loving mixing together to make you both drunk on each other.

Strong arms lift you, bringing your thighs to wrap around his waist while he takes you to your bedroom, your mind too focused on how your boy is now a man— a strong, beautiful man, for you to question why it is that he knows the layout of your home down to the laundry basket even you bump into that’s in the hallway just in front of your bedroom door.

He places you on the bed gently, standing to look at you again. “Stay.” you breathe, unsure of whether or not he was thinking of leaving, but speaking anyways. He smiles as though he’s lost another silly decision about where to eat again like when you were younger and your heart flutters. He’s utterly helpless against you.

You watch as his fingers move to undo his gojogesa, letting the top half fall off his broad shoulders and hang off his waist before bending to hover over you. “I couldn’t leave even if I tried.” he murmurs, pressing kisses from your lips to your cheek, then your jawline, and finally your neck where he bites down gently, sucking a mark into the soft flesh that joins your neck to your shoulder.

You use the opportunity to lift your hips and slide down your leggings, but he stops you before you can get them too far, shaking his head. “Please let me take my time. I need this… to savor this.” He pleads, knocking the breath from your lungs with the look on his face. He’s so beautifully pained that all you can do is nod.

His fingers replace yours, hooking into the waistband of both your leggings and underwear and slowly pulling them down while he kisses your belly… your hips… your mound… and finally they’re off and your cunt is laid bare before him. He doesn’t rush to it though, no, he instead moves back up your body to kiss you again, hands splaying out on either side of your stomach, gripping at whatever fat he can get as his tongue invades your mouth, tasting you— the sweetest thing he’s ever known.

He only breaks the kiss to remove your shirt from your body, pleased to find that you’re not wearing a bra. His head dips into the crook of your neck and he swipes his tongue on it, his hands pinning and brushing up, up, up your arms until his fingers intertwine with yours. It’s a grounding gesture, one meant to keep you in place and him in this moment.

“Tell me you still love me…” he breathes and you can’t believe he even wonders. As though you not turning him away or capturing him and calling Satoru wasn’t enough. He really was still the boy who always needed reassurance behind closed doors.

“I’ll love you until the end.” you echo the words he once told you three years ago. He smiles at the memory, taking in your smell before moving to pepper lingering kisses along your collarbone, your chests, and finally your breasts. He places one of your hands in the other so he can hold them with only one of his own, opting to knead at one of your breasts while his mouth tends to the other.

Thumbing the hardening pebble with one hand, his mouth works on the other, tongue swirling around your nipple before he sucks with enough pressure that has your back arching up into him, cunt beginning to just weep onto your bed. He chuckles at the shaky moan you release, his warm breath ghosting on your now cold nipple and making your body jerk.

He doesn’t linger there long, moving down to kiss your mound and finally releasing your hands, his hands sliding down your body and instead finding purchase on your breasts before he’s slotting his head between your thighs, kissing the insides of them sweetly. “You’re a vision of perfection, y’know that?” he coos, making your cheeks burn up.

You’re not given a chance to respond before he’s pulling a gasp from your lips by kissing your clit like he’s hit a bullseye. Your thighs jerk on either side of his head and he chuckles, swiping his long tongue up from your quivering hole to your clit, kissing it again for good measure.

“Sugu…” you whine, a pout forming on your face to complete the look of pure need that has his eyes nearly rolling back in his head. In these years, he’s imagined what you’d look like underneath him countless times. Imagination was nothing compared to the real thing. Fucking his fist pales in comparison to the pleasure he gets from simply kissing your pillowy lips.

You couldn’t possibly be more thankful when he finally begins to glide his tongue between your folds more eagerly, fingers pinching at your nipples at the same time for the added stimulation you needed to avoid going stir-crazy while he worshipped you. He still works his tongue languidly, slow laps to savor your taste that have your gut twisting and a hand snaking down to his head, fingers tangling into his raven locks. “Fuck…” you breathe out, hips bucking into him, other hand gripping the sheets.

The more his warm tongue works against your now scorching hot cunt, the faster your breathing gets, almost in time with the flicks of his tongue against your swollen clit. You can’t bring yourself to look down, feeling his gaze sear itself onto your face without even having to. But, that won’t do for him. He sucks your clit harshly and releases it with a loud ‘pop’, lifting his head from your delectable core.

“Look at me.” he purrs, blowing onto your wet skin and causing goosebumps to rise all over your body. And with that voice, you can’t deny him, not even for a second. You drag your eyes to look down at him and the sight is none other than Godly. His mouth and chin are covered in your slick, face red and forehead beading with sweat as his chest heaves… and those fucking eyes. Those beautiful eyes are looking up at you like you’re the only thing that matters in this world.

He keeps his eyes on you as he starts to work your clit again, his hand coming down to prod his middle finger into you, your legs twitching at the intrusion. “A-Ah, Sugu, I’ve ne–”

“I know.” he interrupts. Of course he knows, you two had never done anything in high school. He wanted to marry you first, wanted to be honorable. He’s never seen you with another man aside from Gojo and he knew that’d never happen. He knew better than to waste time now, no, he wouldn’t let this chance slip away from him.

He glides his finger in and out of you slowly at first, testing the waters as he eats you out, eyes still on you to gauge your reactions. After all, you’d need lots more preparation before he could fit himself snugly inside you. He presses a second finger against your hole, pushing past the muscly ring of resistance to fit inside of you along with his middle finger. You hiss and he stills, watching as your brows knit together and you take a deep breath, blowing it out to steady yourself. “You okay, angel?” he asks.

Angel. The nickname he had blessed you with so long ago. One you’d long to hear from the shadows, at a coffee shop, or just back at Jujutsu High signaling that he’d come back. And he finally has. “Don’t stop…” you force out, not wanting to waste any time, either. The stretch is uncomfortable thanks to Sugu’s admittedly large fingers, but you’ve fought curses since you were thirteen, you can handle pain. Especially if he’s the one to deliver it to you.

The look of pride on his face is so glaringly obvious as he smiles against your sodden cunt, beginning to pump his thick digits into you again, pulling a lascivious moan from your lips that he swears is an angel’s song. But with the way he begins plundering his fingers into you as a reaction, you’d think you’d have moaned a siren’s song instead. He’s chasing more of them, more moans, more slick, more beautiful twitches of your brow when he hits that spot.

And he gets it all. You writhe and wriggle beneath him while he eats you out and pumps you full of his digits again and again. He pulls back to watch your cunt greedily swallow his fingers up and he almost chokes, the muscle clinging so tightly that it comes in and out with his fingers, pulling him back in every time he pulls out.

With that, he’s attached to your clit again, sucking and swirling his tongue around it with a hunger that has you seeing stars. The knot that’d formed in your stomach is now tightening to a point where you feel it might just snap and with just one low, gravelly, pussydrunk moan from him– it does. Your hips buck and you’re turning your head to the side, eyes squeezed shut as you grip his locks, keeping him against your pussy while you just cum, cum, cum, all over his fingers as he works you through your orgasm with quick flicks and sucks on your clit before he slows to a stop.

You will yourself to look back down at him, chest heaving as you catch him pulling his fingers out to suck your slick from his fingers, his eyes rolling back into his head while he literally growls at the taste. And if you thought he was pussydrunk before, you were sorely mistaken. Pussydrunk becomes pussy crazed and he stands, undoing the rest of his gojogesa to let it fall to his feet, stepping out of it and slowly approaching you. Your eyes fall from his own down to where his need for you is strongest and your breath hitches. 

You always knew Sugu was big, it was never a secret. You two’d never done anything before, but back then he’d practically get hard whenever you were around him. This, however, is more than just big. He’s fucking hung. You wonder if you should’ve held out on cumming so he could train you a little longer with a third finger, but that time is long gone and you know he can’t hold back any longer. You don’t want to either, but…

“You can handle it.” he snaps you from your thoughts. The words sound more like a promise than reassurance.

You tremble with anticipation, backing up further onto the bed and resting your head against your pillows as he settles himself between your thighs. He looks down on you like a predator looks at its prey– calculating and hungry. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him down into a kiss, his body moving upward so he can rest a hand on your headboard. His fat tip smacks your clit, dripping pre onto it in small beads, making you whine. It’s heavy and hot against you and you can feel it twitching when it comes into contact with your slit, accompanied by a hiss from him when he breaks the kiss. 

“Just relax for me, Angel, okay? It’ll be less uncomfortable that way.” he directs you, voice low and strained and breath ghosting against your lips. You can tell he wants this just as much, if not more, than you.

“Okay, baby…”  You say and you can hear the way his breath hitches in response, swearing he snuck a little ‘fuck’ in there.

His grip on the headboard is so tight he thinks he might just splinter it, but he knows he needs to steady himself, so he holds on anyway, promising himself to just buy you a new bed if he breaks yours. His other hand reaches down for his length, gripping the base of his shaft and sliding himself between your folds to collect your slick and make it easier for him. The contact has you both groaning and he can’t help but look into your eyes again as he positions himself at your entrance, testing the resistance with his tip.

“It’s okay, baby, give it t’me.” you reassure him.

That’s all he needs to hear before he’s sheathing the tip inside of you, causing you to suck in a sharp breath at the stretch. The second he feels your gooey, gummy walls around him, it’s game over, truly. “Sh-Shit!” he hisses out, actually breaking the headboard above you, wood pieces falling beside your head. You look up at him and can see the restraint on his face. He’s holding back for your sake.

Your hands glide up his chest and caress his face. “You got it, baby, just breathe. Breathe.” You tell him, taking slow and deep breaths again and again until he starts following your lead, calming himself down as much as possible in this situation. With your nod, he pushes in further until he’s halfway in and you’re writhing underneath him, the sheer girth of him stretching your walls thin. The hand that’d been guiding his cock now finds purchase on one of your thighs to keep you steady, trying to stop you from shying away from or fucking yourself deeper onto him.

“Almost there, Angel. I’m gonna make you feel good…” he promises you, grunting as he slowly pushes forward again. He’s thrusting in, in, in, and scraping against your gummy walls until his balls hit your ass and he’s fully sheathed inside of you, a shaky, high pitched whine falling from his lips.

You’re breathing heavily, tiny little whimpers freeing themselves from your throat between each breath, legs shaking, fingers digging crescents into his shoulders to ground you. For a few moments, all you two can do is stare at each other. In awe, in lust, in love, you stare. It’s him that breaks the silence. “Baby, if I don’t move now, I’m gonna cum. You’re squeezing so tight, I gotta loosen you up a bit.” He grunts out, pulling all the way out before gliding forward again, back home to your welcoming wet heat.

“S-Sugu… s’deep… you’re s’deep!” 

“I know, pretty girl, I know.” He coos, leaning forward to dig even deeper, still using the broken headboard for support. He pulls back for just a moment before rolling his hips forward, impossibly heavy balls smacking against your ass as you moan out, pulling him down for another kiss. You need it desperately to keep yourself from fainting at the way he feels inside of you.

You’d heard so many stories about the first time being painful and bloody and this was not that, no this pain turned to pure pleasure. Maybe you were sick for feeling like it, you don’t know.

“More, Sugu, more…” You beg, breaking the kiss and you swear you see the man leave his body for a moment before he’s kissing you deeper, making love to you harder. He rolls his hips into you with perfect precision, free hand folding one of your thighs up higher so he can aim for that spot that makes your mind go dumb.

He breaks the kiss to look at how fucked out you already look, his brows knitted, sweat dripping from them. “God, you’re s’fucking tight, Angel… I can’t st—hah stop!” He warns you, pressing more of his weight down onto you as he drills himself into your squelching cunt, your hole twitching and struggling to stay stretched around him as he churns your insides.

You’re fucked utterly stupid. He’s not even fucking you fast, just so incredibly deep and hard that he knocks the wind from you with every thrust. Between how good it feels and the lack of oxygen, you can only allow him little ah, ah, ahhs while he splits you open on his length over and over again. You can tell he’s fucking you with the intent to make you feel just how much he’s missed you. So it’s only fair that you do the same.

His lips are hovering over yours and you fist his hair roughly to bring him to you, kissing him hard, teeth gnashing together as you squeeze your sopping wet cunt tighter around him. He gifts you with a growl that ends in a whine as he picks up the pace, now removing his hand from the headboard to fold you up and stuff you so good you can’t think, can’t speak, can’t do anything but feel. Feel him. Feel his weight fully pressed onto you, now.

You can’t help but look down between you to catch a glimpse of his length disappearing into you every time he thrusts, a small but noticeable bulge poking just below your navel when he gets in nice and deep. There's a ring of slick forming around the base of his cock and dripping down his balls that makes you wanna lick it up and the way his hips stutter and then ram into you slower, deeper, and rougher when you think that makes you realize that you’d actually said that out loud. And there’s that feeling again in your core. Strong and pulsing, teetering on the edge. You’re so close.

“So fucking nasty, d’you know that? You and this pussy. M-My pussy… my pussy, baby, my pussy… say it’s mine. Say you’re mine.” He whimpers, making you tear your eyes from where the two of you are connected to look up at his face. His cheeks are red, mouth agape, brows meeting in the middle, and he’s heaving. The moment you make eye contact, he throws his head back, hips faltering again. He’s close too, you can feel it.

“I’m yours, Sugu, it’s yours… all yours! Fuck! Yes, yes, yes!” You moan in time with his thrusts before he kisses you hungrily, quickening up, but not at the cost of how deep or rough he’s delivering every precise thrust. He wants you to cum first, but you’re holding out, you wanna cum with him. You rip your kiss bitten lips from him to coax it out of him. “S’okay, baby, cum… cum in me, it’s yours…” You bite your lower lip after you speak, keeping your eyes on him, your own brows knitted in pleasure as your pussy flutters and tightens around him.

That’s all he needs to fuck into you one last time, delivering the last thrust you need to cum, too. Nails clawing down his back, cries reverberating off your bedroom walls, you’re arching up into him and he’s pulling you flush to him, up onto his thighs while his arms wrap around your back, hands reaching your shoulders and pushing you down onto his length as he stuffs his face in your neck. He groans and moans and bites into your flesh as he ruts himself into you, getting out whatever spurts of cum your nasty pussy can get from him and overstimulating you both all at once.

It takes a few minutes for you both to catch your breath and he stays buried in your neck the entire time, laying down on top of you with his cock still buried in the deepest parts of your cunt. This feels perfect. So perfect that despite all he’s done, you want to save him, still. His heartbeat is steady, a quiet reassurance that he’s still here, still alive, still yours.

In that moment, every tear you’ve shed and every sleepless night spent missing him seem to dissolve into the fact that he’s here. His touch is both familiar and foreign, a bittersweet reminder of what you’ve lost and what you still crave. The room is dimly lit by the pale moonlight dancing on both of your skin. His hands trace the contours of your body, memorizing every inch as if he’s trying to etch you into his memory. But he doesn’t have to..

“Stay,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “Stay with me. Talk to the elders, plead your case, and maybe they’ll understand enough to give a light sentence. Please. Please, Sugu, I don’t want to lose you again.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering against your skin. “I think you give the elder’s too much credit. Nevertheless, I’ll do anything— everything... for you.” he says, and there’s a heaviness in his voice that makes your chest tighten. 

You want to believe him, to hold onto the hope that he can change. And as the night passes, he shows no signs of leaving. He tells you what he’s done for the last three years aside from the cult, tells you he’s always watched you, tells you that he couldn’t stand being away from you anymore. That he was ready to come here and bring you to his side and he’s happy you’ve accepted him. It’s a peaceful night and eventually, his voice paired with his soothing touch lulls you to sleep.

When you wake the next morning, he’s gone. The space beside you is cold, and the ache in your chest is unbearable. You sit there for what feels like forever staring at the empty bed, tears streaming down your face. He’s gone and somehow you know that this time… he’s not coming back.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Six years pass and life moves on, even though the pain doesn’t. The first two years, you disappear with the help of Gojo. You knew that if you stood and Geto came to you again, you’d break completely. You couldn’t, as you had a new reason to build a better world. A new life to protect growing inside you. When you give birth, it’s magical, but something is missing. You miss Suguru. You hope that by some miracle, he’ll come to you and raise your little girl instead of spewing all the hatred he does.

The next four years are easier. You have a support system and everyone in it helps with your daughter. Everyone loves her. You throw yourself into your work as a jujutsu sorcerer, burying the memories of Suguru beneath layers of duty and resolve for the sake of being a good mother and sorcerer, but no matter how hard you try, you can’t forget him. He lingers in the corners of your mind, a shadow you can’t escape.

Now you’re standing in the middle of a training session with first-year students when the piercing wail of alarms shatters the quiet morning. Every head snaps up, tension rippling through the air like an electric charge. You motion for the students to stay back, your instincts already kicking into overdrive. The higher-grade sorcerers are moving toward the front of the school in unison, their expressions grim. It’s Gojo’s expression that catches your eye. He’s upset— angered, even. It’s not often he shows those emotions and so you follow, your heart hammering in your chest.

When you reach the entrance, the sight awaiting you sends a chill down your spine. Suguru Geto stands at the gates of Jujutsu High, flanked by members of his cult. His presence is overwhelming, his aura darker and more oppressive than you’ve ever felt. He’s smiling, but it’s a cold, calculated thing, devoid of the warmth you once knew.

“I’m here to declare war,” he announces, his voice echoing across the courtyard. The gathered sorcerers bristle, their hands instinctively going to their weapons. “In one week… one thousand curses will be unleashed across Japan. This is the beginning of a new era.”

You step forward before you can stop yourself, breaking through the line of sorcerers in the front, your voice trembling with a mix of fury and heartbreak. “Suguru, stop this! You don’t have to do this! Please, this isn’t the way!”

His gaze lands on you, and for a moment, something flickers in his eyes—a fleeting shadow of the boy you once knew. But it’s gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a steely resolve. You muster up the courage to say the one thing you think will reign him back in and it’s spewing from your mouth immediately. “We have a ki—”

“This is the only way,” he interrupts, his tone final. He turns his back to you, his voice ringing out one last time as he walks away. “Until we meet again.”

You’re standing there, your heart ablaze with anger and hurt. The weight of this betrayal feels heavier than ever, and yet, a small, stubborn part of you still hopes that he’ll come back. That he’ll choose you over whatever darkness has consumed him. That he’ll realize that you can both be happy being jujutsu sorcerers so long as you have each other.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

The battle a week later is chaos. The air is thick with cursed energy, the clash of sorcerers and curses echoing like thunder. You’re on the frontlines, fighting alongside your comrades, but your mind is elsewhere. When you hear the news that Suguru has been defeated by Yuta Okkotsu, your heart sinks. You don’t know what to feel—relief, sorrow, or something in between.

An hour later, you’re pulled from the battlefield by Satoru. He doesn’t explain much, simply grabbing your arm and teleporting you to an alley shrouded in shadows. Your breath catches in your throat as you see Suguru lying there, his body torn apart and blood pooling beneath him. The sight of him steals the air from your lungs.

“I thought you’d want to say goodbye,” Satoru says quietly before stepping back, giving you space.

You drop to your knees beside Suguru, your hands trembling as you reach for him. His eyes flutter open at the sound of your voice, and he smiles faintly, the edges of his lips tinged with pain. “Hey,” he murmurs, his voice barely audible.

Tears blur your vision as you cradle his face in your shaky hands. “Why?” you whisper, your voice cracking. “Why did you have to do this?”

“I told you,” he rasps, each word a struggle. “I did it for us. So we wouldn’t have to fight anymore. I thought… I thought I could make a better world for you.”

“You didn’t have to do it alone,” you say, your tears falling freely now. “We could have figured it out together. Like you promised.”

He smiles again, softer this time. “We would have died trying. And she needs at least one parent.”

“Sh—” your throat closes up. “She? You know abou—”

“O’course I do. Who d’you think was giving her those lollipops you get onto her about, hm?” He musters up a weak chuckle, blood spurting out of his mouth, staining his lips.

“You…” you trail off, not knowing what to say. Not wanting to say goodbye.

“I’ve always kept my promise, you know. I love you. Until the end.” He murmurs. You can see the light fading and you want to will him to stay, to fight harder, but you can’t. You know it’ll end like this one way or another.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I love you. I’m so sorry, baby, I— I love you, please.” You cry, closing your eyes and pressing your forehead to his. His hand brushes against yours one last time as if to reassure you before it falls limp. 

The world around you seems to still, the weight of his absence pressing down on your chest like a physical thing. You sob uncontrollably, pressing kisses to his pale face, closing his eyes, and apologizing again and again. If only you hadn't questioned your place in the world as sorcerers all those years ago, if only you’d tried harder to convince him, if only you’d captured him when he showed up to you. He’d still be alive. You don’t know how long you sit there, holding him, but when Gojo finally pulls you away, you feel like a part of you is being ripped away with him.

As you’re taken from the alley, the echo of his final words lingers in your mind. Despite everything, despite the pain and the loss, you know one thing for certain: you will always love him. Until the end.

[things-about-cars-in-posts]

The MOMENT I laid eyes on that rollbar I thought "Huh! How Caterham-like!", lol. Turns out I know my favorite car well.

Funnily enough, the Caterham Seven has been given a sleeker body before, by Caterham themselves no less, and this new year marks 21 years since that happened. And given the result was named Caterham 21, and specifically because Caterham had been making Sevens for 21 years by then, this would be a very funny coincidence if I hadn't planned it.

Okay, there is to say the name may also have been influenced by the goal of making something like the legendary Lotus Eleven racecar...

...but enough dwelling, let's get you a picture of what this thing looks like!

Oh, what's that there?

But that's my blogpost on it I wrote eight years ago, on the news section (bafflingly) of automotive publication Car Throttle!

"Wait, you wrote published automotive articles eight years ago?"

Well, not really.

See, Car Throttle did have an articles section, but at heart it was a car-centered social media platform. There were larger, more structured posts in the "Blog" community, and the editors sometimes picked the better ones and shared them in the Official Featured Articles Of The Staff Whose Job It Is To Do This section. And a couple of my posts were picked, which at my then tender age of [too young for unsupervised internet networking] was an inconceivable honor.

But then at some point they decided, I believe to quote the chief, their attempt "to make the Facebook for cars" was ill-conceived, because "the Facebook for cars was already Facebook", and the platform pivoted to just being a news outlet. And, infuriatingly, pretending they never were a social to begin with. Forget preserving the posts, we weren't even given a tool, a deadline, a warning for archival. Posting ability was removed and everything was just hidden and hushed away slowly and gradually enough to frogboil away all attention before deleting all those posts I and countless others poured heart and soul into.

Except the Editor's Picks - a layout change could make those look like proper articles and pad their offerings. Clicking the author name leads to a cryptic "Forum" section. No mention of upvotes -embarrassing memories- but the comments are there, they make it look like a visited website. Who's this blank circle? Can't click the username. Who are they tagging? Page wasn't found. How do all these commenters seemingly know each other? Good luck googling them. Now visit our shop.

So, in the spirit of fuck that, here is that article remastered for Tumblr - a platform that, for all its ills, refuses to shut its doors in the face of all sense and all the internet rowing against its model of a free, unalgorithmic feed where all forms of content are welcome.

Fair warning: you'll need to be up to speed with the story of the Seven itself. Here's the link again - last chance!

Caterham did something other than the Seven? Yep. This is the 1994-1999 Caterham 21, the only other production Caterham. It was pretty much a more comfortable, everyday-use Seven.

What's with that crazy silver look? That's the aluminum prototype. The production version was made out of fiberglass, and looked like this:

Hold up… Why do those taillights look familiar? Well, you know how it is with small sportscars... and when the design team cruised the motorway looking for lights that would suit the design...

And the parts sharing doesn't end there either.

And what about the interior? Was it comfortable? More than the Seven, of course (in the end, that was its goal): It had more creature comforts, such as proper doors, actual glass windows (which, as a trade-off, didn’t roll down), a dashboard that actually looks like the product of design work, and a soft-top you closed rather than assembled. Though comfort was still one of its weaker points.

Why so? Isn’t it a lot wider? Where did all the extra width go? Well…

Yes, this is for real. You could have a football match on those sills.

Engine-wise? UK car industry experts are waiting for me to say it - and indeed, the almost stereotypical Rover K-series engine (found from the Land Rover Freelander to the FSO Polonez and a wealth of little British sportscars in between) was offered either as a 1.6 (offering 1or as a 1.8.

Oh, yeah, and it had one of those cool forward-opening bonnets, since the whole front was a single piece so good luck with any other way.

Any specs? Plenty.

The 115hp 1.6 reached 60mph (for yankees, that's the same) in 6.4 seconds and carried on to 118 (for non-yankees, that's 190km/h). That's a pretty low top speed, but these cars were always oriented towards acceleration and lower-speed roads. If you wanted more though, the 1.6 Supersport upped the power to 138, lowered the 0-60 to 5.8 and reached 131 (210km/h). The 1.8 started at 122hp but its Supersport variant developed 138... and the Supersport R 190, rocketing to 60 in 4.5 seconds. But those are very rare.

How was the sound? Better than a Viper’s. At least, according to Mike Rutherford from this Men and Motors segment from 1998. If you want to spare yourself some ear-piercing music, skip to 2 minutes for the bold claim and some chatting with Jez Coates (Caterham’s technical director) about how they managed that.

How did that power get to the wheels? As standard, it had the Ford Type 9 transmission, the one you’d find in a MKIII Capri or a Sierra, though a Caterham-made six-speed gearbox was offered as an option. It also had a limited-slip differential, of course.

So, how was it like to drive? Probably better than the Seven: the chassis was 50% stiffer, the wheels were further apart and the suspension was tweaked for a better ride. And while it was bigger and heavier than the Seven it was based on, we’re still talking about less than 4 meters and 1500 pounds (for Europeans, that's about 1800 euros at today's exchange- wait no).

Oh, and then there was the GTO, a racing version with the Seven R500's 1.8l engine. Some specs? 230 hp, 0-100 in 3,8 seconds, and all in 1994.

And, as if it wasn’t mad enough already, it later received the Levante’s V8 - supercharged to 500 hp! In a car that weighs not much more than that in kilograms!

Wow, what a cool car! How come it failed to replace the Seven? That was never its goal! The production was already meant to be limited to 200 cars a year. Which of course, multiplied by the five years it was sold-

Lightnings strike. Thunders echo. Typhoons blow. Lotuses handle. But their quest to revive the Seven's ethos called for much more than coasting on that fact of life. They pushed aluminium manufacturing itself to new bounds to create a chassis less Seven tier rigid and more seven times that. The engineers' pursuit of lightness was so absurd that their own electric window mechanisms were lighter than their supplier's manual ones. The result was a beautiful mid-engined sportscar with proper development budget about as light as the 21 and only £200 more than its base version, which it beat in 0-60, top speed and being preassembled. Yeah.

It was the raw British performers' iPod. Compact, light, capable, yet refined, simple and comfortable to use... a great enough product to push its brand away from the edge of hasbeendom and towards a new renaissance, ushering in a boom of its category... which was really more a boom of just itself, given how few other real beneficiaries there were.

Sure, you could buy a Morgan if your tophat stayed on during sex. You could buy a TVR if your views on ergonomics aligned with The Joker's. You could even buy a Creative Nomad Jukebox. But then, you'd still probably want a car with a radio to plug it into. So, while yearly Elise production, targeting 750, peaked at 5000 (or, spot the theme, seven times that), not 50 Caterham 21s were ever produced. Of which just two were Supersport Rs. I told you they were rare.

But that still doesn't explain it, does it? Sure, the Elise might've made it redundant at best and even stolen its spotlight when first showcased in '95, but the 21 still had a full year when the Elise was but a rumor, so surely, at least for the briefest while, there was room to shine for the idea of a plusher take on the cheap, basic British sportscar recipe, ri-

Yep. The 1989, or 1990 depending on your address, Mazda Miata. The iPod of the British sportscar. And no, I'm not refuting my first use of this analogy. The original concept behind the Miata was putting the ethos of the traditional British roadster in a package so usable the everyman could have it not just as their weekend car but as their only car. The original concept behind the Elise was updated because of pesky regulations to, ugh, have doors. We are talking about two very different levels of commitment there - and by extension two very different breadths of potential customers. To clarify: the uproarious success of the Elise led to the production of a whole 55 thousand between its every variant when production stopped in 2021. That's half of all cars Lotus ever made in its seven decades. In 2016, Mazda produced its millionth Miata.

Yeah.

And sure, the 21 was much lighter and faster than the Miata, but those who wanted that enough to both pay a £3k premium and put up with an unreliable, temperamental handmade British car, but not enough to go for the even lighter and faster Seven were evidently... not enough.

Which is a shame, really, isn't it? However much I may love the Seven's looks, I'm not blind to them being... let's use "polarizing". To have something not just more conventionally attractive, but also much more approachable (you know, things like knowing you won't have to frantically fiddle with two dozen buttons if it starts to drizzle) could, for the right person, not just make the proposition more appealing, but be what pushes it into the reign of justifiability.

Right, it sucks for those people! Now that it’s a rarity, prices must be sky-high… Well, you’re about to be pleasantly surprised: those Caterhams you saw above are actually up for sale, and with prices that rival used Sevens, too!

Okay, that was eight years ago, but from what I've been able to tell any time a 21's gone on sale since then the price has closer to the first figure than the second - when not lower still!

And that's the end of the article, engagement prompts aside. That transition from small edits to a whole new section was pretty jarring, eh. Writer improves after third of life. More at 7.

Anyhow, here's your first post of the year - and here's to one more year here on Tumblr, making the kind of content every other social platform welcomes as merrily as the plague.

Thank you all for sticking around for it. Means a lot.

Scoperta, 2024, by Camal Studio. A sports car based on the Caterham Seven is to be offered by Turin-based design studio. The cars will cost €150,000

[luciferanalyzestar]

"Not a critical/anti blog but all they make is critical/anti posts!" @ that one person. Does that person think you have to blindly defend every type of media you like? Like goodness gracious, people weren't kidding when they say the Hellaverse is cultish, because why tf you hoping someone kills themselves over your previous haha sex, fuck funni demon show? You can still like something and point out the flaws within it. You SHOULD be able to, especially consider this is an ADULT show. Nothing is immune from criticism. The more and more I see of Hellaverse based blogs they gets so fucking angry at the critical blogs or just blogs who critique the show minding their own business, and interacting with fellow criticals or people who have issues with the show. Like, damn, if these people bug you so much, just block them. Sorry y'all are going through this harassment. It's a reason I don't really have a critical or critique blog of Hellaverse, the fans can be so fucking toxic.

That person is the definition of unhinged, like she is just screaming at the void. She is ranting and raving and calling people the r-slur at the big age of 26 because there are people who do not like the “haha sex, fuck funni” demon show. With all the “fucks”, “fucking”, and “shit” it sounds like she is written by Viv herself. /j 😭

Like, do I have to pull out this meme:

You can still like something and point out the flaws within it. You SHOULD be able to especially consider this is an ADULT show. Nothing is immune from criticism.

This is 1000% correct. I still like Hazbin and I like pointing out its flaws. I never seen a fandom full of grown ass adults get full blown angry over criticism about a cartoon and even running critics who are FANS out of the fandom. This is why I do not interact with the fandom on Twitter, it is very mean girl "you cannot sit at our lunch table" vibes dues to the majority of infamous stans following or knowing each other. It is an echo chamber.

Fans are free to block us and blacklist the tags if we kept showing up in the normal tags. The angry stan does have critical tags blacklisted but still views critical posts and accounts, like block the accounts, move on, and forget that they exist.

The fans who harass critical accounts just make the fandom look even more worst and really unwelcoming. I already said, the standom and the hatedom acts the same way.

[man-i-love-fanfiction]

To Share the Space with Simple Living Things - Hozier x Fem! Florist!Reader

Chapter Four: Poppies - Imagination

Summary: You finally get to visit Andrew at his workplace, and he discovers a not-so-new way to handle his feelings.

Word Count: 2711

Author's note: Hope you're all enjoying! Sorry again for having such a splotchy posting schedule, between holidays and getting the flu I was... preoccupied. Anyways, have a chapter of your favorite tattoo artist yearning his heart out as compensation 🖤

tag list: @celery-grace @gayandfairycore @deathmybride @harry-bowie-mercury @hodgepodge-musings @blue-eyed-bug @secretttytttttttttt @dinner-n-dxatribes @padfootblackswh0r3

fic below the cut <3

It had been three days since you had gotten coffee with him, and all Andrew could think about was you. It was getting a little concerning. Concerning to him, at least. He was a grown man, who was he to have — for lack of a better word — a crush? Let alone one he was too embarrassed to express his feelings for?

It was close to torture, but he had no right to complain. He had brought this upon himself, and he accepted it. He asked a woman, particularly one he thought was beautiful, to get coffee with him, paid for her, and still ended the whole affair with their relationship being at most friends and at the very least acquaintances. Stupid idea, and the definition of a missed opportunity. Alex had already berated him over this decision (“What do you mean you bought her coffee, just the two of you, and you didn’t even attempt to drop a hint that you like her?”). And it’s not like he didn’t torture himself over it, thoughts randomly popping up telling him what he could’ve or should’ve said or done. The regrets he had, no matter how minuscule they were, ate away at him when he had nothing else to think about. All because of a choice he made and a label he refused to give. What a way to self-sabotage.

Everything about you, from how you met to how easily your conversations flowed, was magnetic, pulling his thoughts (and him) towards you. The serendipity of it all was like he had been transported into one of those overly saccharine romantic comedy movies he would sometimes catch his mother watching. What was the term she had used once? A meet-cute?

The slight vibration of his phone in his pocket brought him back to his reality. A call from an unknown number. Usually, he would hang up, or at least ignore it. But he was in between clients, and more importantly, a little bored. So he answered.

“Hello?”

“Hi. It’s Y/N. From the florist.” Andrew let out a sigh of relief at the sound of your voice. “That end of the world you were warning me about last time never happened, so I had enough time to finish your bouquet.”

He chuckled at that, a lighter sound than he intended.

“That’s fantastic. Both the world not ending and the bouquet being ready.”

“Is it alright if I swing by soon?

“Yeah. I’m on my lunch break in between clients, so I’m free.”

“Perfect. See you in…” you paused, which he surmised was you mentally calculating how long it would take you to get there before continuing, “about fifteen minutes.”

“I’ll be waiting for you.”

He grimaced as you hung up the phone, and true to his word, he waited. His time was occupied with sketching a design for an appointment he had in a few weeks, Alex hanging around with him. Immediately, everything was put down when you walked in. Fifteen minutes later, just like you had told him, he heard the bell above the door ring. He watched as you opened the door, tightly gripping a vase containing the flowers, letting in a beam of sunlight with your entrance.

“I’ve got one order of a chrysanthemum arrangement for Andrew?” You announced, feigning not knowing who he was.

“Great, you're here. Let me take that off your hands.”

He rushed over and grabbed the bouquet from you, and in a moment he had to remember to thank the gods for later, his fingers brushed yours, making his heart rate spike so suddenly he almost had a medical issue.

God, he was pathetic.

“Thank you so much for this. You never fail to amaze me.”

“Of course. You can keep the vase, by the way. Free of charge.”

He looked down at you, his brows furrowed but a smile still on his face.

“You are physically incapable of not being nice to me, huh?”

“Please. I do this for all of my orders. You're not special,” you joked, and he scoffed in reply.

“Wow… and I thought we were friends!”

“I’m just humbling you a little. Besides, I can't let other customers think I have favorites. It's unprofessional.”

“Favorites? Plural? Do I have competition?”

“Yes. It's you and a little old lady that orders centerpieces for her dinner parties. Don't go beating her up for the top spot.”

A beat passed before a mischievous smirk came across your face.

“Though, I am a fan of a guy that would fight in my honor.”

Not being able to sense your tone, Andrew swiftly changed the topic, unsure and unwilling to think about how he'd throw a punch for you.

“So, you used flower language for this, right? What's it all mean?”

You smiled, and the way your face lit up gave him a rush, a sudden burst of butterflies in his stomach. He listened intently, despite his urges to focus on you and not the words you were saying.

“Alright, I’ll give you a quick rundown of the meanings. Chrysanthemums are joy, of course. There are some sunflowers, specifically dwarf sunflowers, because they represent pride, like how you’re proud of your work, hopefully. Orange roses for fascination. And last but not least, calla lilies for magnificence and beauty, like what you create here. Hopefully you and your colleagues like it.”

He couldn't help the incredulous laugh that cane at the end of your statement.

“Are you kidding me? It's beautiful. Of course I like it,” he reassured. You didn't verbally reply, but the new warmness of your features was all the response he needed.

He paid, making a comment along the way about how he almost left his wallet at home this morning, but caught himself: “I promise I’m not forgetful, just… all over the place.” You listened, seemingly actually invested, and took the money from him once he offered.

“Thank you. You are single-handedly keeping my small business afloat.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, both out of confusion and concern.

“Are you not doing well?”

“I mean, we're making sales, meeting the quotas we should be. Barely. But we're not exactly a hotspot anymore. It's not common for people to get flowers, and if they do they get cheap bouquets cheaply made at a grocery store or online. People these days don't bother to make an effort.”

He observed you as you thought for a moment, a pause only he could have read into. He could’ve sworn you looked him up and down, though his hopeful imagination could have tricked him. There was more optimism in your tone this time around.

“You do, though. Make an effort, I mean. I appreciate it. You might be the only guy I know that does.”

Your words were taken to heart, but he deflected your compliment, fearing he'd become too flustered if he let it linger.

“Is the bar truly that low?”

“That's not low! These days, finding a guy who tries is like winning the lottery.”

You barely gave him time to react before pulling out your phone, which had just vibrated in your pocket.He could already see the disappointment set into your features.

“Crap. I have to get back.”

He offered an understanding nod, knowing as much as he wished he could stay in this moment, reality had to set back in.

“I hate to say goodbye, but it was really nice to see you. And your place of work. Keep me posted on if the flowers help raise people’s spirits.”

“Goodbye. Parting is such sweet sorrow.”

“Quoting The Bard at me? So you’re an artist and a nerd. Full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“I am. There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll find out more soon enough. I’ll see you later.”

“Goodbye.”

The door closed behind you, leaving Andrew feeling a bit emptier now that you were no longer there. Finding the right time, Alex made his presence known again. Andrew was so focused on you he had almost forgotten he was in the room.

“So… that's the Y/N you keep talking about?”

“That's her.”

“The one you platonically took to a coffee shop?”

“The very same.”

Alex gave him a look: a squint accompanied by an oddly pensive expression, like he was trying to make the situation make sense.

“Is something the matter? Do… do you not approve?” Andrew asked. Alex replied slowly, cautiously.

“No, she seems wonderful. No complaints here. In fact, that’s the issue.”

“How so?"

“Maybe because you took a woman, an amazing one at that, on an outing that was a date in every aspect but its name. You essentially blocked yourself off from you two being romantic. It doesn’t make sense to me! How are you the same lad that would write love songs in college?”

“That was a decade ago! I’m more cautious now.”

“Oh, yeah. You're so cautious, in fact, that you started liking your florist. A woman that you've only met four times, including one time where you basically went on a date!”

Andrew felt a shame as if he had just been yelled at by a parent, though most of the sting came from the truth of his words. Only after he exhaled a deep sigh did Alex speak again.

“Listen, I don't mean to scold you. I’m only saying all this because I care about you. That being said, if you don't take this girl out sometime soon…”

“Alex!”

“I’m being serious! I was standing right there. I saw how you look at her and you're… enamored of the poor woman. If you don't do something about the way you feel— doesn't have to be soon, just eventually— then the only person that will regret it is you.”

Andrew gave a slow nod as he processed the other man's words. He hated how wise he could be sometimes.

“I… I need to find the right moment. I need to take my time.”

“Then take it. Just don't bottle up your emotions for too long. You don't handle it well. Plus, after a while of you blabbering on about the same person, it starts to get annoying.”

For the first time since you left, Andrew laughed, Alex joining in a moment afterwards.

“Alright,” he said, slapping a hand on Andrew's shoulder. “Let's get back to work.”

Andrew ruminated on his friend’s words on the drive home, his grip tightening on the wheel. As much as he hated to admit it, Alex was right; he did need to do something about what he felt for you. But he never did specify what.

It had been a while since he felt like this towards someone, so he wasn't lying when he said he needed to take his time. If he were to ever make a move on you, he would have to make sure he was certain. He didn't want to ruin your newly-labeled friendship, run the risk of throwing away something just starting, and something good. However, that didn’t mean he couldn’t use an alternative method to handle these feelings.

He stepped into his flat, and for the first time in recent memory it felt… empty. Not necessarily from the absence of friends or family, just absence. The empty seats at his table, on his couch, in his bed, they almost screamed at him. He had never realized that the silence of being alone was so deafening.

What better way to fill the silence than with music?

He got straight to work, his craving to create overriding any hunger for actual food he had. Despite his own better judgement, Andrew had written down the lyric he had absentmindedly created a few days ago in his phone. He considered continuing from there, but preferred to do things the old-fashioned way. So he grabbed a pen, sat down at his kitchen table, opened his notebook, and began to write.

I have never known peace like the damp grass that yields to me…

He hadn’t opened himself up to this creative vulnerability in so long, so he was admittedly a little rusty. Words were crossed out, rearranged, and substituted with synonyms if the amount of syllables didn’t fit the rhythm. Eventually, after he had eased into it, it felt no different from when he sketched a stencil or tattooed a client. Oddly enough, the more he wrote and the more effort he put in, the more the lines continued to blur until he felt just as comfortable as he did at his job. Whether it be a tattoo gun or a ballpoint pen, Andrew was always in his element when he had ink.

There was also the added factor of what inspired all of this fervor to write: you. You kickstarted something in his brain, subconsciously flipping a switch. that made him more musical. Before you he would turn on the radio or shuffle his Spotify and merely admire whatever song was playing, but after you came into his life, his thoughts strayed more towards you: I could write something like this. About her.

Should he consider you his muse? He’d decide later on.

Time slipped away from him, to the point that he was shocked to look at the clock and find less than an hour had passed.

One last similarity between the two was discovered. He harbored a similar sense of pride after he had finished— or, more accurately, stopped himself after writing a verse and a chorus. Not a finished verse and chorus either, simply a rough draft to remind him how to get back into the mindset.

The only difference was the audience, or lack thereof. There was no way Andrew was letting anyone see this or even know about it. He would maybe, maybe, consider showing you one day. Even then, he could only imagine he’d want to shrivel up in a corner as you read it, or God forbid, as he sang it to you. He couldn’t dare to think about that now, even though the guitar resting against the wall in his bedroom was almost calling his name. He had to leave it there for now. He could barely handle writing for the day, let alone singing and playing. For now, he was taking baby steps.

Even if he could muster up the courage, there was no chance anything he wrote would be leaving the eyes of his friends and family. He was no poet, and no star. He already had a job that let him express himself and make meaningful pieces of art. For that, he was grateful. He could be happy with keeping the songs for himself, writing for only his own eyes, and letting what he created at his job be for the whole world.

The notebook — funny how such a small object now held a power over him — was closed and stuffed in an empty shelf space in his closet, an attempt at keeping it out of sight and out of mind. His attempt was semi-successful considering every step of the rest of his day was accompanied by the thought of it. Not the shame, just the knowledge of knowing he had written something. The shock of actually having the strength. It stuck with him until he went to bed that night, not even nearing sleep being able to offer him solace. He tossed and turned well into nightfall, until it got to the point that he was getting restless. And desperate. So he picked up his phone. To avoid simply doomscrolling until his eyes began to flutter, he found some website that detailed flower language and started to read.

He willingly went down a rabbit hole, keeping a separate tab open to search for flora he didn't recognize by name. He made mental notes of meanings he found particularly interesting. The last flower he read of before falling asleep was the poppy. It meant eternal slumber, coincidentally what he was longing for at the moment, but also imagination. It was almost perfect how poppies represented the day he had. This was his last coherent thought before he drifted off.

There was a third definition, one that also summarized his day, that Andrew’s eyes didn't stay open to read.

Oblivion.

[wen-kexing-apologist]

Well, I was tagged in this reblog (linked for context because that post is wayyyy too long already and I’m prone to run on sentences) so I am going to respond to the part of this that @doublel27 quoted me on. 

I want to make some things clear before I start: 

Critiquing shows does not mean I always hate those shows, few shows are perfect, and for me it is worth discussing what a show did and did not do well. 

I do not care if people like the shows I do not like, and I do not care if people do not like the shows I like. It is extremely rare that people agree on everything in the same piece of media. Everyone is entitled to their own enjoyment of their preferred media and I guarantee you that Shan, Turtles, Ben, Twig, etc. etc. will say the same. Also, since you mentioned Twig’s post about We Are, please let me direct you to the episode of The Conversation where Twig, Ben, and NiNi talk together about their differing opinions on that very show. And in case you were genuinely concerned about Ben and Twig’s feelings on the quality of Thai BLs this year, you can stick around for the second half where they talk about Knock, Knock Boys! Hopefully that will assuage your fears.

Some of the issues I have with vague posting are (a) it can lead to confusion, especially in a case like this where, according to you, maybe boys do love posted a response to eight different people’s commentary simultaneously without attributing which op’s thoughts he was responding to at any point. (b) By bundling eight responses in to one post without @ ing people, it makes it seem like he has misinterpreted other people’s commentary or taken something in intentionally bad faith (c) other tumblr users in a fandom will let people know when an “unrelated post” makes commentary specific enough to be recognized as a response to someone else’s statements thus drawing them in to the conversation. It’s why I prefer to be tagged in responses to the thoughts I share. This is a public forum, whatever I post in here is able to be reblogged, tagged, or commented on. If I didn’t want people to interact with my posts…I wouldn’t post them. If you don’t feel comfortable tagging people who you are responding to, then at least acknowledge them in your writing. We love a cited source.

I don’t love policing language, but since you were more than happy doing it in your post, then I’ll say one thing here: the tone of maybe boys do love’s post does not read, to me, like it is intended to welcome people who appreciate that there is “not a single stance about what qualifies BL as good work.” It reads like it is “reminding” the supposedly eight people he is vague-posting about that they are being unreasonable in their expressed opinions. It especially does not read with the primary intention of welcoming others when Maybe Boys Do Love’s response to Turtle’s initial reblog was to comment on her “respectfulness” and Shan and Ben’s lack thereof simply because they blocked him on Tumblr. A thing which people do every day for any number of reasons. But I digress.

As for my part in your response, you referenced a statement from my tumblr post A Pause for Reflection: Part 2- Only Friends, Racism, and the Commodification of Queer Asians: 

“We all need to, but white Westerners especially, be extremely careful and introspective with the ways we are engaging with queer Asian media”

On the seriousness of this statement, doublel27, you and I are agreed. I think it is valid to state that this should apply to the decisions of writers, directors, etc. of BLs. And I also agree that preventing infantilization and removal of agency from writers, directors, actors, and audiences is a good addition. That said, I do not think critiquing media is in any way shape or form an infantilizing or agency-removing act. 

I do, however, think you are falling victim to the western paternalism/white saviorism you are so upset about by going on to a South East Asian woman’s post and chastising her about not speaking for a South East Asian audience when you are a white westerner?

Also, I think there I might be missing a step in your logical progression when you say “I’m of the opinion that what’s good for queer Thai television is not for foreign audiences to decide, ultimately. That’s for queer Thai people to decide.” It would amaze me greatly if this hypothetical monolith of queer people in Thailand were to be 100% in agreement about what constitutes good queer television. Personally I see your belief that no one outside of queer Thai people is allowed to critique queer Thai shows as actually undermining the legitimacy of this genre as a source of entertainment for audiences outside of just queer (in this case) Thai people. Media is frequently made with an intended audience in mind, but that does not mean people outside that target audience are barred from engaging with it. No one is saying “this is a bad queer Thai show and I am deciding that for all queer people” they are saying “here is what or why I did not like the decision they made about x,y,z."

If you are going to quote me, then I hope you also read the first half of my Pause for Reflection posts Taking Pause for Reflection- Part 1: Respectable Promiscuity and Only Friends where I talk about respectable promiscuity and discuss the ways in which respectability politics have resulted in “current LGBTQ+ political movements shifting away from highlighting sexual liberation as an aspect of queer culture, in order to make queer people more palatable to the overarching heterosexual society. And how that bleeds through in to the kinds of media that exist, the types of queer people portrayed within that media, as well as how often gay sex is shown, the type of gay sex shown, and the number of gay sex partners depicted. (Read: generally infrequently, generally vanilla, generally one).” Just so you are aware of where I stand in all of this and what people like Shan and myself are talking about when we critique the decision to remove sexual content from queer stories for the sake of storytelling or viewership.  

I haven’t mentioned this one in awhile but I used to talk a lot about my perception of queer content being able to be categorized in By, For, and About Queers formatting. For example, a film like Pariah (2011) is a story about a queer person created by a queer person with a narrative that feels like it is made for the enjoyment of queer people above all others (but of course anyone can watch).

^I think this was made by abl, who I am not tagging because I do not want to drag them in to this conversation, but whose image I still want to cite.

This is obviously subjective, and I’m not saying it should always be used, but I know some people can find it nice to organize things by categories. 

Again, this is subjective but I’ll give a short list of a couple of BLs that I personally would categorize as being For queer people- by which I mean it feels like a love letter to queer people, I can see something of myself and my experiences in it, and I would not be surprised if the primary intended audience was queer people:

I Told Sunset About You

The Miracle of Teddy Bear

What Did You Eat Yesterday

Koisenu Futari

Here is a short list of some BLs I would personally categorize under About queer people- that is, queer people are the main characters but the piece feels like the primary intended audience is not queer people:

Kiseki: Dear to Me

KinnPorsche

My School President

Spare Me Your Mercy

That does not mean the shows about queer people aren’t queer stories, but it does mean the intention behind the work is different. Which brings me all the way back to Spare Me Your Mercy since that’s what started all of this in the first place: 

Lux Sirilux in an interview before the show came out stated:

“Having NC would steal the attention of the story because what we were going to talk about was dark drama and euthanasia.”

She also says: 

“The characters are gay, but we don’t offer [fan]service in every episode or include NC (explicit) scenes."

(I got these statements above from this post by clariredaring who I am not tagging in this because I do not want to pull them in to this whole ordeal any more than they already have been).

Lux is absolutely allowed to make the decision to remove NC scenes from SMYM if she believes that it will detract from the vibe and the overarching theme. Sammon is absolutely allowed to approve and accept the removal of NC content from the Spare Me Your Mercy television show. No one is arguing that. (And I feel comfortable speaking for Shan here at the very least because we talk about shows a lot and I know what her post was actually saying as it relates to viewership). I already wrote a post about my feelings on this matter where I discussed why I feel that choice went wrong in this case. That does not mean anyone else has to feel that way, and I’m not forcing anyone to agree with me. And if people disagree with me, fine, they are welcome to discuss with me why they feel like the story worked as is if they want to and ignore me if they don't. (And literally as I was writing this a great example of someone disagreeing with me came through in this post by elimstillnotgarak who I will not be tagging in this simply because I don't want to drag someone who is not involved in this in to a very different discussion). But there is a level of disingenuousness that comes with the statement 'you should not say anything negative ever about the stories you have watched from cultures outside of your own.' I'm not saying this is the belief you hold, but I am saying that is how I interpret your statements about not speaking for a queer Thai audience.

And, as someone who has written multiple essays breaking down sex scenes in BLs, let me just say that I believe there is a fundamental difference between NC scenes and fanservice. I think there are instances where fanservice can result in positive changes (The Magnus Archives, for example, updated their ending after seeing how much fans were shipping Jon and Martin together and I think the ending was better for it) but I think there are a lot of times when fanservice actually does undermine the narrative. As for NC scenes, there are definitely ones that detract from the story at hand, and there are ones that I think people throw in as a bandaid in the hopes that they can get higher viewership (Playboyy and Battle of the Writers are examples of that imo) but I think there are a lot of times when NC scenes actually improve the narratives they are a part of expressly because they can tell you a whole hell of a lot about a character’s relationship and feelings to another person in a very short period of time. 

For me, I think Sammon and Lux here engaged in respectability politics operating under a belief that NC scenes between these queer characters would take away from the larger story they were trying to tell. And I think that the believability of the romantic relationship between Kan and Tew suffered for it. This is a show that already was written for a larger general audience because most of Sammon’s work places some medical mystery narrative at the front and center (which makes sense because she’s a doctor). 

And personally doublel27 I feel you are drawing a false equivalency between critique and infantilization and I would appreciate it if next time you quote me, you make sure you read the entirety of the post so that you can better understand that I will continue to be critical of people who submit to respectable promiscuity and make the choice to tone down the queerness in their story because they are worried it will distract the audience at large.

[lol-jackles]

I was pursuing your “Destiel” tag (thank you for posting it for that anon, btw, and bringing it back to my attention), and came across this statement from you:

“As a result, douchy Jensen + going off script = other actors trying to cope. My favorite was 2016 because that was when my girlfriend leaned close to the screen and said, "Jared, blink twice if you're being held against your will". Since then Jared had figured out how to handle these ~unscripted~ moments, but Misha hasn't.”

What was the moment in particular at 2016 JIB that made your girlfriend say that? Or what was Jensen going at that one? Wasn’t Gen at that one, too?

Also, what would you say Jared’s strategy has been in dealing with Jensen (when drunk) on stage at JIB? And why does Jensen seem “meaner” to Jared at JIB than at CE or AHBL cons? Which is closer to thier actual dynamic, do you think?

And I just have to add, it was pretty amusing seeing Misha momentarily (sadly not longer) regret his life choices at, was it 2019 JIB, where he pointed out the Destiel shirt and Jensen yelled about “where is it real?” Do you think Jensen was actually annoyed in this panel? I say yes, but my brother says no.

Jensen seems to keep it together more at JIBs post pandemic, but I was at JIB 13, and he gave off a huge air of just being over the whole thing by his solo Sunday panel. And he and Rich were essentially running out the clock by being loud idiots (my ears still hurt from being near a speaker).

They all claim to love JIB, but they also all seem pretty over it come Sunday.

Sorry that got long. Would love to see your response to any parts.

This was the first time I briefly talked about the infamous Jib con. Back in 2016 I used to think their co/dependent friendship was doomed at the 10-year mark because when one isn’t adjusting to the changing time, then the idolatries friendship can’t last more than 10 years at best.  I listed a few examples (X) from a feminist blog about women ending their female friendships, a woman ending her friendship with a male friend (X) Oliver Broudy’s story of ending his 10-year friendship with a college friend (X).  These friendships ended because one of them was stuck and making more and more demands on the unstuck friend.  We know happened after season 10 wrapped up (X) (X).

Anyways, what got my girlfriend's attention was Jared looking like a tug of war rope between Gen and Jensen and the boys. Regular corporate SPN cons in the U.S are already a male-dominated atmosphere bordering on frat boy shenanigans. At least there are corporate handlers and security to help keep the actors in line, plus alcohol are banned for actors. Jib cons are fan-run with no handlers and alcohol are allowed, and usually there are no actresses because the cost of the extra Jensen/Misha and Jared/Misha panels means some actors are going to get cut out and it’s usually the actresses. Without female colleagues around, the men really rile each other up at Jib cons, it’s part of their bonding and one-upmanship rituals. I think why Gen rarely participated in SPN cons is because she didn't want to be around all that dude energy. But 2016 was different because I think she blamed herself for leaving the 2015 British con early and is still traumatize that she nearly lost Jared few days later, so Gen agreed to let Jared drag bring her to Jib con. Men don’t like wives/girlfriends homing in on their bro times and Jensen was noticeable irritated that Jared’s wife was there and during the closing ceremony Jensen used air quotations marks while talking about Gen’s marriage to Jared who had his arms wrapped around her. He looked peeved at Jensen and then then laughed it off because what else could he do on stage?

(Side note: it’s not easy for men to find male friends and keeping them.  I hated the movie I love you, man because it was too familiar, and Paterson made me uneasy because Adam Driver's character has no male friends and he's more than okay with that because he has a wife.)

Jensen seems "meaner" not just to Jared but to every actor there, especially Misha. At these fan-run conventions, there are no "scripts" (guidelines actually) to follow. Most actors were still going by the guidelines from corporate-run conventions when they're on stage, but not Jensen because it's part of his upmanship as a way to both bond and dominate others. It's a Ryan Seacrest and Brian Dunkleman type situation. Maybe Jensen learned this trick from Ryan who used to be his roommate. Misha is not a natural improviser, his guest appearance on Whose Line Is it Anyways shows that, so he's the least apt at handling Jensen's off script moments. Half the time Jensen wasn't actually drunk but acts like it to avoid the inevitable asinine Destiel-loaded questions from the hellers in the audience.

Jared's strategy was about the same at pre-2016 JIB cons and CE cons because he's pretty apt at smoothing things over between Jensen and the fans. At the infamous 2013 New Jersey con a self-claiming bisexual girl tried to ask Jensen a loaded Destiel question and he snapped at her with, “don’t ruin it for everybody” and Jared immediately calmed Jensen down and salvaged the rest of the experience for sane fans.

Stuff like this is closer to their real life dynamic as the Giver and the Taker. If you read the "codependency tag", Jared the Giver cleans up the messes the Taker make. Givers think they're helping but they're actually enabling and don't improve things. Jensen's reputation took a slight hit, and it took a few years for the New Jersey con to be memory-holed. Apparently Jensen didn't learn from this and 3 years later mocked a girl wearing a "Destiel is real" shirt at the 2019 JIB. Misha told Jensen to not “fight with fans” and Jared was gesturing to a fan in the front row as if saying don’t look at me look at him. That may answer your question, Jared stopped trying to calm Jensen down and instead focus on heading off fans who gets too snippy at Jensen, like at a DC con few years back where a girl was trying to look cool but came off sounding hostile towards Jensen, so Jared left the stage and hugged the stuffings out of the girl, deflating her hostile-sounding voice.

I don't think I've seen Jensen's solo panel at JIB13, but he's usually looks like he's watching the clock during his Jared-less panels so that's nothing new. It's been the case for many years and a common complaint by fans, it's why CE stopped having solo J panels early on because Jensen needs a scene partner. It goes back to why Jensen works better as a scene-stealing supporting actor instead of a leading man. How Jensen made Dean Winchester have memorable moments was by putting his focus on the other person.  By using this method, Jensen can stop worrying about how he’s going to say his lines and speak intuitively, this helps make Dean appear truthful to the audience.  It may be why Jensen doesn’t read scripts ahead of time.   Jensen doesn’t go into a scene looking to do a scene, instead he goes in looking to be open and give over to how the other person (in this case, Jared playing Sam) makes him feel.  This method worked great for Jensen when his character has Sam to focus on, and Jensen has Jared to react to.  It’s why Dean’s dying moments with Sam in the barn works so well in the series’ finale.

.

You probably heard of the saying, “acting is reacting”.

A demon’s acting philosophy in The Good Place: “Demons have to learn that Acting Is Reacting.  And Reacting Is Pre-acting. But Pre-acting? Well, that’s just being.”  

While “acting is reacting” gets mocked in the acting community because it’s a trap alot of actors fall into by adjusting their truthful inner life to their assumptions about the text.  Good acting is adjusting the text to your authentic emotion which is the result of the other person.  This where Jensen’s good acting comes from and it’s become his comfort zone and made him a multimillionaire by his mid 30s.  He’s in what my acting coach calls “the truthful contact”, it’s where actors are taught the first stage of authentic acting.  The next stage is “crafting”.  When you’re working solo without a screen partner, your skill at crafting becomes vital.  Crafting means anywhere from ability to endow meaning to objects so they have emotional meaning is important, or effectively get across justifications and point of views.  

[xechu]

[Devour] Chapter 2: Yearning

Pairing: Ryomen Sukuna x fem!reader

Word count: 4.5K

Warnings: please read my blog's rules before interacting. 18+ mdni, angst, eventual smut, hurt/no comfort, explicit sexual content, undertones of misogyny (because the 'olden days'), mature themes, depiction of gore and violence, mentions of pregnancy and abortion. Please note that these warnings pertain to the entire series as a whole, and not just to this specific chapter.

Tags: mini series, angst, smut, Heian Era, true form Sukuna

Summary: Sukuna brings you back to a temple, where he resides. There you also meet Uraume. You begin to doubt if running away was the best idea, but then, Sukuna offers to be your ally. Unbeknownst to you, he has his own ulterior motives for helping you.

A/N: It's here! Not going to lie, I struggled a bit with this chapter. Since this is a mini series, I would say we're already about 35% through the story, things will progress quickly in the upcoming chapters. Based on my planning, I'm looking at about four more chapters. I don't have an exact release date for Chapter 3 like I did with this chapter, but I'll post an update when it's almost complete! If you would like to be added on the tag list for this series, please let me know/leave a comment here. Thank you so much for reading and stay tuned. x

Masterlist: < Chapter 1 | Chapter 3 (To be continued) >

Sukuna had always deemed love meaningless. It was a feeling that held people back, making them irrational and reckless. Over the years, he had witnessed the greatest kingdoms burn and the strongest men fall, all in the name of 'love.' But the tragedy lay in the fact that, after all was said and done, that love seldom lasted. At the end of the day, people were weak and fickle, rendering love volatile. He often wanted to ask those who sacrificed everything for love: Was it all worth it in the end?

In order to attain his height of power—to become the strongest—Sukuna had given up everything, including his humanity. He had mastered the art of detachment, for attachments only served to tie one down. Letting go of all things was the inevitable cost of power, but it was an easy and insignificant sacrifice for someone like him—who had nothing to lose in the first place.

Yet, despite the King of Curses' strong convictions, there remained one glaring contradiction in his life: you. No matter how hard he tried, he could not detach himself from you. Even after all these years, his burning desire for you was a flame he could not quell, and it only seemed to grow hungrier with time.

Throughout the years, Sukuna had conditioned himself into believing that you were always going to be an unattainable dream—a fantasy that was never meant to become reality. It was better that it remained this way. You deserved to live a peaceful life, and he could continue to live out his days as the King of Curses without restraint.

But what should he do—now that his dream had become reality?

For someone with a wretched life like his, he never believed in any gods. But for the first time in his life, the King of Curses acknowledged that this reunion must have been the universe's divine will—a preordained fate. It seemed that the two of you were destined to be together.

Yes, he thought to himself, since the universe has willed it, then you shall be his exception.

He vowed that as long as he kept you by his side, you would not be a source of his weakness.

At this realization, a dark possessiveness took over him.

This time he would stake his claim.

---

Though you were no longer the little girl Sukuna had once met, he couldn't help but notice how small you were under his hold. Some things didn't change; you were still his little flower.

“It’s me, flower,” he said, urgency creeping into his voice as if he were calling into your subconscious, imploring you to remember.

You trembled in his embrace; the adrenaline coursing through you made it difficult to think straight. His words did not register as you struggled to gather your chaotic thoughts, while your mind screamed at you to run.

You remind me of flowers. The voice suddenly echoed in your mind.

“R-Ryo?” you gasped, finally making the connection.

With shaking hands, you roamed his figure, seeking confirmation in the darkness. Your fingertips softly brushed over his features. Was this a dream? Had you already died? How was it that after all these years, he was finally here—especially in your most dire moment? The surrealness of this situation felt too good to be true.

“I-It really is you,” your voice quivered with emotion. “I-I can't believe it. All this time... I thought I would never see you again."

“I'm here now, flower,” he said, capturing your hand in his. “Come with me; it’s not safe.”

Before you could utter another word, he effortlessly scooped you up, and you instinctively held on to him, tightening your grip, afraid that if you let go he would slip away again.

Sukuna traversed the forest at an inhuman speed. He seemed to know the terrain well, navigating it with ease, but for you, all you saw was unending darkness; the gust of wind threading through your hair was the only sign that you were moving. Your heart raced as he cradled you against his strong body; you could feel the heat radiating from him, evoking a warm and familiar feeling within you—a feeling that you have yearned for so many years.

Moments later, you found yourself in a clearing. Under the clear night sky, vast greenery and towering mountains loomed around you. At the foot of one mountain, a grand tree stood beside an ancient temple. Sukuna gently set you on your feet, and now that you were out in the clearing, you could get a better look at him. Standing before you was no longer the little boy from your memories; he had transformed into a formidable man—perhaps the largest person you had ever seen. He wore an oversized kimono, his bare chest exposed, and his muscular build attested to the life he had lived throughout the years. Your gaze was then drawn to the unmistakable bloodstains on his clothing.

“Are you hurt?” your brows furrowed in concern as your hand ghosted over the stains.

“Nothing worth fretting over; they do not belong to me,” he said, a smile involuntarily curving his lips at the concern you displayed.

Sukuna lifted your chin to meet his gaze. In the moonlight, he could see you with much more clarity.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, a hint of longing evident in his eyes.

Heat rushed to your face at his touch, but you were grateful that the night concealed it.

“How did you know to find me?" you quietly asked.

“The forest and the mountain are my domain,” Sukuna replied, brushing his thumb over your lower lip, as if he was trying to engrave your features into his memory. “You were lucky I found you before something else did.”

Something in your gut told you it couldn't have been mere coincidence, but you decided to keep that thought to yourself. It wasn't the time nor the place for interrogations.

"I see," you smiled wearily. "Thank you... you saved me yet again."

Your words stirred a nostalgic memory within him.

As you continued to stand there in silence, the brave facade you had been putting up began to crumble. All the events that had led you to this moment settled within you, and the feelings you had long suppressed surged to the surface—grief, resentment, confusion, fear, relief, yearning—a tempest you could no longer keep at bay.

“All these years, I’ve been searching for you,” your voice cracked, tears brimming in your eyes.

"I know," he replied, his tone low and hushed.

“Y-You did?"

Sukuna nodded.

"Then why, Ryo? Did you not want to see me?” Your chest tightened at his admission, and tears began to roll down your face.

“It was for the best.” Sukuna's jaw clenched. The sight of you crying evoked a sense of dread within him.

“The best for who?”

A brief silence hung in the air, heavy with unspoken words.

“That no longer matters, flower. We're here now, and I won't let you go again,” he said, gently wiping a stray tear from your face.

You knew he was hiding something from you, but that mattered little right now. Your body reacted before your mind, and you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace.

---

Wooden floors creaked beneath you as you crossed the threshold of the temple, and an inexplicable wave of energy washed over you. It was intense yet comforting, like the warmth of the sun—like him.

The temple was small and modest, but it felt peaceful and comfortable. It was also evident that the wooden interior had been well-maintained despite how ancient it was. The air was filled with the soothing scents of incense and cedarwood.

The earlier conversation with Sukuna loomed over you, leaving so many questions unanswered. While you could still sense a semblance of the little boy within him, he also felt unfamiliar and distant; after all, so much time had passed. You longed to know everything about him, to fill in the gaps, but perhaps that would have to wait.

As you took a closer look around the main hall, your eyes wandered to the beautifully crafted sliding doors at the back, which were fully open to reveal a serene garden that captivated you with its lush greenery and vibrant flowers.

“It’s so beautiful,” you breathed.

Sukuna looked at you under the soft glow of the candlelight illuminating the hall, and your heart began to race under his gaze amid the intimacy of the setting. He watched you intently as if he could hear the intense beating of your heart—

“Sukuna-sama, you’re back,” a gentle voice cut through the air.

You turned to find a young person standing there. Their gender was ambiguous, but their appearance reminded you of winter's first snowfall. They exuded a calm and serene presence.

“Uraume,” Sukuna acknowledged, gesturing toward you. “She is with me. Draw her a bath and prepare some fresh clothes. I’ll get a fire started.”

“Yes, Sukuna-sama,” Uraume replied, hastily leaving for the back of the temple.

You watched as Sukuna stripped off his kimono, revealing his muscular upper body adorned with tattoos.

“Ryo, where are you going?” you asked, trying to mask the fluster in your voice.

Sukuna turned back to look at you with a smile. “I’m going to hunt some game. We’ll fill our stomachs before going to bed.”

---

The warmth of the hot spring quickly melted away the stress of the day. You still could not wrap your head around the uncanny turn of events; it felt like a nightmare turned dream. Instead of being married to Lord Yamamoto, you were now reunited with the one person who had always occupied your thoughts. A sigh of relief escaped your lips as you reached for a washcloth to gently remove your makeup. You knew that there would be other matters to address later, but for now, you wanted to savor this brief respite.

Sinking the lower half of your head into the water, you blew small bubbles, and images of Sukuna and the man he had become flashed in your mind, sending a warmth throughout your body.

Sukuna's renown had been spreading in recent years, and you were acutely aware of his reputation. Whispers surrounded him, calling him the King of Curses—the strongest jujutsu sorcerer of the era. There was much debate over whether he was merely a man or a deity, while others believed him to be a demon in disguise. Your village, having a strong aversion to jujutsu sorcery, viewed it as more of a curse than a gift and seemed to believe he was nothing short of a demon.

Regardless, you had only ever known him as Ryo, so you never gave much thought to the rumors. Man, deity, or demon—whatever he was, you would have accepted him unconditionally. Despite the time apart, you still felt an inexplicable tether to him.

I won't let you go again.

Those words stirred an emotion within you when he had initially spoken them, but doubts and hesitation lingered in your mind. Had it not been for your current predicament, you would have been more inclined to stay with him.

You held your breath and submerged yourself entirely beneath the warm water, hoping to silence these chaotic thoughts—even if just for a moment.

---

Feeling refreshed as you stepped out of the temple in a new set of clothes, you noticed that a fire had already been started and that Uraume was preparing some vegetables.

“Uraume-san,” you smiled as you walked over, “is there anything I can help you with?”

“Y/N-san,” Uraume exclaimed, a gentle light in their eyes. “All the preparations are nearly complete. Why don’t you sit by the fire first? Sukuna-sama should be back soon.”

You hesitated and looked to see if there was still anything to help with, but noticing how there was not much else, you acquiesced and made your way to the fire. You watched in awe as Uraume skillfully finished the last touches of their work. Soon after, they settled down beside you. It was a comfortable silence between the two of you, accompanied by the crackling of the fire.

“Have you and Ryo always lived here?” you tried to make conversation.

Uraume nodded, their expression thoughtful. “We’ve lived here for quite some time. I owe him my life.”

You looked at Uraume, curiosity piqued.

“I was at death’s door when he found me as a child,” Uraume confessed softly. “He took me under his wing.”

“He’s always been kind.” You smiled contemplatively.

“Yes,” Uraume agreed. There was a brief pause. “He…has also mentioned you before.”

“He has?”

Uraume nodded. “He said there was once a girl he met who lived in a village not too far from here. She was as kind as she was beautiful, and she reminded him of flowers. When I saw you, I knew you were that girl.”

It warmed your heart to know that he had spoken about you, but it also felt bittersweet.

“Ah, he’s back,” Uraume remarked, glancing behind you.

Your eyes widened at the spectacular sight before you. Sukuna had a deer slung over his shoulder, effortlessly making his way toward the two of you; he trekked as if the deer weighed nothing.

Sukuna dropped the deer by the fire, and Uraume instinctively got up, ready to prepare the meat. You watched as Sukuna slashed the deer's throat, collecting the blood in a bowl. A wave of queasiness washed over you, and you looked away, unable to face the brutal sight. Sukuna settled down beside you while Uraume got to work, efficiently cutting up the rest of the deer.

“Drink every last drop,” he commanded, handing the bowl to you.

“I—I don't think I can,” you put your hand out in defense, the metallic stench making your stomach churn.

“You are malnourished,” he said, grabbing your wrist to examine its size. “Have you not been looking after yourself?”

“I have,” you insisted, attempting to wiggle your wrist free from his grasp. His touch felt searing against your skin.

“You will drink this, unless you would like me to feed you,” Sukuna insisted, handing you the bowl once more, the intensity in his eyes leaving no room for argument.

You took the bowl in both hands, trembling slightly. As you watched the thick red liquid swirl inside, you held your breath and brought it to your lips, tilting it ever so slightly and allowing the liquid to slip into your mouth and down your throat. Just as you were about to lower the bowl, Sukuna's hand clasped over yours, tilting the bowl upward to ensure you finished everything.

“That’s it, flower—every last drop,” he said, his voice low and steady. When he was satisfied that you had consumed all of it, he released his grip and took the bowl from your hands. You gagged at the aftertaste, coughing as a trickle of blood ran down your chin. Sukuna's eyes grew dark at the sight; he wiped the blood from your chin with his thumb, then licked it clean.

“Ryo—!” you gasped, teary-eyed. “N-no more of that, please.”

“That will depend on how well you eat,” a hint of playfulness threaded through his voice.

“Do you drink this too?” you asked, clearing your throat.

"Of course, the blood of a deer is a highly nutritious delicacy. Did you know in some places, it is a drink shared by a married couple on their wedding night?" Sukuna smirked.

You shudder at the thought. This blood drinking experience was something that you hoped would be your first and last. But the slight implication that Sukuna made at the end also made you a bit shy.

Uraume handed a plate of skewered meat to Sukuna, and you marveled at how quickly they had prepared it. You watched as Sukuna stabbed each skewer into the ground by the fire, your attention lingering on the flames that seemed to beckon you.

"I should have whisked you away from the village earlier, had I known you were not being fed properly." Sukuna intently watched you with one of his eyes, sensing your tension.

"Well, why didn't you?" you muttered. The words escaped your mouth before you could stop it.

You were sure he had his reasons for staying away, yet you couldn’t hide your disappointment in him for keeping his distance. So much precious time had been lost, and so many what-ifs lingered in your mind.

It was juvenile, but you often dreamt of how the two of you would grow up together—an inseparable duo, the best of friends. Then, when you came of age, he would have asked you to follow him, and you would have gladly followed him anywhere. The two of you would travel all over the land, experiencing the world side by side. Perhaps, somewhere along the way, he would have asked you to marry him, and you would have said 'yes' without skipping a beat—

"Come now, don't sulk, flower," Sukuna said, breaking you out of your thoughts. "You're here now. We will make up for lost time."

"You speak as if I'm going to be staying here for good," you couldn't help but challenge him a little.

It might have been your imagination, but you thought his expression darkened for a split second.

"It sounds like you have somewhere to go then."

"I—well, I didn’t have too much time to think details. But I planned to make my way to a far out village, where no one will be able to find me."

"That would be difficult," Sukuna hummed.

"It’s worth a try… better than yielding to the fate I was subjugated to." You hugged your knees.

"Enlighten me, what was someone’s bride doing in the middle of the forest?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

There was a hesitation in telling him about your plight, but you knew it was also an unavoidable topic—after all, he had saved you, so an explanation was due at the very least.

“I ran away… from a marriage I wanted no part of.”

“How bold,” he chuckled. “It’s very like you.”

“It’s hardly a laughing matter, Ryo,” you huffed, anxiety evident in your voice.

“But you've successfully escaped. Should this not be a cause to celebrate?” he cocked an eyebrow.

“I don't know if I would consider it successful just yet," you narrowed your eyes. "I didn’t just run away from any man; I ran away from a lord. My village hoped to leverage my marriage with Lord Yamamoto for aid. There will be repercussions for my actions.”

Sukuna listened as he rotated the skewers.

"Hm, I suppose that is quite the predicament. Whatever shall you do then?" His question came out more like a taunt than a show of concern.

"Are you mocking my situation?" You frowned, your expression dropping as self-doubt crept in. You had to admit that you'd been reckless with your decision, and you didn't exactly have a reliable plan. You wouldn’t have even made it out of the forest had it not been for Sukuna.

“Of course not. Don't look so defeated," he softly tsked, smoothing the crease between your brows with his fingers.

You looked at him with a mixture of surprise and hesitation.

"Is there any reason for you to worry if I am going to be by your side?" he returned your gaze, a burning confidence in his eyes.

“It’s not so simple, Ryo. I don’t want you to be caught in my problems—”

“A mere lord and your measly village is not a problem,” Sukuna replied, passing a skewer to you.

You reluctantly accepted the skewer, your fingers momentarily brushing against his hand during the exchange. As divine as the meat smelled, you couldn't bring yourself to eat; your worries and anxiety loomed large over your head.

"It's not going to eat itself if you keep staring at it," Sukuna sighed, crossing his four arms and giving you a stern look.

Taking a tiny bite, your eyes momentarily lit up. It tasted even better than it smelled. Before you knew it, you had devoured the entire skewer, and Sukuna was already handing you another one. Perhaps you were hungrier than you had thought, but his pleased expression did not escape you—he cared, and that alone filled you with immense happiness.

"Do you not wish to stay here?" he asked, breaking the silence.

"It's not about what I want," you shook your head. "What if something happens to both of you because of me?"

"You needn't worry about us, Y/N-san; we are more than capable of dealing with Lord Yamamoto," Uraume smiled at you. Their gentle reassurance only seemed to amplify your guilt.

"We can't be sure of that—"

“Are you not aware of what they call me?”

You sighed, a sense of apprehension filling your chest. "I am..."

“Then if you know my reputation, you should understand that even if Lord Yamamoto and his entire arsenal, along with your village, were to descend upon us right now, they would not stand a chance.”

Sukuna seemed adamant about helping, but that only served to heighten your uneasiness. It wasn't that you doubted his capabilities; but you also understood that your actions would have dire consequences. A runaway bride of Lord Yamamoto wasn't a matter that would be overlooked so easily. Surely, the four men who had escorted you had reported back to their lord that you had escaped. Even if Sukuna could easily deal with them, he would be branded a criminal—forever having to be on the run. He had endured enough hardships in his life, and it felt like you were only adding to his strife. You didn't deserve this kindness from him; his life was fine before you came along.

"This will be your home. You will be safe as long as you stay by my side. So stay here, Y/N.” An unexpected possessiveness laced Sukuna's voice.

You looked up at Sukuna in surprise; you had never heard him call your name before. His eyes silently pleaded with you to stay—shattering your resolve.

"Tell me you need my help, flower," Sukuna urged, looking into your eyes with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

A lingering silence filled the air, broken only by the crackling of the fire and the rhythm of your heartbeat.

"Help me, Ryo…" you finally said.

---

You hadn't felt so full in a long time. Sukuna had ensured you ate your share of food before retiring to bed. Following behind him, you were led to your sleeping accommodations, and to your surprise, he took you into his chamber, which overlooked a small private garden and hot spring.

The temple was modest in size, containing only two bedrooms. It didn’t feel right to intrude on Uraume's private quarters, especially since it was Sukuna's decision to keep you, but he also couldn’t deny he had other intentions.

Before crawling into bed, you turned to meet Sukuna's gaze.

“Ryo… I don’t know how I could ever repay you. If there's anything I can do for you, you must tell me," you said earnestly.

“Hmm,” he paused, feigning contemplation.

You looked at him eagerly, trying to anticipate what he could ask for.

"Anything?" he drawled, rubbing his chin.

You nodded.

“Alright," he smirked, "swear yourself to me.”

Your eyes widened. You weren’t exactly sure what that entailed, but you trusted him implicitly. He most likely needed an extra hand with taking care of the temple and doing some extra work around here.

“A-are you sure that’s all you want? That hardly seems adequate, I am troubling you after all.” You fidgeted with the hem of your sleeves.

"You undermine yourself, flower."

“Oh, well, I do have many skills I could offer, and I promise to be useful around here. I’m quite knowledgeable about plants, herbs, and flowers. I may not be as good a cook as Uraume, but—”

"Staying by my side is enough," he interjected.

There was a sincerity in his voice that was new to you, making your heart do flips inside your chest.

"Ryo..." you spoke quietly, clasping your hands tightly. "I might misunderstand if you're so kind to me."

Oh, what a delight you were. Sukuna felt an intense urge to smother you.

“Well, what if I wanted more than just your domestic skills?” he asked lowly, taking a lock of your hair into his hands.

Your heart raced, and suddenly the room felt hot as you understood his implications.

“Is that… what you truly desire?"

"And if it is?"

There was a brief pause.

Just this morning, you were still in utter despair, wholly expecting to be wedded to a monster. But now, in this moment, it was not Lord Yamamoto before you, but rather the man of your dreams—the only man you had wished to marry. He had long claimed your mind and heart; what more was your body?

"Then take me," your voice was barely above a whisper.

Sukuna’s eyes darkened, but why did he feel so disappointed by your response? It almost rolled off your tongue too easily.

"You would just give yourself to any man, so long as they ask?"

"N-no, you misunderstand!"

Sukuna remained silent, the look in his eyes demanding you to elaborate.

"If that were true, I wouldn’t have ran away from Lord Yamamoto. You're not just any man to me, Ryo. I—" love you. The heat crept up to your ears.

Your timid confession sent a chilling thrill through his body, awakening a primal hunger within him, he could no longer resist.

“Do you truly wish to be mine?” he asked, tucking your hair behind your ear. You felt dizzy under his touch and gaze.

"Yes..."

"Look at me and say it." He hissed.

"I'm yours, Ryo. I want to be yours." You met his eyes and gently took his hand, placing it over your heart, hoping he could feel how violently it was beating against your chest.

“You didn’t need to ask me to swear myself to you; I would have gladly followed you anywhere. I've felt that way ever since we were children.”

Sukuna was rarely caught off guard. The first time he recalled was when you approached him as a child, and the second was this very moment. You had just confessed your feelings for him and expressed a desire to stay with him of your own volition. Nobody else had ever been able to elicit these feelings from him, and the dominion you unknowingly held over him was both terrifying and thrilling.

"Then I will take you, flower—your heart, body, and soul."

Without sparing another moment, he wrapped his hand behind your head and crushed his lips against yours in a searing kiss. The world around you fell silent.

For once, it felt as if the universe had smiled upon his wretched life.

Writing © xechu - please do not redistribute, translate, or repost any of my works.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the pictures used for the banner.

Taglist: @paradisestarfishh @ssetsuka

[fl0ralsxgar]

Okay... So im going to make one post about this and one post only.

Ive been having issues in this community because of who i self ship with, thats a very vague way of putting it. Ive been made aware of a situation directly that has both equally caused me to get hate and ive noticed some mutuals of mine ignoring me more ever since it started. Under the cut since this is a long post

Okay just to start off first; clearly this must be a burner or something because going to this account directly, its the default tumblr blog theme with no posts or edited bio or anything. Im not going to respond to hate asks anymore, okay? I shouldnt in the first place but usually i tried to address them just a little, mostly wanting to understand why i was being sent it in the first place, my fault. But still. (I still blocked out the user just in case) just to note, this is not the only hate ive been sent in asks lately. I had to cut anon off again. But ig people will still find workarounds.

Okay. I DO NOT. want to cause ANY discomfort, jealousy, negative feelings, etc, just because of who i self ship with. Im sorry its made people uncomfortable because they share the same f/o but i do what i can to ensure they dont see me. I use the same exact tag on my self ship art and gushes and whatever, i dont interact with them, i have them BLOCKED or vice versa, hell i even try to not interact with their mutuals unless if weve already established being mutuals. I even have directly said- if anyone who follows me is mutuals with someone else who is uncomfortable with people interacting with me (or other daisuke self shippers in general) then you dont need to interact with me, because above all else im TRYING to consider the comfort of other people. I have never once tried to make people forcibly side with me, i have never said anyone else is invalid because of their self ship, i have never wanted anyone to be excluded and even, i encourage people to be mutuals with other daisuke self shippers as i can block said daisuke self shippers and they can be given my tag if need be because everyone deserves support. This has been going on for longer than it needs to tbh, i kept thinking i was the issue, i wanted to leave, but now im just .. upset. Whether its all from the same person or not, idk. But please know that above all else causing anyone to feel negatively because of me has never been my intention. Ive been extremely stressed out over this, feeling guilty and horrible, and sometimes aggravated.

Dont vague post about me if you know your followers and mutuals know who youre referring to. And even then, dont do it without first explicitly making it known that you dont condone hate being sent, but ultimately even if you do say that it wont always stop people. Please stop sending me asks trying to invalidate my self ship when ive never done that to anyone else. If youre mutuals with someone who is not okay with you interacting with me then respect those boundaries, because i am super tired of having to deal with the backlash of things im not even trying to cause. I want everyone to be comfortable, i want everyone to feel safe in their own space. But also i dont even feel comfortable in my own space now. I really dont wanna leave the community again tbh, ive made some close mutuals, i love supporting people, i love making my own self ship art and sharing it. But man, im tired!

Ive tried SO hard to keep this in private. I wanted it to be resolved without public notice. But even after i thought it was settled and resolved it hasnt stopped, and i dont even know if its from various people or not. Only very few people know more deeply whats been going on, and i hate that they were affected because of it too in ways. Whatever is going, just, i want it to chill out. Really. I have no ill will for anyone. If you see this and youre someone who has an issue with me you can dm me, ill talk it out with you.

I truly hope none of this comes off wrong, or aggressive or anything. I mean everything with as much respect as i can considering my current state. No matter what i dont condone harassment. I dont want anyone to be excluded. I want everyone to be supported and happy in their space. So please just know that, and if anything has come off wrong let me know. Maybe, im just not thinking the clearest so some things might seem rude or something. Forgive me if that the case.

Theres been ALOT going on the self ship community and i hope everyone will be okay. Dont worry about this if its too stressful, but if youre someone whose involved in this, i want to work things out. So. Thanks for reading if you did. Take care

[femsolid]

Fuuny how TERFs will claim they support all women, but I've noticed that the French side of TERF tumblr has been oddly silent about the Pelicot case. Not muh moids? YOUR pwecious moids would never do something like that, right?

lol you really picked the worst feminist to say that to...

For starters, I'm not a "terf", I'm just a feminist. And secondly, men are the same worldwide, I don't see the point of pointing out nationalities. Thirdly, I am a feminist separatist and one of the few who posts about misogyny in France. I don't have any "pwecious moids" because, as I said, I'm a separatist ("4B" as the youngsters call it.) If you don't know what that is, you can check my #separatism tag.

However, it's true that I haven't posted about the Pelicot case. I've stopped sharing or posting upsetting and voyeuristic things for the sake of it a long time ago. I don't want women (me included) to be bombarded with news of male violence, on top of the male violence we already endure. What do I get from posting about men raping a woman? What do you get? It has to come with some sort of analysis that can help women free themselves. Otherwise it just leads to feelings of despair. I felt like the Pelicot case was already widely talked about, and that I had nothing to contribute. Typically, when I make a post about misogyny in France, it's because I feel like it contributes to women's understanding of misogyny and the need for separatism. But you will not see me post about the latest femicide or horrific rape, because my followers don't need to see any more of that shit than they already do. Just because it happened in France doesn't mean french women should talk about it any more than other crimes happening elsewhere. Women's oppression is global. I don't know if other french feminists have talked about it on tumblr, but I suspect they have and that your criticism is unfair.

But as someone who has frequented domestic abuse support groups quite a lot, I know that madame Pelicot's experience is far from marginal. Men routinely rape their wives as they sleep and men routinely pimp their girlfriends. I don't want to present what madame Pelicot experienced as somehow unique and shocking, when men of all nationalities do it all the time. So I've talked and shared posts about madame Pelicot before, only it's not madame Pelicot per say who is talked about, it's all women, because she's like any of us and her rapists are like any men, the very men I talk about when I discuss our need for separatism.

[bowsers-keep]

So because I haven't seen any aus that swap which Protagonist is from which chapter yet I'M DOING IT MYSELF FOLKS! There are so many combinations we can mess with for 8 characters but I'm probably going to be sticking with the one that's funniest to me.

Prehistory - Cube

Imperial China - Oboromaru

Twilight of Edo Japan - Oersted

Wild West - Masaru

Present Day - Lei

Near Future - Sundown

Distant Future - Akira

Middle Ages - Pogo

Sticking Cube into Prehistory is just objectively funny because they go from robot to caveman which is incredibly entertaining. Probably on the smarter side and helps Beru more cause they're nice rather then anything else.

Imperial China was a MIND FUCK to try and commit a swap with, so the prisoner and goemon are also taking the place of the other two disciples here and per suggestion of the discord server (not too sure about this myself but it's OUR BEST OPTION!). As for this Disciple Oboromaru himself, probably has similar origins to lei but his thing is more about learning how to loosen up since he's still a wee bit serious.

Oersted does NOT become an edgy little man in need of therapy, instead he gets his Shinobi arc. Very quiet because I like his stereotypical silent protag schtick and pretty good at his job! Still bit formal as well but a good person at the end of the day so probably pacifist or normal route.

So Masaru gets a gun now, he still punches people! He just also has a gun now! I've given this man too much power that he's been slapped with currently unidentified trauma to balance him out! Still cheerful and helpful because this is Masaru but uhhh he's certainly not at his best. Have fun with the homosexual tension buddy.

Lei/just any of the disciples being present day was probably the cleanest swap here. Lei is just my default for any and all Live a Live stuff. Not much to say about this one in general because of how easy the swap was, just yeah they're now a martial arts savant. Maybe any given one wouldn't actually kill Odie but not sure.

Now this one is the main reason this swap set exists, because it would be unfair of me to only let Sundown have the privilege of seeing what would happen if he were in the other's shoes. For the sake of this I will be using my fanon real name for this man of Austin Garrett although it is not Sundown Kid without the alias and since he's a teenage boy here he probably got the idea from Matsu with the whole Lawless thing. Just dumb stupid teen boy with powers and who may or may not have a death wish. I'm trying to keep backstory details mostly the same where I can so there's still some things I need to work out with this particular swap.

Akira is a little guy robot now, he's still a bastard, but he also dislikes OD-10 for what it's doing to the people that Kato likes (and Kato himself). So he's going to fuck that super computer up. The dynamic between tiny bot Akira and Cooperate Darthe is definitely going to be something that starts off with the two not liking eachother, turned into tentative allyship, before ending in mutal respect and trust. He would also try and take on the Behemoth head on at LEAST once.

Middle Ages Pogo, I quite like this one for the reason Pogo does last longer then Oersted in the not becoming evil field. Unlike Oersted however he's much more akin to a barbarian rather then a knight because I need to keep the unga bunga somewhere in. Very cheerful and no thoughts hear empty, and cares about people very much. Very heart on his sleeve. Eventually however, the tradegy of the middle ages sets in, and a different Odio is born.

Still figuring out the details for the Dominion of Hate in this AU but that may just be in the reblogs or a follow up post.

[corviiids]

i found a bad post i made months ago in the privacy of my own home and now i need to air it out in public because it's getting mildewy and moths are eating it

[dykedvonte]

You ever just see a Mouthwashing take that makes you want to bang your head into a wall? I literally just saw someone claim Curly couldn't have been emotionally abused by Jimmy before the crash because he was in a higher position of power than Jimmy.

-Shrimp Anon

The mouthwashing fandom has shown me that people genuinely do believe that certain types of abuse are not as detrimental as other types especially when they deem those immune/resistant, ergo, believing one is objectively worse no matter how it affects the person nor the intersections of power, history and dynamics at play.

Get ready cause this is a yap session:

Cause like it's heavily implied that Curly and Jimmy's friendship was toxic and abusive, pointedly in the direction of how Jimmy uses Curly's belief/comfort in him. Curly wasn't forced to enable Jimmy but he was emotional and mentally on edge around him in almost every scene in some way. Mental and emotional abuse are not contingent on what positions you have at work. Yeah, he's Jimmy's boss but he was Jimmy's friend first and it's like getting into Psych discussion to talk about how social power tends to overshadow any perceived organizational power in the human mind. People are concerned about their jobs ofc but they tend to hang onto and put more value/investment into their personal relationships, hence why there tends to be laws and restrictions around mixing the two.

I always see the sentiments that "Curly is a grown ass man", "Curly is bigger than Jimmy", "Curly is Jimmy's boss", "He just needed a backbone" as criticisms of Curly and while I do agree that on the surface level all of these to be true and viable ways Curly could've taken more control of the situation, I often look at the parallels of Anya and Curly as victims of Jimmy pre/post crash.

The way Jimmy talks to Anya post crash is how he talked to Curly in the pre-crash segments. It's hard to pin-point mainly because we know he hates and wants nothing to do with Anya compared to his contrary but similarly handled obsessions with Curly. It's a weird sort of "honey-moon" effect of abuse Jimmy does in terms of emotional and mental victimization. He is always horrid to Anya, always talking down or questioning her abilities and thoughts in a situation, this of course includes the harassment and assault. However, he has a moment of attempted gentleness/conditioning when he question her about the mouthwash when she's contemplating drinking it at the table. The key difference is he has no personal investment in Jimmy outside wanting nothing to do with him, meaning there is no sort of romanticized version of him that he can condition her off of. He knows this, hence, why he always reverts to trying to make her to scared to oppose him.

This sort of give and take of "kindness" doesn't work on her because she knows he is just doing it to take more from her than whatever he could possibly give but it reflects even the "softer" scenes between him and Curly where he always rewords or rephrases Curly's sentiments and concerns to sound more shallow. He is feigning a deeper understanding by reworking Curly's emotions into something bad and needing to be hidden. Everything is laced with envy and resentment, an outburst just around the corner, I mean he even slams the table in the birthday party scene, a tactic in emotional manipulation to set the victim on edge and cloud their ability to respond. Even if Curly knows Jimmy won't get physical in that moment, the physical actions is intended to make him back down in the confrontation in case it does. This is something that is just not person specific. It ingrains itself into how you interact with the world and life and it shows in major and minor ways with Curly.

Post-crash, the abusive nature is more in tandem to the physical victimization Anya went through and the stripping of voice and autonomy we see take place. Like the parasite in HFIM, Jimmy speaks for Curly most of the time and puts words in his mouth, similarly to how he takes Anya's plans as his own. He very commonly, with the both of them mind you, supplements the worst aspects of himself into them; pettiness, selfishness, lack of understanding... And tries to cover himself with their best qualities; kindness, planning, initiative, etc...

These parallel are just to say that positional power has little to do with if a person can be abused and how it can even be flipped to further the abuse. There is no doubt that Curly could've picked up on Jimmy's envy of his position hence another reason he never confronted him as a Captain but as a friend as doing so would immediately put Jimmy in a space to be confrontational/combative.

I think the disdain some people have when they talk about the heavily implied if not implicitly stated emotional/mental abuse Curly experienced being Jimmy's friend is when treating it as an excuse to why he didn't do more. I can understand that completely because it is not an excuse to why he didn't do more but is a very real reason people in his position in these scenarios can experience whether in the context of a work or social environment. However, I also think the way people talk about it really does demonstrate a bigger problem when talking about abuse when somehow who is/was abused is either part of the issue or enabled it.

Harkening back to the sentiments about Curly's inaction regarding Jimmy, I think the exact phrases I used/have seen show how there is an inherent belief that it is easier to overpower the effects of emotional/mental abuse that go in tandem with the perception of Curly as someone who should be able to. There is not an age you suddenly stop being susceptible to abuse nor a set point or low where you realize how it has affected you. You don't suddenly know to stand up or put a face on to face your abuser nor admit that you inadvertently enabled them to subjugate someone else to the same treatment. Maybe it's my psych brain but their is this growing belief that direct action is somehow easy or always the best method with the game shows you instances where it is not always the case. In real life that rings true too. He should have done more, but it's not impossible to see why he struggled to find a way or didn't even if it makes us mad.

It's not easy to suddenly gain a "back-bone". You don't immediately want to resort to aggression, especially if it mirrors the type you were a victim to. You don't want to believe you allowed yourself to be treated this bad, let it get that bad or allowed something bad to happen to someone else. It is easy to be in denial, to retreat to your thoughts or make excuses to avoid the painful truth. It's frustrating but in a way we know is relatable. It why we both hate and love Curly for it. We know we'd be better, we think we'd be better, we like to think we wouldn't falter in the same ways but it's always easier to say that from the outside looking in. It's easy to see what he was doing wrong because we are seeing it, not him, but the game really does make you picture what you would do if this was your raw reality and it's why this debate about Curly seems so never ending/contradictory. We can all say what we'd do but bottom line is that's much different when you're in the moment with all the emotions and human feelings attached.

I personally think Mouthwashing tackles the themes of rape culture, enabling, toxic masculinity, types of abuse and patriarchy in ways that are meant to deconstruct the typical straightforward views we mostly have of these concepts and how little subtilities of them are just as, if not more, detrimental than the overt/obvious parts. The game deals with the idea of little details and bigger picture in a way to show that sometimes the bigger picture is not the issue but the little details that make it up. It's why I have a personal dislike of depictions of Jimmy as the typical horrible person who would of course do something like this because the game is about noticing the little warning signs, the foreshadowing and foresight.

It's why I dislike the typical discussion of "bro code" and "boys will be boys" for the game because the game makes a point to avoid the standard depictions of such. It is about the type of men who still enable despite not condoning, agreeing or even perpetuating harmful beliefs because they can't see the little details or the ways it seeps into their everyday. The severity is not obvious to them as it was not obvious to Curly, Swansea or even Daisuke the way it was to a woman like Anya. There are little details about Jimmy that should ring alarms but if you are too naive like Daisuke, too distant like Swansea or too conditioned like Curly, they are just off markers.

There is 100% more constructive/concise ways to say "Curly was a victim of Jimmy's abuse on an emotional and mental aspect that clouded his judgements and perceptions in the scenario" while also critiquing on the side of "Curly still had a responsibility to protect Anya as a crew mate and Captain that he failed to do due to biases and stigma's he failed to surpass" without the weird condemnation people give him about should've knowing better than to let himself be manipulated by a person he considered a close, if not family/best-friend and had his own reasons to trust initially. Also stop being weird about victims of abuse in general with this fandom, like sorry not everyone has a like social epiphany the moment someone's nasty to them. People are treating it like you immediately know when you are in a toxic relationship immediately or comprehend when a person is actively dangerous and either it's your fault for not knowing how to leave/cut them off or you deserve it. Like the hypocrisy of people believing how certain fans treat the story reflect their irl views but not their own is crazy.

End statement is: I honestly don't even know man, I've been writing this too long and just like no man on that ship was perfect or really helped Anya when it mattered and I feel like pitting them against each other in discussion on who did the least or most or how it was justified sucks cause in the end Anya always did the most and best thing for herself.

[committingcrimes-2047]

I'm thinking about Vander x reader- im thinking about a story where they are maybe childhood friends and then they end up fighting on the bridge together but get separated and no one knows where Reader is so they assume theyre dead only for them to show up a year later.

Imagine Reader showing up at the last drop as its closing and Vander has his back to them and tells them that hes about to close up shop and they just sit down and maybe ask for a super specific thing that they always used to order and he like turns around and realises its them and it goes from there.

I know people are in agony with the new season so I thought I might as well throw some silly little ideas out into the wild. Please tag me if anyone writes this- not because its my idea but because im desperate for more Vander please and thank you.

[raticalshoez]

i'm having hyperfixation drought so i did what i did best and created a crossover episode

[i-may-be-an-emu]

WHAT AM I MEANT TO SAY WHEN PEOPLE ASK ABOUT MY HOBBIES LIKE OH. IM VERY OBSESSED WITH AN IMPROV GROUP FROM LONDON. YEAH WHEN I THINK ABOUT THEM I SMILE LIKE A MANIAC AND I’VE CRIED BECAUSE THEY MEAN SO MUCH TO ME MULTIPLE TIMES. WHAT ARE YOUR HOBBIES?