#and she is the only teacher who ever taught me stuff about Living In the World

[anotherpapercut]

as a kid I always thought eggs and omelettes were disgusting until I took culinary in 10th grade and figured out my mother just doesn't know how to cook eggs

anyway I'm having an omelette made from farm eggs given to me by a library patron and I just want to give a quick shout out to culinary classes in public education

[capslocked]

KINKVEMBER DAY: 9

[prompt: problematic relationships]

male reader x nana

10k words

"Do you have any idea how long I've thought about it?" Nana slips a finger between the buttons of your shirt. "You, me - us?"

And here, you actually, truthfully do not want to know.

So, go ahead, cue up the sound of a mental rolodex spinning out while you start to list the very real, very valid, very adult reasons you should never, ever put your hands on her. (1) She's too young for you, (2) you're kind of a community figure, or at least someone who has to appear to be one, and more pertinently (3) she was your student not long enough ago - in your ethics class, the irony of which is not lost on you - and that makes it the kind of dirty, low thing you'd feel guilty for even masturbating to. Let alone actually attempt to live through, no matter how insistent some parts of you might be to the contrary, a point emphasized by the pressure of her finger against the dip just below your sternum.

"These... oh, how should I call them." Nana hums softly just before easing a bit of distance between the two of you, head tilting like she's in a trailer for this summer's romcom, and not, you know, trying to drag you into hell. "Filthy little fantasies?"

-

You're a high school teacher, interdisciplinary. Sometimes history, other times philosophy, you've also taught math - and once, egregiously, home economics when the faculty member whose usual duties consisted of teaching the class was out on a very sudden and scandalous maternity leave. But it's your love of literature that finds you in a bookstore near enough to the high school to sell more used copies of intro textbooks than actual novels.

You're paging through a book you'd say you're considering buying - if any of the store staff were to push the question onto you - when she appears at the other end of the fiction aisle.

You catch the look first of her dyed hair, this perfect shade of chocolate, to the edges, the fade-to-brown, cascading over where a more formal shirt would ostensibly have shoulders.

She smiles; it's pretty.

Then, you make the mistake of glancing down and seeing the modest rise of her chest beneath a crisp-collared sleeveless top; all your typical college-age tells but for the red flannel, rolled back down around her waist. Her fingers, long and thin, dangle from where a uniform button-down would taper off around her wrist, thumb rubbing lazily at her forearm. The briefest glimpse of her nails, all done up in acrylic - perhaps the most potent way to show contempt for an old dress-code.

You have, admittedly, also noticed the length (appropriately, the lack thereof) of her pleated skirt and those frilly stockings that ride so far up the creamy curves of her thighs that it has your stomach rolling and tightening when she shuts closed the book in her hands and says -

"Isn't it weird how most of the novels in the romance section are written by women?”

- she speaks with a slow deliberateness, like she'd only ever hoped to find one of her old teachers alone and slightly vulnerable in a used bookstore -

“Like, how do you think a man would even go about writing those kinds of stories?" She grins, because maybe this isn't really a question at all - not one meant for you, certainly. And for one wild moment, the rush of relief (she's not actually talking to you), then panic (she's actually talking to you.) surges through you.

But then the girl pushes another couple books along the shelf and continues.

"Because I'll tell you what, Professor - all this stuff," a flip-flip-flip of her fingertips against a leathery dustjacket, "about just feeling it, not being able to control it. It's all women, always women." Another wave of her hand to set another row of spines a-shuddering. "Do you ever think maybe people will get tired of listening to girls talking about feelings when what they really need to see is what guys would do?"

There are so many reasons you should turn and run. 

So many little flags, flickering wildly in your mind. This is one of your students. Was it this fall? Maybe the last; she had sat front-center. Never slept in, was one of your best by several measures - not simply in regards to the simple repetition of classroom work, but by her insistence on getting in the kind of heated discussion where one might dig their fingers through the innards of your lectures. Not just good - fantastic.

"Nayeon," you end up saying, flat as your suddenly paper-dry mouth can make it - with just the tiniest hint of unease. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

And almost as if she knows that you're trying not to let your eyes dip any lower than the collar of her shirt, her shoulders do that lilting little move (hiking up and away just so), the one that your girls tend to learn a long, long time before your boys ever manage to figure out. She laughs out this pleasant sound, adds: "not that long, sir."

"Well," you're clearing your throat, looking around the bookstore like it might contain a way out, and eventually landing somewhere on her skirt, "you know how fast it all goes."

"Nana, by the way."

“I’m sorry?”

“Nana,” She gently corrects you again with this mischievous slant to her smile, and you start remembering: all the gossip and rumors, how she was being courted by these talent-scouts and labels. A prodigy, or as close to it as anyone from this town could ever get.

Your eyes are starting to sting again when she, this perfect-fit model of your worst impulses, runs her hand through her hair, tugging at the roots a little bit, a silver wristwatch falling slightly down the perfect length of her forearm. It almost hurts not to reach out and steady her. And it definitely shouldn't, but it has you breathing a bit faster. The rationalization: you are a man, and there is a perfectly ordinary part of you that might be aroused by any amount of smooth, inviting skin. That's fine. You're fine.

"Just for the record," Nana starts, still looking like she wants to put a hand forward and hook one long fingernail into the buttons of your shirt. "You were, like, absolutely one of my favorite teachers."

"I guess it's nice to hear I'm not a complete lost cause," you say.

She snorts. "Oh, definitely not." And maybe because, after all of the years you have been teaching these soon-to-be lawyers, politicians, and doctors, you've come to not look down on them for saying the wrong things so much. Though you do envy their absolute ability to say the wrongest of things - just so - just on purpose.

"Are you," you nod at the thick stack of paperback novels that she is still holding, and with which, suddenly, she's bashful and flustered - this perfect shade of pink blossoming through her cheeks. "Actually here to buy those?"

The response: a demure little shrug. A drawl. "We all have our vices, professor."

"I'm not your teacher anymore," and remembering at the last moment, "Nana, you can drop the honorifics, please."

She holds a book out, cover turned toward you, and your mind stalls - even your fingers slip a little where they are resting on the spine of your own paperback purchase. The title is an affront to literacy, and the art on the cover seems to have been produced only with stock photos, gaudy.

"Have you heard of it?"

"Can't say that I have."

"Well," she laughs and has the courtesy not to lay it at your expense, "it is so good." Then, without missing a beat, she twists her lips together, and finds the book flush against your chest. "I'm sure it beats reading textbooks and essays about the merits of Locke and Hobbes' life-after-death stuff all day, anyway. An hour if you can spare the time? I'd love to hear your thoughts on it"

And - ah, there it is. The push.

-

There is a zero percent chance that, after any of this, things will end neatly for either of you. 

You still wonder, slightly, how long Nana will keep up the charade before breaking character - because there's no way in hell she doesn't see what she's doing: wrapping you around her pretty fingers, her shiny, manicured nails, twisting every chance you get to reject her into an excuse to linger that little bit longer.

But it's well over an hour spent at the cafe-end of the bookstore, where she orders an iced-coffee and fills you in on the details you don't really need to hear, what she's been up to these last couple semesters - playing twenty questions; questions about other faculty members, the school, if the school newspaper is still anything like it used to be (for the record: no), then coming back to if you've been seeing anyone lately. That last one slips in so naturally you can't stop yourself from taking a slow drag off of the straw in your drink and answering: "not recently."

Because no honest deed goes unpunished, or however the saying goes.

"Hey," her hands splay out over the tabletop, pushing the cold, condensing water of her glass, smudging where a finger drags a line through the pool.

Maybe she knows. How you're already caught, and there's no going back, which is to say you're perfectly free to watch, hungrily, where her throat moves, and then where her lips part.

"I’ve got the perfect thing for that," and for one unhinged, hysterical moment you picture it, Nana: lying back against a counter or maybe in the cushions of a sofa, panties thrown carelessly over her shoulder; heaving out this soft, heady gasp. You: pushing inside of her for the very first time, both of your legs bracing, the heel of her foot pressed into the small of your back - but before you can convince yourself that she can't be talking about that, and just barely before the air gets stuck in the back of your throat and you realize that you might be so thoroughly, tragically fucked -

"Read this." A snap back into the here and now. She is looking at you very pointedly, not naked - but beautiful and perfect as she leans a bit into the table and crosses those lovely, lovely legs of hers, and tilts the copy of that awful, awful filth at you.

"Nana, respectfully, this is drivel," you say, immediately and plainly, listening to Nana laugh out loud as you glean more than you need to know from the info on the inside cover. "They've crossed like five major genre boundaries for a hook-up. Why should anyone bother?"

"Come on." She waves it off with a careless gesture of her hands. "There's plenty of things to like. Maybe you should give it a chance - broaden your horizons, teach. Besides - the sex scenes?" She rolls her shoulders with the same shrug you remember watching so carefully all those times she made her way, out of the hallways and back into that front-and-center-seat she was always occupying whenever the bell rang. "So filthy. I can show you one of my favorites."

"Doesn't really seem like appropriate reading material for -"

"You said it yourself," her voice has a bright, saccharine tone, just on the right side of strained. And between sips of that straw stuck in the purse of her pert, little mouth, she draws that next sentence - the ice cracking, thinning under your feet -

"Not my teacher anymore."

Nana smiles; this brash, cock-sure thing that reminds you, as you try to clear your throat of the nerves making a bed there: you are actually so, so fucking gone on her. So far gone it hurts, when, with a flourish and a bounce and a complete, reckless lack of discretion, she starts paging through the first chapters.

"Who says you can't study these kinds of stories on an academic level? Think about it: sex sells. Whoever ends up writing, it's a whole lot easier and a hell of a lot cheaper than trying to do it all yourself." She looks up, this mischievous twinkle in her eyes, as she angles her fingertips down on the book and opens it - page after page of very obviously poorly-written sex. You look, not even consciously.

But of course, her fingertips drift lower and lower along the pages until it's evident: she doesn't have an exact page in mind, but only a particular passage -

"Here. Let me show you, just one."

"Alright, fine," you start - trying for an effect of exasperation, something to mitigate this god awful throbbing, "whatever - you get one, one sample paragraph and I'll, you know, whatever."

"Yeah, you'll definitely see. Just trust me. Just the one."

She drums her long, gorgeous nails against the table, then eases back with a finger highlighting the text.

You're screening and scanning the words as she tells you about the heroine in the story: a pretty girl who comes down with a bad case of infatuation for her teacher - unrequited, of course. And then, into a passionate affair, of course; all the most raucous, explicit details laid out over the table for everyone else to hear. She says it is about as nonchalantly as though she had been reading you the daily weather forecast and not an elaborate metaphor for - and here, you stop her.

"He cums on her desk?"

"Fucking hot, right?" She nearly snorts and gestures you onward, her eyebrows jumping - go on, go on.

So, you skim along: a heavy rush of nausea (alongside another) pulsing down around your gut at the thought of actually doing such a thing, your ears going hot and your legs crossing on instinct. There's not so much a breath of hesitation as Nana, cool, unfazed, and utterly unaware of the uncomfortable churning of your stomach and the simultaneous thrumming in your cock, takes another deep swig of coffee.

She hums, thoughtful. "Honestly? Kinda wished it happened to me like that. You were a good, good teacher, professor. I wouldn't have minded your hands all over me." You hear her laugh, and the entire universe collapses like the end-days. You are struck down with feverish conviction: this girl is the worst. 

"Anytime you wanted," she adds, so carelessly.

There's a clunking sound, of glass on wood; a half a second where you almost lose control over yourself.

“Nayeon,” you let slip, the old name - a mistake of an invitation she grasps like a weapon. All coming to a glint in her eye that says she knows how you see it, how you can still picture her sitting with her hands folded over the skirt of her uniform, chest rising and falling beneath her cotton shirt. Studious, taking notes, acting every bit the naive sweetheart everyone believed her to be.

You shudder out some pretense of composure and settle back a few inches as she continues to coax a reaction out of you, prodding: "how many girls did you make confess back then, hm? Did it ever do them any good?"

"Dial it back, Nana."

Her expression is all feigned, gentle surprise. "But sir," she looks at you so innocently, "you said I should drop the honorific."

You want to argue that, you also want to tell her off for being such a brat - to demand that, instead, she cut the shit, sit back, and remember who you both are, but when, with a wink and a smirk, she's getting up out of her seat, Nana sets a gentle, reassuring hand on your shoulder as she pushes her chair back beneath the table. You get onto your feet, and when the two of you are stood close together like this - she's really and truly that much smaller than you remember. Waist so tiny you think you could almost, almost wrap two hands all the way around her; skirt rising all too easily when she tosses her weight between her heels.

"I hope you know what you’re doing," you tell her, sternly - the voice of a teacher whose patience is running thin.

But no matter where you look, the consequences are dire and immediate: an abject fascination, a kind of debilitating greed; the absolute fucking loss of ability to look her directly in her eyes. Not like Nana isn't staring right through you. There's no doubt some part of her relishes the feeling.

"Hey, what do I know?" This sweet, demure-like chuckle follows. "It's just porn, right?”

-

Eventually, Nana says to call it a night because the sun's long set into the horizon and the chill starts getting at the both of you.

She tells you while you're packing up your belongings to come by again sometime, her voice teasing as she explains that you should pick out a new novel to read for your benefit.

Which is possibly the ideal outcome, all things considered, if it wasn't for the way she found herself in your hands just a few paces into the parking lot - no one around to catch you, where you're gripping fast onto her wrist and pressing the lines of her body into door of your car, looming and ready to give a piece of your mind.

You know what you ought to say - things like don't bother, you've enjoyed her company, she's fun and sweet, and in a dozen different ways: be a good girl, and go home. You had your fun, didn't you? But she's practically begging, those huge, wide doe eyes that stare straight up into your soul.

"C'mon,” her voice lilts into a deeper, more purposeful register, “you wouldn't turn down a student on her way home, would you?

(This fucking girl.)

She speaks of propriety, like you aren't a man of your own principles - like you aren't reaching down to press a kiss to the swell of her lips like she undoubtedly deserves. To lick into her mouth and pull and kiss and bite until she's trembling, teeth caught in a delicate whimper. Or, that you aren't running your hands down her sides to find the backs of her knees and draw them upward, hooking your hips flush against hers.

She's all too breathless, watching you draw off her lips, fingers fast in your shirt, your hair - holding you close.

Then finally, a true, honest reflection of your heart. Nothing less than sheer and utter capitulation: "let me take you home."

Nana just nods before wrapping her arms around your neck and kissing you again.

-

It's definitely on you for expecting anything different, but Nana fucks like she talks.

Conceited. Brash. A little selfish.

The girl's sitting there on her kitchen counter with one leg hooked over your shoulder. She's stripped herself down to near nothing save for those fuck-off ridiculous panties: slick, shiny with a thick strip of satin between her lips, complete with white lace frills and all; the same ridiculous pattern as the thigh-high stockings clinging tight around the soft-gentle fat of her legs and the lace top of her garter. Her pussy - all tight and pink and soaked - has left this shimmering, shiny mess that's trailing down the insides of her thighs.

Your fingers are in the elastic of her panties, near bruising the curve in her waist where she's rocking, flushed and keening against your grip.

You tell her, "take these off."

"Off?" She repeats it back to you with the same little grin: playing dumb, the smart, charming ass she's been all night.

"I'd tell you what I really want to do to you," you start, pushing your fingers in a little harder, eliciting another pretty moan. "But I'm really, really sure you can fill in the blanks yourself.

"I hope you're not planning on being rough with me," she teases, running her hands all through your hair as she pulls herself against you - and of course, it's her audacity to insist, "no marks." She drops a chaste little kiss along the underside of your jaw. "At least, nothing that might show up on a camera."

Someone with a little less baggage might have done just that. Might have jerked her panties down a couple inches further - ripped the cloth, exposed her even more. You might have followed the waistline further along the perfect round of her ass, found those dips and dimples that, maybe, no one else has ever gotten to explore. You may have grasped at the ends of her hair and gotten your fingers in her pussy without ceremony - driven Nana to the very brink of her climax just before palming two greedy handfuls of that ass - shoving yourself right there between her lips and, lost to shame, put a fucking kid in her.

All the things she must be dying for you to do.

"Something the matter?" She pushes her mouth into yours for a kiss that has all the urgency of a lazy Sunday morning. Your tongue against hers, languid and gentle at first; wet-sloppy, kissing and sucking on her bottom lip. You can feel her smirking when she says, "don't tell me you've forgotten how."

It's a lot, the effort you're putting in not to crumble - to crack at her taunts, snap your restraint, the temptation. You just wanna grab her pretty tits in both hands, shake her, and say: "shut the fuck up." But no - even in your wildest fantasy, you want to hear her first - beg you to make a wreck of her. So you force the words between your lips, dry and cracking:

"Not a fucking chance."

A laugh. "Guess I'm in good hands, then. Have to admit," Nana slides her hands down to hook under your own, bringing them lower. She grinds your fingers in slow circles over that one, aching, perfect little bud - a shock that has her curling tight inward until she's whining, clutching at her waist. "Not the - not the situation I had in mind."

Nana shifts her weight a bit more on one hip, guiding you through rubbing along the entrance to her slit - sloppy with precum, silky and aching - and when you place just the lightest pressure over all that hot skin, she opens her mouth: 

"Ah."

Her eyes, her hair, her fucking mouth - you can’t look away - she’s so gorgeous it hurts.

Even the way she pants; the perfect furrow between her brows. And then, you dip a finger inside her, just to the first knuckle. It’s enough to make her whine, all shaky and high.

"Go on then, with how you’d pictured it," you press, already easing your digit in and out; slow, slick pumps that she is growing hotter, needier around. "I'm sure you've touched yourself to it more than a few times. The details and - stuff - must have been vivid."

"You haven't the slightest clue."

A brief kiss. You coax another shy sound from her, drawing a long sigh against her mouth -

"Try me, Nayeon."

"This is a lot closer to the truth than you’d think, professor." This time, no correction, she just smiles wide and tosses her head back, asking, sweetly, as if to absolve you of the responsibility. "Do you have any idea how long I've thought about it? You, me - us?" 

Nana slips a finger between the buttons of your shirt and starts to pull.

On that detail, you actually, truthfully do not want to know.

"These... oh, how should I even call them." She hums softly just before easing a bit of distance between the two of you, head tilting like she's in a trailer for this summer's romcom, and not, you know, trying to drag you into hell. "Filthy little fantasies?"

"You know," you start. And by this point, her cunt's that much tighter. You've managed two fingers now, but no further, and she's making these desperate, punched-out gasps. Her clit's a swollen pink nub, jutting out from its soft hood. "I really had you pegged all wrong."

"Not - not at all. You can fuck me just fine, trust me - ah. Please, you can fuck me anyway you want."

And here, you grab a little higher on her hips, pinching her on the outside of a thigh, and begin working your fingers fast. You've never cared much for teasing, not really, but something about the way she squirms in your grip, tries to lean up and grasp onto your shoulders with shaking hands, it gets you smiling. It gets you grinning, even, especially the way she makes these pretty noises: a long, desperate little, "ah," at each press and thrust, her breath going high and uneven. 

"Listen, Nana -" She squeals out loud when you push your fingers just a little deeper, a little bit harder. "I'm not going to talk about what a slut you've been today or how badly I want to spread you wide open," you can already tell it's affecting her: the sudden change, the subtle hitch in her breathing, the tremor where her thighs press together. "Tell me about you, about your little ideas. Let me help."

"Wouldn't be fair." Her pussy's getting tighter, urgent with want. And still:

"C'mon now. Humor me a little. There was probably-" you say, sliding down that ridiculous pair of underwear along her ass, tugging them over the curves of her legs - so slow and easy, all while you're not bothering with easing off. Nana moans again; voice pitched. "Lots. Lots and lots of dirty things - and, I'm willing to bet my career that they made you a hot, mess - an awful, soaking fucking wreck. Who could've guessed? You, of all people, with just the right kind of teacher's-pet-appeal, hm?"

And you meant it to be a joke, just some ribbing. But the question has her immediately tensing, looking at you very intently, no trace of shame as she snaps back -

"Your mouth." She rocks forward. "Your fucking mouth."

You shouldn't keep touching her, you shouldn't keep staring, you shouldn't push her flat on her back and shove your face right into her cunt, you should pull away before this goes too far - it shouldn't be your fingers drawing out sopping-wet gasps out of her pussy, nor should you press your tongue to her cunt, your mouth to all that delicate flesh and, at your first taste, shiver.

Nana laughs: shaky, nervous. Then, your fingers sink back into her pussy alongside your tongue, your lips, the way even your hot breath against her aching pussy has her all stunned, breathless - and -

"Please."

- right before she breaks off into a beautiful sound that catches her hard in the chest.

(A sound like you’re all she could ever want in this life, maybe the next; it’s this wordless plea.)

"Hah, I had - ah, had so much - hah - dirt on you, used to masturbate thinking - ah," and there, she arches her spine, forcing a sigh out, "thinking about how you might punish me." She laughs - nearly choking. "How you might break down all your veneer of being a good, moral man and fuck me raw and rough and - ah - fuck. Oh god, fuck."

You twist your fingertips up just so, right against this perfect spot in her, and all the sudden the entire line of her body seizes - stiffens up, the muscles in her thighs twitch as you both moan through the moment, the spasms reverberating in your own ears, loud and unashamed, right against her wet, wet clit. Your fingers are fucking and fucking and fucking away in her cunt, harder and faster and sloppier, every word, every groan, every gasped breath only making it easier to forget. To give in. And with every heavy slap and squelch of your fingertips digging in as deep as her body allows - you're sending her that much closer.

You pull back long enough to bite out: "cum whenever you want, Nana.”

She can’t, she can’t, she can’t, is what she’s trying to say, bracing against how your tongue moves around her clit, and she knows, there’s no use fighting it.

A kiss against her swollen mound and she writhes. “There you go sweetheart, cum for me.”

Nana comes undone. Gradually at first, then vaulting over that edge all at once. She lifts and lowers her hips - pushing your fingers into the smooth, velvety muscles of her cunt; rocking up and up again. It's a torturously slow kind of grinding, and her feet find purchase on either side of you as her toes curl, one heel digging into your shoulder. An assurance; a promise; a lifeline; that she might tremble and shake through it, moaning.

“Fuck,” and, “god,” and, “you’re gonna make me-” slip past her lips alongside all the assured gasped-out cries for relief - the orgasm sweeping through her, tearing her apart.

Back pitching, shoulders narrowing, face twisting, cinching tighter and tighter -

Until she collapses.

Until it’s over.

As she lays there, chest heaving, arm draped carelessly across her forehead and half over a kitchen cutting board - her thighs splayed open, fucked and spent - she's so, so beautiful.

And it’s in that sort of fucked-up-noodly-state where she just slides right into your arms - those long, slender legs wrapping tight around your middle. "Here's the deal," you say, grabbing hold of her hips and steadying her, as best as either of you can.

"Hm." This lazy, sated look, the way her tongue's dragged out - slow and slick - across the top of her teeth and bottom of her lips. "Go ahead, sir. I'm listening."

The lip service - that coy little appeal to authority that maybe you’re actually plenty fond of - it makes you stop for the barest of moments. This girl, she's unreal. How hard could you ever be asked to resist her?

She lifts a brow. "Professor."

So you continue:

"I'm going to get out of these clothes, and we are going to see what happens after that - if you have a preference for the bed or the sofa, now's your chance to pipe up. Or else -"

"Or else-" She repeats, shifting her weight around again. You can feel how she adjusts her heels to hang higher up your ribs, rocking her weight against your abdomen, against your cock - and the instinctual twitch that runs through your spine is turgid and rough. Like a shot. If it had a smell, it'd probably remind you of gasoline.

And then, maybe just to rile you up even more: "the dining room table makes a good impression of a teacher's desk, no?"

You slide your hand along the backs of her thighs until you have a good, tight, high hold on them and pick her up, leaving the panties, the stockings, all of it down where they can gather dust or whatever - she giggles, and tightens her hold around you like she doesn't need to worry about falling.

"I'd rather fuck you into a mattress to be perfectly candid."

Nana throws back her head and laughs - this real, honest-to-goodness peal of laughter, a hint of playfulness where there was usually just a practiced ease. "Oh. So forward."

(In all likelihood, you're both going to hell, and on the off chance you meet down there, you figure you'll fuck her then, too.

You've read the myths, the Greek tragedies, the ones that have these gods descending from the heavens on human women, for pleasure and nothing but, you've read those stories and plenty more - the details don't matter: it's always a bad, bad end for everybody involved.)

She takes you upstairs. And the two of you fall through the doorway to her bedroom, stumbling all the way.

Her apartment is simple and clean in the way all young adults try to emulate, all white countertops, but with pictures hanging in little, neat rows on the walls and the space void of anything with some sort of character or history.

You know because you're fumbling toward a dresser or desk or bookshelf in an attempt to orient yourselves, bumping and tussling, half-blind, on your path forward and all of a sudden there's a goddamn framed photo in your hand - not of her family, thank god. Though just about every other person in the picture is familiar to you, you remember every single one - but all you're capable of focusing on is Nana, Nayeon: not quite the same. The same glint in her eyes, the way her smile has a timeless kind of quality, the faint dimples in her cheeks. 

And some wicked part of you is all too willing to ignore the whole timeline of events that has led up to you, Nana, like this: you want to pull her hair. You want to shove her around like she doesn't matter - is in any way disposable or replaceable; the most selfish parts of you wishing you could keep her pinned down by her slender neck; pressing a palm, bruising, into her collarbone as you start to work at your belt buckle and slacks with your other hand.

It's hard, getting a grip on yourself as Nana, sliding onto her bed and rolling across the sheets, pulls her stockings down the length of her legs - only stopping herself long enough to meet your eyes. Her throat bobbing.

“Of course,” she says, because your cock is hanging out by that point, straining and a little pent-up. "I fucking knew you would have a perfect cock."

"Flattery or sincerity?"

"Um, let's say both." She shifts around the pillow - that sweet little pout on her lips. Her gaze dropping from your mouth and running all along the length of your torso, lower and lower. Like her hands. And when her eyes flick up to meet yours, just when you're stroking at your cock, base and shaft, teasing yourself, well past the point of pretense, a devious smile spreads wide across her pretty, beautiful face. The implication: you aren't leaving here until you're cumming inside her.

And with a glimmer in her eyes, the sheer audacity, her fingertips ghost the underside of your cock as she draws up toward the head, "you're going to ruin me with this thing. You know that right?"

"A bit dramatic."

Nana moves to rest with the tops of her knees at the edge, her chin resting against the insides of her wrists, elbows propped up - poised, playful, everything she should be as the both of you regard each other a moment longer. "Can you blame me? It's not just that it's huge, I mean - I've barely even gotten a hold of it, and yet... god," she snorts. Her eyelids are heavy, mouth curved, almost a snarl as she drags her bottom lip through the grip of her teeth and sinks down onto the mattress.

"Say something filthy again," and this is a test, this is Nana testing you to see what exactly you'll get away with.

(Hint: it's a whole lot.)

She sighs. The image of indigence, innocence, everything pure and good you couldn't hope for. "Should I suck it or not? Or maybe, I don't know. Would you prefer me to beg for it first, ask if you'll put it in? Like, I think if you ordered me to put it in my mouth, right now, I wouldn't be able to say no."

"Really," the most sarcastic answer.

"Really," she continues. "For instance. If you came over here right now and guided me up and onto your dick and told me, specifically, that you were going to face-fuck me? I couldn't say no. No sir."

You could have her any damn way. You could have her, and you both know it.

"So tempting," you tease, mostly in earnest, "maybe another time, when my self-control isn't quite so lacking."

Nana hums a low, flippant sort of noise - like: whenever you're ready - and just how much trouble it gets you in, the mere suggestion, is what she is banking on.

"Hey," is her invitation, "I won't beg yet. You still want me to put my mouth all over it," and to emphasize, she slips her fingers between the plump pillows of her lips, smiling at how that makes you reach over the nightstand, accidentally pulling open a drawer, possibly reaching for the first aid kit, "or would you rather watch me stuff all these fingers in my wet, little hole."

A sharp inhale: it really would be fun, probably, but you can't take it.

"Nana," this voice, gravelly-ragged and harsh, "if you're planning to make me snap, you are, without question, on the right track."

"Then before that happens," she says, pulling you down into the bedsheets beside her. Your body flush against hers, the beat of her heart loud against your own; this gorgeous, pristine girl, so nakedly giving - this is an honor and a curse all rolled up together, no doubt.

And after a hot, wet kiss: "fuck me like I always thought you would."

(She was made to be like this; it's the only explanation.

Made for wanting. Made for fucking. Made to be loved and made to have her cunt fucked full - ruined by your fingers, your tongue, your cock. This absolutely perfect body, and all the delicious parts of her; this thing of desire, bashful and coy and that deserves all the world and, having none of the grace or courtesy to actually beg, orders, like she always knew she could:

"Like, right fucking now."

Or else.)

Then you're there - her hot mouth, her cunt, your fingers digging in bruising-tight all along the curve of her thighs where they meet her ass, hips, thighs, waist. She's pumping her soft palm and delicate fingers, slick with her spit and yours around the length of you and this isn't going to last long; not that there's any doubt you're going to leave her sore. But still, you drag the head of your cock across the swollen lips of her pussy, down through the plump swell of her clit until it rests where the ridge just begins and every slide, every pressure along every inch of your cock, the thought of being enveloped entirely in all that silky warmth is nearly the end of you.

A whimper, "professor."

You wrap your hands tighter around the smooth, firm muscles in her thighs; dragging your fingers back and forth across the supple skin there - just firm enough to elicit a reaction from the tension in her legs, until you have her flipped over on her stomach. Because if you're going to fuck her properly, it's going to be with her face buried deep into a pillowcase and you perched above her, holding her down against the sheets.

You watch her get her elbows underneath her, laying almost flat. Watch her trace the shape of her own jaw, her nose, her neck - the smooth expanse of her chest - as you straddle her thighs. With her ass pointed right up at you and the heel of her ankle gently grinding into the underside of your leg, you groan, placing both hands just above her ass. And once you're gripping the whole shape of her, you push your cock into her, just an inch, listening to the shift in her breathing.

She shudders, "don't tease - oh, please, sir-"

"Is this what you expected, Nana?" You grab onto her hair. Then again, when she tries to get her hands on herself. Her shoulders are high, tight. You just don't give her a chance; pushing yourself another inch, a couple. The pace, so gradual she starts making these soft, little breathless sounds as you stretch her tight pussy open. A few moments when she stops trying to bury her noises, her gasps - stops trying to angle her hips or squeeze or resist the thick shape of your cock where it is so, so hot and full inside of her - and there you stop. "What is it you had in mind, hm?"

"Ngh - oh."

Her cunt's clamping tight around just the first few inches of you. The tightness, the wet heat is staggering; how it pulls and begs with the words she seems reluctant to spill out.

So - you lift a hand, bringing it back down again onto the pale, rounded flesh of her ass with a smack, a gasp, and this wet sound from the sopping heat of her pussy, all aching and sobbing, "don't, fuck, stick it - fuck, put it - just. Just fucking get on top of me and pin me down - make it hard for me to breathe - do it, just. Like I, fuck, like I always wanted, sir, please-"

And you sink all the way in.

"Fuck." She bites into those consonants, a whole-body motion that pulls at the tension in her spine, the muscles in her legs. But her hips angle right up, and she presses her ass into the hollow of your abdomen and says, "thank you. Thank you. God."

"Don't get lazy on me," you say, grinding the tip of your cock in little circles; pulling it out and angling it down until it's prodding at all the right places to make her arch and shiver.

"Please," she says again, louder this time, almost a moan. "That. Fuck. Yes. It's."

"Yes, yes, I know. Nana, you-"

"Just use me. Whatever you like," she pants; then, once you've pulled yourself out to the tip, slowly filling her again, "use me like a fucktoy, alright. Because - fuck," Nana shivers, pushing her hips into yours. Her shoulders lower, as if by degrees, "please. Use me. Make it rough. Please, professor - use me however you want, I don't care - anything's fine with me - use me, as long and as much as you need, I. Please."

The real difference here, beyond anything else, is that this is no longer the game it was; the very instant she was sprawled across the mattress with a line of drool dripping into the sheets, all her bright, polished glory has vanished, leaving this bare edge of her exposed - the girl who lives solely to be fucked and used by your cock, her cunt leaking, begging for more. Reduced to the basics and nothing else.

"Your fucking cunt, Nana, the goddamn clench - you feel - it's-" (So fucking good, is what you can’t quite say, because she’s tight and wet and her tiny pussy is quivering like mad every time you bathe your cock in its scorching heat. Over and over.) It’s hard to think; you’re truly - truly - fucking her, but you can’t ignore the tautness in her spine either, bent below you. There are probably tears beading down her cheeks, but there's no helping the raw instinct screaming through the core of her being, pleading with you to pull yourself free, before sinking hilt-deep into her again, again, again - to a chorus of sloppy, loud, nasty, fucking whimpers and moans.

Like music. 

It's easy after all, how her pussy gives way to you. How she molds around you - sleeves onto you like a glove - like there was only one cunt in the world you should ever be fucking up and fucking apart. 

"It's incredible. Fuck. Just that perfect."

Nana, as best as she can, trying to stay steady, braced against her hands and knees, is raising her hips.

But it's clear with the way she's slipping all over, slicking the sweat off her palms and rocking her ass back into your thrusts, a cry falling out of her, unbidden, when she speaks and not.

"Please," she pants, through tears probably, this breathy-shivering. A renewed enthusiasm for your grip on her - where, in another place, you'd worry about leaving marks behind - for the feeling of your weight slamming down into her, driving the air from her lungs.

The sheets are a crumpled mess, pillows knocked from the mattress, where the two of you are shaking it apart.

You're pulling her apart, slowly, thrust by thrust into her sopping cunt, and in a promise of how you'll put her back together, you get your mouth on her shoulders, her neck, kisses in her hair, behind her ear - Nana just whimpers, curling her toes and ankles along the backs of your knees, her face against the pillow and gasping, "thank you - thank - thank-"

And when your palm smacks against the generous swell of her ass, again, she keens so perfectly for you.

It's a breathtaking sight, so good, so perfect: her flawless ass pitched high, round and flushed pink. The flutter of her eyelashes and the tears and drool. The outlines of her pale white cheeks sent into ripple after ripple, and then the way you can slide one hand forward between her shoulder blades and slip it into her hair, nails raking her scalp, grabbing a handful of hair in your fist and tilting her face - to the side, enough for her cheek against the pillow and the way her hips try to press against yours; try to chase the pleasure; this brash, gorgeous, slim-waisted, well-curved, exquisite young woman - like everything.

"Please," is all she says as you fit your chest up tight to her back and mouth at her neck - lick all along the sweat. "Please."

You can't take it anymore, can't keep watching this masterpiece, can't stand the molten heat wrapped around your cock every time the drag in and out of her pussy pulls sets every nerve on fire. Right in her ear: "I'm cumming, Nana, I'm cumming inside this tight, little pussy."

A short gasp, "yeah."

"Yeah. Inside, Nana. Cum inside, you -" You twist your fingers against her scalp and find purchase, an excuse - a means to yank her head around and lean into her, teeth against skin, that familiar coiling in your gut and the burning sensation that flows right alongside every slap and smack of her hips on your skin.

"Fuck me." You watch her bite down, swallow a sound, try to say: "fuck your load so deep inside me it’ll be all I think about for weeks, let me feel it, all that hot, all that sticky, fucking cum"

And you drag your hips, these final, punishing drags through her drenched cunt. Her fingers are white knuckled and fisting the sheets, until the very second you've pressed every ounce of your own body's worth into her own, when you're collapsing her spine and pushing her face into the bedspread, this wave rushes through your ears like the buzz and hum of insects and waves and things out of sync - the high, the peak -

And then:

Sobering, subjugating silence.

In fact, you're shuddering; You're cumming, spilling pools of thick cum deep inside of her. It's all in that warm, filthy sensation, a heady, hazy, desperate thrill when her own cunt seizes in its climax around you, trembling, throbbing, quivering, clenching; drawing everything out and taking your cock deeper - even while the whole of her is thrashing and bucking, all of this messy with her pleasure and her voice caught up, writhing and breathless.

"God-" is the last thing out of her mouth before you can kiss it quiet, tug on her lower lip and open her up like a present - messy and breathy, crying out, you're making this mess inside, this beautiful fucking mess - as the whisper you feel against your lips:

"Inside me, like that."

As you groan, deep and hot, "filthy fucking cumslut-"

Right on the verge, riding out every twitch of your cock and each flex of your hands at the skin around her ass, her waist, back and shoulder blades; even after you've caught your breath, you keep pumping more and more inside of her, you don't stop, won't, and even when you manage it, pulling out the head of your cock - you can feel every slick detail - just the slit and rim, resting the throbbing head of your cock at her swollen little mound, feeling the length of her fucked-out pussy spasm at the emptiness and trying to grasp around nothing - empty, tight and aching, sopping.

There's her hips, just this, right there; the line, the silhouette. Her thin waist and the curvy swell of her ass, jutting out straight - the cream-colored flesh dusted pink. The lithe, soft line of her stomach and the insides of her thighs a little farther along, sweaty and inviting.

She's so pliant in your grip, even though she's trying her best to curl herself backward - to angle your spent cock back into the ready, welcoming warmth of her slick, wet pussy - and once the afterglow has begun to wear away, that same greed and yearning takes its rightful place. A glimmer in her eyes. The unmistakable need and drive.

"One more," she says, wiggling her hips back into your stomach. "For me."

(The truth: you can't refuse her, not as she bites her lip and twists, all that soft hair splayed across her face, stuck to her tear-damp skin.

One more, because you both still want it. One more, because in the dim glow and evening air of her bedroom, everything that happens now matters just as much as anything that happened before.

One more, because you need her again.)

-

When she wakes in the dark, you figure her bed will be empty.

Nana will realize that you're gone. Of course you’ll be - it was never going to go differently; the sex had to end at some point. After all, if you stayed, eventually she'd start saying something you'd find a fault in or your skin would be so sensitive she couldn't stand not running a finger up your spine and maybe kissing your hip.

The reasons to go always outnumbered the reasons to stay.

The world would catch up and someone would find out and that's the sort of gossip that might leave both of your careers in shambles. Or else, you'd do something you couldn't come back from, the moment the heat of the sex left your body and her cunt, god, her perfect little cunt was spent - slackening - and the moments-after-haze, her legs locked up and her arms a bit sore, would clear up. Then you'd look at her, or else the shame would win out - the guilt and you'd call it quits. She won’t blame you. She can't.

-

But then again,

Her heart won't fall completely to pieces, because:

You've stayed. And it isn't an easy position, even if she is easy.

Here she is, though: sleeping on her side with her wrists crossed in front of her face - peaceful and quiet, probably tired enough to sleep without dreams. The dark has long since settled across her bedroom, save the pinpricks of stars in the sky out her window and a sliver of moonlight. You can see her, or you could reach out and run your hands all along her calves and thighs, but you don't.

Nana's shoulders slump forward in the faintest of sighs, and there it is - the slow, gentle swell and fall of her chest.

-

Here's how you got here:

In this scandal-in-waiting of a relationship. Here's the stupidest possible path, where a bright-eyed student with a crush fucks her older professor just once, and somehow you both find yourselves coming back for more, like maybe your very, very bodies belong together - a maddening compulsion.

Even once you've managed to work through the idea of your cum all inside of her, a seedy, twisted corner of your mind murmurs how it makes the most sense. To stick your cock inside of her again.

Where she can show you the way it can look; the mess and the texture of the slick, white spill - dribbling out of her pussy in the afterglow, onto her palm, and down the crevice in her ass and lower.

It's the phone calls probably - and not just the phone sex - late-night talking, conversation and every once in awhile, the kind of hot, hard fucking that gets you in trouble, but also a reason to be with each other again. Not just the quick fucks but the nice ones - the days, the late nights and mornings and what have you: all the casual intimacy of it. All the sweet nothings exchanged.

The after-sex cuddling, with her straddling your lap;

The sensation of her thighs sliding into place around the tops of your legs, her arms tucked around your neck;

The kisses you don't take and kisses you'd be okay with, all the promises made to love you as many times as necessary, however necessary, wherever.

That's all here too.

Again:

She is young. But, who the fuck are you to say? Who the hell can tell you she doesn't deserve the least rotten, least painful, most promising love she can find in this particularly fucked-up world?

Who else is going to keep the both of you safe and hidden?

And who else, despite everything, seems to like having a secret that they're sure only you know; every glance or accidental touch with her eyes brimming, alive, and the whole of her bent like a bow-string - all held back and wound-up tight.

To the point her spine will shiver and shake; you know how it can be.

-

"Are you actually going to buy those?" Nana asks one day, dangling on her toes, chin rested comfortably in the sweep of your shoulder.

When she crowds the swell of her hip and her breasts and her entire body into your back and snakes her arms around your shoulders, you think there's nothing else in the world you need.

"You called them drivel," she adds, almost pouting - which is a look you're slowly trying to inoculate yourself against because the moment it comes up, you have a knee-jerk reaction to drop anything and everything and carry her off someplace else. To have a place where she could, could, could -

"Hah," you roll your eyes, not taking the bait. There's a shelf-full of campy, smutty romance novels in the dollar bin. "It is. The story was less than complicated, but I couldn't figure out what the hell two or three characters' plotlines had to do with one another, and sometimes you just want a little guilty pleasure, you know?"

"Ooh. So," Nana smiles, the devious sort. "I guess there is some honesty in you after all."

"Come on, this one at least has an original story," and it is a shameless attempt, "plus-"

"I know, I know. Fine. And if it is so terribly bad, well, I suppose I can use your chest as a pillow to take a nap," she says, before throwing this particular glance over her shoulder.

The cashier doesn't need to ask if the two of you want your copies of 'Wild West of the Heart' or whatever-the-fuck this one is titled, scanned separately.

All of that, those paperback-cover love stories and TV drama plots, these are the sorts of things you do just for Nana; as the two of you wait in long lines, get carried along, get bumped and pushed, like every other ordinary-person thing you've done for her ever since.

("Honestly, this isn't my kind of thing either," you tell her in the aisle of a grocery store once. The fluorescent lighting only accentuates the blush high on her cheeks. "don't make me fuss over something like this."

"Have a little sympathy," she insists, nudging the handle of the shopping cart against the inside of your shins. "A girl like me isn't good for much else.")

It's not romance, really, that's such a fucked up way to go about describing any of it, but then there's Nana, bouncing on her heels and prattling on, this girl in the spring of her life who is full to the brim and bursting with the most chaotic and eclectic sorts of thoughts and passions -

So, what.

"Really," she adds - another side, another angle on an issue the two of you had an hour ago while cooking breakfast. "Just, think about it. Would you honestly put all this effort into somebody who doesn't make you laugh at least as much as they irritate you? Because like, you would never tolerate some self-obsessed jerk long enough to eat their burnt, terrible pancakes every day of the week."

"Fine. Maybe." You sit across the table. "You're right."

Nana blinks and this look of wonder crosses her face as she grins. A moment of triumph for her and that was more than the honest truth. It's still strange, admitting defeat in any argument here or there, or that the two of you make an actual decent couple - together. The kinds of things that come naturally to other people.

"Any more caveats to all of this, professor?"

"You’re gonna end up bent over that counter again if you keep pushing it, kid."

The both of you break out laughing and then you finish your coffee, or she stabs the last few pieces of cantaloupe on her plate, or you kiss her neck, and just -

Everything.

[laviefantasie]

When Emma Falls In Love…

Pairings: Gojo Satoru x Reader

Summary: If there was one thing Satoru was thankful for, it was you.

| Masterlist |

They say it is incredibly rare to find someone that cares about you without another agenda. One that wants to see you achieves your hopes and dreams. One that encourages you to grow and is right by your side throughout each and every mess. One who does not define love with an ‘if’ or a ‘because’, but with an ‘in spite for’ and an ‘even though’. One that is brave enough to love unconditionally, without ever expecting anything in return; one that just gives.

The world has approximately 8 billion people in it and yet, to love or be loved unconditionally is a once in a blue moon occurrence.

Y/L/N Y/N knew this.

She has always known that love is a serendipity. Something fortuitous. She has always known that it is the greatest curse of all; that loving is giving the other person a gun and have them point it at you, allowing them to decide if you live or die.

Yet, she has also always known that everything that can be considered a curse can be considered a blessing, all depends on the point of view.

So, Y/N has never closed herself off to the idea of love. But she has never looked for it either.

To be honest, even if she wanted to look for it (which she doesn’t) she wouldn’t have the opportunity (nor the choice) to do so. Not when she was a Jujutsu Sorcerer from the Y/L/N clan. Not when she was the heiress of said clan.

She didn’t have choices when it came to trivial things like love. She was set to marry as soon as she graduates to start producing another heir, to make sure to pass her family’s curse technique. She had always known this. She had always been taught about it.

So… why was this happening now?

Why was she ignoring Yaga-sensei’s lesson to stare at her white-haired doofus childhood friend/classmate?

And why was her heart beating so loud?

A paper ball hits the back of her head, startling her. Turning in her seat, Y/N meets the nonchalant eyes of her best friend, Ieiri Shoko. Said girl gestures with her eyes to the paper on the floor, so with a fleeting glance at her teacher Y/N bends to pick it up.

[ Why are you staring at Tweedledee over there? ]

Y/N winces slightly as soon as she reads the message. Hurrying to hide it in her notebook, even if there was no one close enough to read it.

Damn Shoko and her intuition.

Deciding to ignore her best friend, Y/N stares straight ahead at her teacher. Physically restraining herself every single time her eyes dared to try to gaze at her white-haired friend.

When class finally ends, Y/N tries to pick her stuff up as soon as possible, hoping to be able to outrun her curious best friend.

But, of course, she was naive for thinking she could.

“Someone’s in a hurry” Shoko’s unbothered sweet voice states from her side, “Wonder why”

Y/N closed her eyes in defeat before opening them to look at the amused eyes of her best friend.

“Now, will you answer my—?”

“Y/N!”

The loud and excited voice of the boy Y/N had spend most of the class staring at startled them both. And soon they are joined by their two other classmates.

The problematic duo. The strongest boys: Tweedledum and Tweedledee, known also as Geto Suguru and Gojo Satoru.

The white-haired beauty rests his arm on Y/N’s shoulder as soon as he comes to her side, Geto mimicking his actions with Shoko. Both of them smirking.

“What are you girls whispering about?” Satoru asks with amusement, “Is it about me?”

Shoko scoffs, “In your dreams”

“How’d you know?”

Geto rolls his eyes, “Ignore him. We wanted to ask you both if you wanted to go to Tokyo, there’s this cafe we want to try”

“Sure” Y/N nods, “We should ask Nanami and Haibara if they want to join us”

Satoru groans loudly as soon as the words leave her mouth, and pushes most of his body weight onto her, making her almost lose her balance.

“I refuse”

Suguru lets out a big laugh after his best friend’s words while Shoko only looks totally amused, as if she had already expected that.

Y/N, on the other hand, looks at Satoru with a frown.

“You refuse? Why would you refuse?”

“Because”

“What do you mean ‘because’?”

“Because”

Y/N narrows her eyes before looking at her other friends for answers, but both of them just smile at her, totally amused by the scene happening in front of them.

“One reason. Give me one reason and I’ll agree”

Satoru shrugs his shoulders, “I don’t like sharing”

“Huh?”

Satoru doesn’t wait for her to try to decipher his statement, instead he grabs her bag before pushing her so she starts walking.

“You said to give you a reason, there it is” he pushes her once more “Now, move”

She does as told, even when her mind still works to try to understand what he said. Either way, as soon as they are all out of their school’s barrier said statement is forgotten. After-all, Satoru had always said vague things like that to her ever since they met, nothing worth frying her brain for.

Okay, something was really wrong with her. Not only had she spent all of last month staring at Gojo Satoru every single day whenever he was close, but now she was glaring at said boy while he flirted with a non-sorcerer.

Why the hell was she glaring? Why was she even looking at them? Satoru flirting wasn’t a new occurrence, on the contrary, it was a daily event. For Satoru flirting was as natural and as necessary as breathing, so why was she so bothered by it right now? It’s not as if she had never witnessed it before, so why did it mattered now?

Why was her chest aching so annoyingly? Why did she feel so nauseous when she had barely touched her food? Why couldn’t she drift her gaze away from them?

Y/N clenched her hands shut, forcing herself to look at her food. Why was it so hard to do something as simple as that? Why did her chest hurt enough that she had to remind herself to do something as natural as breathing?

“Not hungry?”

She moves her gaze from her food to the reason behind her inner turmoil who had finally seemed to remember he came here with her, not with the pretty blonde non-sorcerer he was just speaking to.

“Uh…” she fleetingly looks at her untouched full plate, “Not really”

Satoru frowns, “Do you feel okay?”

Breathe in. Breathe out, she reminds herself.

Why was it that she suddenly felt like crying? Was it because he was looking at her with such sincere worry? Or was it because he had lowered his round sunglasses to really look at her with those mesmerizing blue eyes so he could make sure she was okay?

What was wrong with her?

"Uh—I…Jus—Can we go back?" she stammers, "I don't feel really good"

Satoru’s frown deepens, but he nods and soon both of them are making their way back to their school. In complete silence.

As soon as Y/N makes it back to the security of her dorm, she doesn’t waste a single second. She hurries to lock her door and to close her blinds, grabbing her phone as fast as possibly and dialing her mother’s number.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

She needed answers or she would lose her mind, and the only person who she knew could give her those was the one she trusted the most: her mom.

“Honey?” She hears her mom’s sweet and soft voice as she answers, “You good? You never call”

“I…”

Breathe in. Breathe out.

“Something is wrong” she whispers.

“What’s going on?”

What was going on? That was a hard question. And so she explained, as best as she could. And her mom listened, silently and patiently. Never interrupting her, even when she was stammering and rambling all over the place.

As the words leave her lips in hurried whispers, her feet pace around her room anxiously.

“Oh, honey”

Maybe it was the understanding in her mother’s voice or maybe the softness in her pet name, but it was then that she understood.

“I’m not in love”

But, oh, how ironic. It was the moment the words left her mouth, the moment she tried to convince her mom (or maybe herself) of it, that she understood it.

She was in love with one of her best friends.

Her feet stop pacing. Her heart stops beating. Her breath slows down and her knees tremble. All adrenaline leaving her abruptly.

She has to force herself to move to her bed so she can sit before her body gives up on her.

“Oh” she whispers, “Oh”

“Yeah, oh” her mom responds, “So, the one blessed with the six eyes?”

“Satoru” she whispers as a reflex, used to having to remind a lot of sorcerers around them that Satoru is more than just that.

“Satoru” her mom repeats, “What is he like now? I haven’t seen him in a long time”

“Uh, well… he is something else, definitely” she whispers softly, “He is kind and loyal. Also funny. Although, he has a huge ego… uh, he—kinda a womanizer”

Breathe in. Breathe out.

“He is a womanizer” she repeats, as if reminding herself, “Never one to settle down. Gets bored pretty easily of people. Things he’s above all that—romance, I mean. He’s not really serious about anything, so commitment is out of the question. Doesn’t really trust people with his feelings, so that’d be a problem, right? And—”

“Honey,” her mom interrupts, “sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself about how this could end up going wrong without even trying first”

Huh.

So that’s what she’s doing.

Everything changed after the call with her mom. Everything changed once she finally understood what was truly going on with her. How could it not when she was never one to hide her feelings? Always wearing her heart on her sleeve, never knowing how to hide the light in her e/c eyes.

Everyone noticed and she constantly scolded herself for it. Yet, she couldn’t help it.

She couldn’t stop herself from looking at Satoru as if he hung in the air like the stars in outer space, brighter than the moon itself. She couldn’t stop herself from smiling every time their eyes met nor the way her eyes lit up.

But just as she couldn’t stop herself from expressing how she felt, Satoru couldn’t force himself to reciprocate her feelings.

Satoru had never been one to believe in love. He, as she did, believed love to be the worst curse of them all. But, contrary to her belief, he could never even think of the possibility of it being a blessing. So, even when his attitude towards her never change, there was this new wall built between them that kept her far enough to never reach his heart.

She didn’t need to confess for him to know her feelings.

He didn’t need to reject her for her to know his.

They had always been close, since the moment they met when they were six. They had always understood each other without the need to explain themselves, and maybe it was because of the way their cursed techniques were interlaced but it didn’t matter to them.

Both always knew where the other stood.

Y/N knew Satoru wasn’t ready for the love she felt for him. Didn’t even know if he’d ever be ready for it. But she had no intention of falling in love with anyone else, at least not at the moment. So, whenever he’s ready, she’d be there.

He was her first love. He had forever changed her and she knew no matter how hard she tried, that wouldn’t go away.

So, for now, she was content with how little he gave her. She was content with how careful he was with her feelings even when he had no intention of reciprocating them.

So, when did everything change?

There were only four known special grade sorcerers so far in Japan: Tsukumo Yuki, Gojo Satoru, Geto Suguru, and Y/L/N Y/N. Although Tsukumo is not associated with Jujutsu High, so the only sorcerers that Yaga would entrust a mission as important as the one of the Star Plasma Vessel are the three special grades in his care.

“Escort the vessel and erase her?” Satoru asks.

Geto and Y/N share a look before focusing once again on their teacher, who confirms the mission. Not even a second later, Suguru and Satoru start whispering about Yaga losing his mind making the only girl present roll her eyes.

By the end of the conversation, the three best friends were on babysitting duty of the girl meant to reset master Tengen’s cursed technique.

Y/N receives her cold black tea from Satoru’s hands before they start making their way once again to the location of the Star Plasma Vessel, all while Suguru tries to answer each of Satoru’s questions.

“Anyways, it should be okay” Satoru shrugs, “We’re the strongest”

Y/N scoffs a laugh, while Suguru sighs and tries to explain to Satoru how he should start dialing down his narcissistic tendencies.

“Sheesh, give me a break” Satoru groans, “Y/N likes me the way I am, right?”

Her eyes widen and a blush soon makes home in her cheeks, making her turn her face away from him to avoid his amused smile.

“Uh—I…”

An explosion saves her from answering, although she isn’t sure she’d rather deal with that. Maybe that’s when everything started truly going downhill.

It didn’t take long for the three of them to take action and defeat the Q workers, saving the girl they learned was Amanai Riko. The young girl was a firecracker that had made Y/N laugh after she slapped Satoru and insulted Suguru. Maybe things would’ve been better if she hadn’t been so innocent and likable; if she hadn’t been so young and pure.

But things hadn’t been better. Honestly, things couldn’t have gone more wrong.

She wishes they’d stayed in Okinawa. All of them had been so at peace there. All of them had so much fun. They had gone to the beach after rescuing Amanai’s caretaker, where Satoru had run to the water with Y/N on his grasps while ignoring her screams. They had eaten and joked around before going to the aquarium.

Maybe she should’ve stopped Satoru from staying awake that night, maybe she should’ve made him rest for some time instead of deciding to make him company before falling asleep on his shoulder. Maybe then things would’ve been different.

But Y/N had done none of that and now she was staring at the consequences.

Satoru was just stabbed in front of her, just after they crossed the barrier around Jujutsu High that protected them.

Y/N had never wanted more to fully dominate her cursed technique. Never had she ever wanted to understand the depth behind the intricate time manipulation cursed technique her family possessed that made them the Gojo clan’s greatest ally. She possessed one of the most powerful known cursed techniques, one that could make her an equal to Satoru, yet she had never truly bothered with anything below the surface.

Not even when her father had explained to her the greatness she was destined to achieve. Not when, like Satoru, her birth had change the world.

She had never wanted to be exceptional, she had always just wanted to be strong enough to protect those she loved. Acquiring her cursed techniques full depth came with a great sacrifice. One she had never been willing to pay.

But now?

Now she’d pay the price without a second thought. What did it matter if she’d have to suffer through the pain of her eyes bleeding until her irises and pupils turned completely white? What did it matter if her lifetime shall shorten with every time she fooled destiny? What would it matter if she’d have to live with the possibility of losing her mind at any moment, never distinguishing the difference between the past, the present or the future again?

She would do it. She would do it without a second thought if that meant not staring at Satoru in the eyes as he orders her to follow Suguru, to leave him behind, as he bleeds.

She shakes her head.

She wasn’t leaving him, not with whoever that man was. She could feel he was dangerous, she didn’t know how she knew it but she did.

Y/N would never forgive herself if she left him behind.

“You have to trust me, Y/N” Satoru’s smile softens, “Trust me”

She shouldn’t have turned around, but she did. She trusted him with her life, so she had to trust him with his own.

She’d never trust him like that again.

Blood flows from her mouth as she lays face down on the floor, wounds all over her body as Fushiguro Toji stares down at her.

“So this is the Y/L/N pride” he murmurs, “Aren’t you supposed to be strong? The Gojo’s Six Eyes biggest ally or something like that? That’s the story, isn’t it? The space and time techniques are supposed to coexist with one another according to the legend of the Six Eyes and the Blind One, am I wrong?”

Y/N coughs out blood, her gaze blurring.

“At least he put up a fight” he scoffs, “You were doing so well until I told you I killed him”

She flinched at the reminder, making him scoff once again.

“The Blind One that sees all” he scoffs in disbelief, “What a joke. Let’s end this here, agree?”

He stabs her once more, forcing her to cough out even more blood before forcing the blade to go from her lower back to the back of her neck.

“You’re no threat with how little control you have over your cursed technique” he murmurs, “but waiting for you to become one is not an option. It was to meet you, let’s never do this again”

She tried to stay awake, tried to remember everything Shoko had ever taught her about reverse cursed technique, but her mind was too out of it to form any coherent thought. Maybe that was how she was meant to die, after all her life had always been intertwined in a way with Satoru’s, so if he was gone what was the point of her being there at all?

Her eyes closed, yet she kept breathing.

Her mind was fuzzy, yet like a mantra the names of every single person she loved repeated themselves over and over again.

That’s when she felt it happen.

Her eyes open wide and a painful scream, strong enough to tear her vocal cords, left her body. Blood started pouring out of her eyes as the e/c and black in them starts being burnt away as if the water in her eyelids was acid.

She had never felt pain like this. It felt as if her eyes were being stabbed by a hundred needles over and over again. And when it finally stopped, and her body started healing herself once again, she understood every word her father had ever uttered to her about their powerful cursed technique.

So this is what it means to be blessed and cursed. To give more time as you lose your own. She had felt herself dying, yet her own cursed technique sent her body back in time, to when she hadn’t yet been hurt. Even as hours of her future self were taken from her for cheating death, she could still see it. It was crystal clear in her mind, as if it was a scene she had seen in a movie.

So that’s what her father meant when he told her she could lose herself to the past, the present, the future, and all its endless possibilities?

That was meant to be her world from now on.

“Y/N”

She blinks once. Twice. Thrice. Before pushing herself to a kneeling position so she could move her gaze to the source. It wasn’t real, it couldn’t be.

Yet it was. She knew it. It wasn’t one of the possibilities on the multiverses she could see.

Even with her eyesight lost, she could sense his cursed technique. He could visualize him by the way his cursed technique lit up his body shape.

He was here. He was alive.

“Stand up” he tells her, “ Amanai is dead. We failed”

Her knees tremble as she forces herself to stand. How could he be so calm? How could his voice sound so devoid of emotion? She wishes she could truly see him, she always used to know what he was feeling with just one look.

Things were gonna be different now.

It started with little changes. First, Y/N had to return to her clan immediately to train her technique. She had to learn to control what she saw before frying her brain. She had to also learn to dominate reverse curse technique.

She wasn’t just a normal time cursed user like the rest of her clan, it wasn’t just freezing or slowing your opponent anymore. A touch from her could now age, could kill. A touch from her could now rebirth, could save.

She was now a weapon. A shield. More importantly, she was the strongest right hand. Space and time always cohabiting with each other.

When she finally came back to school, everything had already changed too much and she couldn’t even bother herself with adapting to the changes, too trouble by the different dreams of the different future outcomes. Of all the choices that hadn’t yet been made but could be, of all their consequences.

She didn’t remember the last time she had spent some time with her best friends, the only person she spent time with lately being Satoru. Satoru, who for some reason she didn’t bother to analyze, always seek her when he finally had time off from a mission. Never leaving her side unless he really had to.

All of them had forever been changed after their failed mission. So, when was it enough?

She hadn’t been there to see Suguru slowly start to lose himself, too focused on Satoru and herself to notice the little clues laid in front of her of the future she had seen yet refused to believed.

Then, she had seen Haibara’s dead body.

She tried to stop it then. Hoping, wishing, it wasn’t too late. She had run to him that night, meeting him on the courtyard of their school as he smoked the night away.

“Please don’t”

He didn’t look at her. Barely inhaled a smoke before letting his gaze fall from the moon, as if its light was too much for him.

“I don’t know what you’ve seen, but I’m not planning anything”

“I know you’re not” she whispers “but I also know what you’ll see. Please don’t leave us behind”

His dark saddened eyes turn to look at her, really look at her and her breath hitches. One of the things she loathes about being able to see the past is the new perspectives she has of those around her. She had always been living her life as the Earth, always rotating around her sun. Never bothering to look at the moon, that always rotated around her.

Satoru was her sun, but Suguru had quietly always been her moon. And she had never once noticed before.

While she was too busy staring lovestruck at Satoru, Suguru had stared at her. But he had always been selfless, and he has always been happy with just gazing from afar, just like she was always happy only staring at Satoru.

This new depth in her technique made it painfully obvious for her the softness in which he gazed at her, even with all the sadness and conflict he carried in them he could still gaze at her with that particular softness. It made her heart ache.

“I would never leave you behind”

It sounded like a promise to anybody else, but to her it was like a blade to her heart. It was one more step to the future she so wanted to avoid.

She sat by his side that night, giving him the comfort of her presence.

On September, he went on the mission to exorcise a spirit to blame for the mysterious deaths and disappearances on a village.

That day he killed 112 villagers. On that day, he was sentenced to execution on sight as a curse user.

She was the first one to arrive when Shoko called, and the smile he gave her was all she needed to confirm her greatest fear. Her heart bled once she saw the soften in his gaze as he saw her, never wavering.

“I’m sorry I have to leave you behind” he whispered once they were far enough from Shoko, “I don’t want to, but I know you won’t follow me”

“We can fix this. I can fix this”

She could. She had the power to. She would do it if he asked, even if it cost her half of her lifetime.

“I don’t want you to” he whispered softly, “I want you to live a long and full life, not to sacrifice it for my own choices”

“You promised…”

“I know, that’s my only regret” he smiled, “You look beautiful. You are beautiful, I’m sorry I never said it before”

“Suguru…”

Both of them stopped as soon as they felt the curse energy of the only one missing from their group.

“Explain yourself, Suguru”

His smile faltered. He looked at her one last time, softly and full of adoration.

“Don’t let him hurt you” he whispered, “Thank you for everything”

And then, Suguru turned around to face his best friend before leaving them all behind. Before leaving everything he once believed in behind.

“What are you doing here?”

It was around 2 am when a knock on your door had woken you up, the last thing you had expected was to see Satoru’s aura on the other side. Since Suguru’s departure your best friend had started going to even more missions then before, making it impossible for you to actually see him for more than a few minutes.

You hadn’t really expected to see him soon, much less at the current time.

“May I come in?”

His tone is low, with no hint of a joke in it, which makes you open your door wide enough for him to cross without hesitating in the slightest.

Honestly, he could ask anything from you and you’d give it to him. No questions asked.

She feels him move to the middle of her room as she closes the door, his feet drawing circles on the floor showing the anxiety he must be feeling.

“I didn’t know you were back”

“I just came” he murmurs, “I’m sorry for barging in, I just—I needed to see you”

Y/N’s breath hitches and her heart throbs loudly in her chest. It was weird, the feeling of drowning that she had become so familiar with was slowly disappearing, as if just the sound of his voice was enough to remind her how to swim. Enough to help her breathe again.

She had been alone all this time. Shoko had been dealing with the abandonment in her own way by herself, only coming to her when the loneliness became too much. When that happened, Y/N had to ignore her own broken pieces to help hold those of her best friend. And once she was sure Shoko was well enough to go back to her own cave, she was left alone to take on both of their pain to bear it all by herself.

She wasn’t one to walk away, not unless she absolutely had to leave. But all she had needed all this time was to hear Satoru’s voice to remember the strength she possessed.

“You wanna lay down?”

He sees his aura move towards her bed, making her know he agreed to her suggestion.

With a deep breath, Y/N moves to join him. It wasn’t the first time they had ever slept on the same bed, they had tons of sleepovers as kids.

But this was different. They were older and wiser. They knew pain firsthand now. They also knew what the other really meant to one another, and how precious each moment together truly was. How ephemeral everything could be.

So as Satoru pulled her closer to him as he hugged her from behind, both of them felt the tension they had been carrying leave their bodies.

After so long, Satoru finally felt at peace once again. The void that had been his heart all this time felt completed. He could finally breathe without feeling something pushing against his chest.

That was the first time in a while he truly slept.

There truly was no reason for Y/N to love him, so Satoru didn’t understand how he had gotten so lucky. After Haibara’s death and Suguru’s betrayal, after Nanami’s abandonment, Satoru truly didn’t think he was someone worth staying for.

But Y/N never once left his side. Never even thought about it. It didn’t matter that she had spent ten years loving him without even a glimpse of him reciprocating said feelings, she had stayed.

He loved her, he truly did. He just didn’t know what being in love meant or felt like, so he couldn’t say he was in love with her. All he knew, as he stared at her right now while she said her goodbye to Yuta, was that knowing her had changed his whole world.

He had once asked her a few years back why she loved him. She had stayed quiet for a few minutes before finally answering in her soft voice that she reserved just for him.

“You just know. There doesn’t have to be a particular reason. I don’t think you need a reason to love someone, your heart chooses them before your mind even has a say. It’s something you can’t really control, it just takes over you. It hits you when you least expect it. You feel alive, you feel better; I don’t think it’s something anybody will truly understand, and they don’t have to. It’s not something meant to be understood by others, only by your heart”

He hadn’t said anything after her. Hadn’t even smiled or nodded. All he had done was stare at her and repeat every single word in his mind over and over again, until they had been engraved in his memory.

Those words were repeated like a mantra whenever he needed something to give him hope, something to fight for.

Those words along with the memories of the hundreds of nights they looked for refugee in each other’s arms were the inhaler that helped him breathe. He had never truly known what a real home felt like until she had held him with so much care, care he hadn’t ever truly known; care that made him feel like a kid needing to be cared for instead of the strongest everybody expected him to be.

He was grateful for her. For every time she made him feel loved and appreciated. For every moment she stared at him as if he was the moon and the stars and the whole galaxy. For helping him raise Tsumiki and Megumi without ever complaining about it. For helping him mend his broken heart even when the broken pieces scarred her hands until they bled.

He didn’t know if he was in love with her, he just knew that he did love her with all his heart and soul.

And as she finally started walking towards him after letting go of Yuta, with her bright smile that made her whitened eyes crinkle, it finally hit him. She was the person he wanted to come home to every night. The person he wants to tell about his day. The person to share his happiness, his sadness, his success and his failures with.

Everything was better with her. Everything had been better since her, because of her.

She who had loved the parts of him that were not easy to love. For turning the pages in his book gently, and helping him rewrite a happy ending to his tragic narrative.

Y/N was like a book the you couldn’t put down once you pick it up. The kind of girl that would make every bad boy turn good. A shelter for his heart when it rained. A breath of fresh air whenever he felt like drowning.

She was everything and so much more and he truly didn’t know how to tell her. He was never good at expressing how he felt, he was of an acts of service guy. So how could he show you how much you truly meant to him? How much he really needed you? How much he loved you?

“…ru. Satoru. Satoru!” His gaze snaps towards you, seeing you look at him with amusement, “I’ve been calling you nonstop. A penny for your thoughts?”

Don’t ever stop smiling at me. Don’t ever stop looking at me. Don’t ever leave me.

“Ready to go home?”

He can see the confused frown on her face, but her smile is never wiped and that gives him hope of her understanding the underlying message on his words.

Home was wherever she was. So wherever she went, he would follow. He wanted to go home with her, because he wanted to hold her and never let her go. He wanted to be the reason for her smiles and the ones she chose to share her laughs with.

He wanted everything.

“Let’s go home, ‘toru”

He may have been cursed since birth, but it was all worth it if he had you.

[[ Really not my best work but my first Gojo One-Shot. Hope you all like it! I’m open to requests. Thank you for reading!!]]

[notsorryiml8]

Concerning Kakashi's skill as a teacher, I think a lot of the differing opinions how good he is is caused by differing ideas of what he's supposed to do. I've seen a lot of fanfic that "fixes" him and makes him more of a drill sergeant, having him decide how team 7 trains and what roles they take. A more true to canon take, I think, is that his job is to be more of team leader than having a master-apprentice kinda role. He teaches mission procedures, handing clients, and basically how to live as a ninja. He could probably give them some advice, about actual jutsu and stuff, maybe recommend certain teachers, make sure they aren't being irresponsible, etc. I think that he shouldn't have had to teach them tree walking, that being something they discover on their own, maybe with hints, but had to ignore subtlety due to the Wave mission. Like, the only other sensei that actually seems to be teaching their assigned student actual jutsu is Gai and Lee, everyone else, even close pairs like Asuma and Shikamaru, seems to be more like role models, or mentors. Idk if I'm explaining it right. TLDR Kakashi's a good sensei, his role in team 7 was never to be a drill sergeant/combat instructor, that role is fulfilled by master/apprentice relationships like Gai and Lee, and Sannin and team 7.

I may be wrong, but I don’t ever recall questioning Kakashi’s teaching skills. Heeeck, I’m one of his most ardent defenders 😊 lol. But I do also recognize his humanity.

I think Kakashi became a better sensei over time, but didn’t necessarily start out as a “good” sensei. But, before anyone jumps on me, that’s the nature of any job; especially one you never wanted. You learn by experience. A fresh, out of school, green neophyte on their first day ever on the job anywhere is not going to be as skilled as someone who’s been there 20 years, five years, or even just one year.

Kakashi, as a sensei, was just as confused as Naruto, Sakura, and Sasuke were as students. Dude was winging it, because there wasn’t any other way. He wasn’t expecting them to pass, nobody else ever passed his test before and he didn’t have enough faith in the Konoha ninja education system to believe they’d create a team of kids who could work as a team. He was only in school for a year, if that, so he didn’t know what those kids were learning. So, he wasn’t prepared. Or even lowkey, he may not have wanted them to pass because it meant, omg, I have to be responsible for other people, tiny other people, tiny other people with no skills.

In Anbu, yes, he was a captain, but that was different. Anbu was loneliness. Anbu was darkness. Anbu members were expected to be cold-blooded killers. And Anbu members typically weren’t 12 (he, Itachi, and Yamato/Tenzo were exceptions). He also didn’t have to teach; just train. Different ballgame.

Anyway, I digress, back to Team 7, one was the son of his sensei who he trying desperately to not remember because it hurt, not to mention the kid was feral (yeah, I said it, 12-year-old OG Naruto was feral - severe neglect will do that); another was the last member of his clan that was brutally murdered under the authority of the village, so that kid was a just a wee bit unhinged; and the third was the this little kunoichi that from his perspective probably shouldn’t have been in the ninja world in the first place because it was a cruel, cold, brutal life and she was “normal.” He didn’t know what to do with a normal kid - he was never one. In the end, he accepted the situation for what it was and learnt as much as he taught. And that’s the beauty of it - the teacher became the student and the students became the teacher.

It seems like the academy teaches bare basics - heck, he graduated in a year at age 5. I’m not downplaying his skills by any means, just stating the freak of nature that he is, completed years long training in just a fraction of that time and not sure if that says something about him or the education system - they weren’t prepared to work with prodigious kids and that says a lot. Yeah yeah yeah somebody will say they were at war, so they let the brat graduate. But that’s another post.

Anyway, that being said, I agree the academy should teach more. I strongly believe they should, at a bare minimum, learn their chakra nature while there. That seems like common sense. Just give out the litmus paper and test them and group them accordingly (I find it hard to believe that there are a bunch of shinobi going around not knowing what nature they have. Guess it would be based in your clan??). The basics of chakra control, water walking, tree climbing, etc… Makes you wonder what the heck they did teach them while there. I’m beginning to think it was just regular school and they learned some “cool ninja stuff” here and there - clones, substitution jutsu, taijutsu…

That being said, from what I garner, your clan is supposed to teach you their secrets and jutsu. Your sensei can’t do that. The school is supposed to teach you the basics 🤷🏽‍♀️. And your sensei is supposed to hone those skills. Take you on missions so you can learn in the field. Train your skills. Find your talents and strengths and enhance them.

As for Gai, Asuma, and Kurenai. I believe they all trained their students in different ways. My girl Kurenai doesn’t get much screen or page time, so you don’t know what she did or didn’t do or the hours she put in with them. Same for Asuma. You only get to see Gai’s team so much because Rock Lee is so awesome Gai is Kakashi’s rival, so more screen time by proxy. That’s not to say Asuma and Kurenai didn’t spend hours upon hours training their squads. Which I believe they did because at the end of the day, the K12 kicked butt and that required intensive training. Remember, all because you don’t see it happening, doesn’t mean it didn’t. They’re all amazing sensei in their own right. If you think about it, all those kids made it to the Chunin Exams, meaning a minimum of 8-9 missions. Remember Iruka tested Team 7 before the exam to see if they were ready. Thinking or hoping someone tested the other teams too. Which means those sensei had to put in time with them.

As for drill sergeant Kakashi, not sure if you’ve ever taken martial arts, but I have/do. Sensei are not the nicest people by any means- out of the dojo, they can be, but on the mat, when training, you might as well have a drill sergeant. They yell in your face, they throw you around (painfully). They want you to be serious and understand the seriousness of it. They are training you to fight and yes, you do learn techniques that can be lethal and how to use weapons irl. So, they have to be serious and they do work with you based on your own skillset. So, there’s some merit to that, historically. So, in a world that’s built around the shinobi system, Kakashi as a drill sergeant-sensei is possible and that doesn’t make him any more/less good or bad than the other sensei. Same for Kakashi as mentor-sensei. I think he became Team Leader Kakashi with the introduction of Team Kakashi, when he acknowledged them as his equal. But at the end of the day, why can’t he be all three? There’s a time and place for each role and no one size fits all approach to teaching. At the end of the day he was trying his best. They all were. And he was a good, but flawed, sensei. They all were.

[skylark325]

Omniscient Readers View Point Read Through

Ch 73-92

Beginning: Ch 1-10

Note: This was so hype AHHHHHH so many of my favourite scenes

———————

"I am also like Dokja-ssi. We are on the same QA team. I heard the same nagging every time and lived with their contempt.

>when an ugly btch calls you twin

[The constellation who has been waiting for a harem carefully puts both hands together.]

>I…a what

WHO?

"You're not a woman."

>…huh?

She refused to admit that she plagiarized to the end. I grabbed her collar.

>ngl dokja i don’t think anyone ever would 😭

"There is no such thing as a meteorite in my novel!" It was surprising. I thought she would've copied this as well. "I have a sealing stone!"

>girl you’re really not helping yourself here

"By the way, I was in pain a lot back then."

Whenever I looked at this guy's face, I felt the '17 year old Kim Dokja' inside me shrink back.

>as someone who was bullied in hs i remember almost crying reading this scene in the manhwa. get his furry ass dokja

"Yes! I'm really really sorry! I-I was young at the time…"

>that’s BULL! you’re not the only one who was young! using your age as a mistake is only justifiable as long it didn’t hurt others. basic empathy isn’t taught with age, it’s something you should know or you’re just a shitty person. and like YOU WERE SEVENTEEN

"First, I will hit you until all my trauma has disappeared.

>oh yeah fuck him up dokja

[Some constellations are disappointed with your hypocrisy.] [Many constellations are questioning your judgment.] [The constellation 'Secretive Plotter' is watching your judgment.]

>it’s so interesting to me how sp never actually judges dokja on serious stuff. he’s just in the back secretively plotting.

[The constellation who likes harems is cheering on you and Han Sooyoung.]

>didn’t realise there were doksoo truthers in the book but pop off my dude XD

No matter how I thought about it, this was the sound of gunshots. Wasn't the army already wiped out?

>i…oh right this isn’t set in America

"You must be mistaken. My name is Yoo Joonghyuk. Kim Dokja is the name of the guy I hate the most."

> there he goes role playing again

I winked at her. If I knew Han Sooyoung, she would understand what to do from now on. The woman opened her mouth. "I already know that you are Kim Dokja. Stop the unnecessary lies."

> that’s just embarrassing man. it’s ok, you win some you lose some

"I needed something to tell her when I met her." I gave her a moment before continuing. "Because I had nothing else to say to her."

> 😞

Living things with less intelligence than a kobold should do their jobs!"

>Excuse you? WHAT THE FUCK IS A KOBOLD

"Protector… you don't have any qualities suited for Way of the Wind. No, to be honest, you don't have the qualities for almost every skill."

>that’s…damn what are you, my calculus teacher?

'You will be busy when you reach intermediate level'.

> Kdj: once you get that promotion you’re not going to pay attention to me anymore! i’m going to be a neglected wife!

"You are the first person who is more suspicious than Yoo Joonghyuk."

> why does kdj’s perception of ppl range from like-yjh, not-like-yjh and yjh

[The constellation 'Demon-like Judge of Fire' is looking forward to your companionship.]

The messages of the constellations, including Uriel, arrived. What was going on?

> oh gee i wonder what’s going on. wonder if there’s a possibly super hot *enter kdj’s long ass description* man possibly fighting and injured nearby

The bleeding Yoo Joonghyuk was waiting for me there.

> are we sure ways of survival isn’t a fanfic written by dokja?

Even if Yoo Joonghyuk was nearby, he couldn't be found in such a timely manner. It was clear that Bihyung had made a sub scenario to bring Yoo Joonghyuk over here.

>not bihyung sugar daddying his way through the scenarios for dokja. that or he’s the vice captain of our ship after uriel

Yoo Joonghyuk was staring at me with bloody and teary eyes.

> HELP what did I say about the fanfic part

Why was the protagonist of Ways of Survival such a person? The story would've been easier of it was Lee Hyunsung or Jung Heewon.

> bestie you gotta be attracted to them for this to work

"He was like this the whole time. He kept asking me to take him to Kim Dokja…"

> GUYS 😭

But I felt that some of my answers were being diluted in the soup. Did I know Yoo Joonghyuk at all?

>welp existential crisis let’s go

I scooped up the soup with the spoon and put it in Yoo Joonghyuk's mouth. Han Sooyoung watched me blowing on the soup. "You are acting like a wife."

> you see that’s because they’re already marrie- *gets run over by a truck*

I thought it was a loss to me but it turned out to be a huge honey event. Indeed, people should live a good life.

> that’s not…ok then. preach king XD

[The constellation 'Demon-like Judge of Fire' is impressed with your good deed.]

…Was this constellation really impressed with the good deed?

> oh yeah just the good deed dw. definitely not the yaoi you’ve provided in the middle of a shounen show

I frowned at Yoo Joonghyuk's words. Move to the east right now? I saved his life and now he was giving me an order?

> such be them dom daddies dokja

–Don't be so prideful. I really will abandon you.

> sure kdj. in fact i dare you to do it

–Why come to me? I honestly thought you would commit suicide. –Suicide? How ridiculous.

> is it though? like really think about it XD

> i stand corrected 🥲

–I wanted to make her a companion.

> oof rejection isn’t easy man i get it

–She isn't the person I remember. I knew it. Still, I wanted to believe for a moment that the woman in my memories was still alive. I wanted to be with her again.

> ouch think my heart just got ripped out

All the threads were connected to one woman. The woman wearing a tight black battle suit flew through the air.

> MY WIFEEEEEE

–Kill her.

–Then you will be unhappy. –It doesn't matter.

> 😭

"…It doesn't make sense." Lycaon exposed his fangs. "Antinus. The conversation ends here."

> damn my tragic ship 😔✊🏼

–You, are you that weak? –What? –All the words you told me were false. I reflexively raised my body. This bastard…

> yjh sure knows how to get dokja fired up XD

–The one who told me not to give up on this world will succumb to a disaster of this degree?

> did i mention i love their bond

the way both of them know exactly what to say to help the other is so precious to me

If you want to survive, don't answer his questions. But you are still going to die.

> BITCH?

> HSY certified yapper

Imagine being summoned to another dimension, suddenly receiving a powerful strength, spending a hot night with a cute elf girlfriend, saving the world and being loved as a warrior!

> Not all men fr 💀

–My attribute is a 'pro gamer'. What is yours? -What? –I'm asking what can you do well?

> one of my favourite scenes 🥹

"…Uh?" The Hunters Association people from before?" Myung Ilsang laughed.

> …?

does he think he’s in solo leveling?

What could I do well? It was to 'read'.

> i’m so hyped AAAHHHHH

Pathetic. Why the hell did I forget about this skill? Wasn't this the first thing I should've done?

> honestly yeah how did he forget that? it’s like one of the biggest cheat codes he has

I was a 'reader'.

> YEAH YOU ARE

READER REPRESENTATION ARISE!

"Get started." Yoo Joonghyuk stood before me as if he knew what I was trying to do. "I'll block him."

> did your heart skip a beat dokja? cuz i know mine did

A fierce aura started to crush Bihyung's body. The power of the dokkaebi depended on the size of the channel.

> OH THIS FUCKER

how dare he mess bihyung lemme at him. one swing that’s all i ask

[…Please choose a reward.] Bihyung told me with a grouchy expression. He was exhausted by the harassment.

–Personally, I recommend the Infinite Dimension Space Coat. There is one more hidden option. It is easier to transcend later.

> oh god plz let me give him a hug poor bby

–I will speak bluntly. Come to my channel. I am going to expand my channel to the Korean Peninsula. I will be happy to meet your desired items and conditions.

> I THINK NOT BTCH

Bihyung's face turned red and he was tearful as he looked between me and Dokgak. It looked like tears would burst out as soon as he was touched.

> THAT’S IT WHO’S COMING WITH ME

[Constellations. Incarnation Kim Dokja colluded with the channel's streamer, 'Bihyung'. He deliberately concealed his strength and manipulated the development of the scenario. He made the scenarios harder for malicious purposes.]

> i don’t…is this really such a big deal? like people are being murdered and super magical stuff keeps happening. is this really such a big deal in comparison? 😭

[The constellation 'Secretive Plotter' shrugs like it is fine.]

> SEE sp gets me

"Prisoner of the Golden Headband, Abyssal Black Flame Dragon, Demon-like Judge of Fire…"

> not kdj name dropping his fans

[The constellation 'Secretive Plotter' is somewhat annoyed.]

> DUDE SAME

"By the way. As a memorial to my channel, I will do a small event. I mean, a joint event between South Korea and Japan… If you are curious, please connect to #BI-7623 right now. I will draw tickets for the early constellations and give coins―"

> LMFAOOO

A voice was suddenly heard. I instinctively knew. The owner of this voice was now protecting me.

> fangirling so hard rn

Bihyung moved from behind me towards Dokgak. "By the way, were you this small?"

> Oof the burn

———

Previous: Ch 53-73

Beginning: Ch 1-10

[wanderingmind867]

Part three of me listing books on my bookshelf that i've read. At this point i'm feeling tired from writing, but I might as well commit and finish this damn thing. But once i'm done, I'm doing back to reading comics and maybe watching tv with my dad once he gets home from work. Because this is shockingly draining. So here we go:

The Neil Flambe Capers by Kevin Sylvester (I think these are my only books that are actually Canadian written. I think I found them in my public library years ago, and I was hooked. Cooking based Detective Novels about a lonely, socially awkward teenage cooking savant? They were pretty fun. My one criticism? They ended on a cliffhanger, and they haven't made a seventh book to resolve the cliffhanger! It's been at least five years! That still bugs me!).

The Land of Stories series by Chris Colfer (I never watched Glee, so this is my only experience with Chris Colfer. I thought he was a pretty good writer. I really liked his stuff, although I never did get around to finishing the series. Knowing how finicky I am on endings, I worry that the ending would leave me upset and unsatisfied. But putting that aside, his characters were pretty good. I still remember that he chose to portray Mother Goose as a wild old woman who liked alcohol. That was fun. I also liked the Prince who was turned into a Frog, but then just embraced it and kept to himself, living lonely and alone for years).

Some of the Rick Riordan Presents books (I have the Aru Shah books, although I only ever got around to reading the first one. I have the first one in the Tristan Strong series, though I haven't read it. I read Sal and Gabi break the Universe, and it was really funny and enjoyable. I read The Storm Runner by JC Cervantes, but I don't remember much of the plot, and I never got around to the sequels. I read Race to the Sun by Rebecca Roanhorse, which was a great book that taught me about Navajo myth. I read Dragon Pearl by Yoon Ha Lee, but it was a space opera type of story, and I didn't love it excessively. And I apparently own one The Last Fallen Star by Graci Kim. Seriously, I forgot I owned this book. How can you forget owning a book!?).

The Hardy Boys series (I don't remember when I picked these books up, but I ended up with like the first 20 of these books. They weren't bad, although I don't really remember them too well nowadays. But for being children's detective fiction written in the 30s and 40s, it was pretty good. The one interesting thing about them? No known writer. They were written by multiple different people under one pseudonym, so we can only guess at the writers. I once considered trying the Nancy Drew books, since they were made by the same publisher and just featured a female lead instead of male leads. But I never got around to owning them).

The Underland Chronicles by Suzanne Collins (In elementary school, a French teacher I had suggested these books to me. I told her I hated the Hunger Games, and she said these books were her preferred books from Suzanne Collins. So I read them. And yeah, they were far superior to The Hunger Games. But they're also so goddamn sad. Their ending made me feel miserable, because it was one of those endings where the character could never return to the fantasy realm. And that made me really sad).

I also have picked up a lot of humour books over the years. At least ten of the Diary of a Wimpy Kid books and stuff like that. But I never felt like bringing those books to school, so those were sort of like my secret (I guess). But I do like a lot of humour. Comedy is something I almost always enjoy. But this has all been so much writing, that i'm finally exhausted. So i'm done now. sigh.

[disregardcanon]

semi-realistic thoughts about where the yellowjackets and co might be in 2021 if the plane HAD crashed but they got rescued before laura lee died because misty never found the black box

tai- in exactly the same place, but with better coping mechanisms and a stable and realistic relationship with simone. sammy still has some issues because tai represses stuff and is still a politician who’s keeping secrets about the wilderness, but tai actually does let him get the therapy he needs. she’s still close to shauna and akilah, and she wishes that she could be close with van, but things are weird there. she always knew van wanted different things out of life than she did, but it was a lot harder to break things off after they lived through a plane crash and a few months in the wilderness together.

van- jack of all trades, master of none. she’s been a summer camp counselor all over the country, done bit parts in lots of movies, was on jeopardy once, managed a spirit halloween, got involved in cutco knives before she realized it was an mlm, worked at an amusement park, taught english to kids in different countries (never with the US military though because that sucks), worked at a ski resort. she’s had a lot of girlfriends that never really stuck, but she’s glad for all of them. she still talks to quite a few of the yellowjackets, but it’s... hard. when she talks to tai. taissa the accomplished lawyer and now state senator thinks that she should settle down, and that’s a little hard to hear from the high school girlfriend who dropped van when she went off to college.

coach ben- after his experience in the wilderness with the girls and losing his leg, there is absolutely NO way he’s going back to teaching. he tries to make things right with paul and after some work, he ends up moving in with paul in the city. paul’s a writer already, so ben gives it a try and does some comedy columns and sports columns.

nat- had a couple of years right after high school where she was drifting and on just about every drug in the book until she accidentally runs into ben and paul at a party and ben’s like oh my god NATALIE!??! and makes her sleep on their couch for a while. eventually she ends up making weird art and coaching a kids’ soccer team. she has some short term romantic relationships with both men and women but none of them ever really stick.

misty and crystal- coach very gently told her when they were in the hospital that he was gay and not interested. and she was like “oh you figured it out because i was so wonderful and you weren’t attracted to me, so you knew you couldn’t like girls?” and he sighed and went. yes misty. that’s how. and she put a hand on his shoulder and said “how brave. how inspiring” and then misty started telling this story to any teammate who would listen. crystal was the only one who didn’t roll her eyes and she was like “omg, a gay teacher? like in the children’s hour????” and then they become best friends going into the next year of school. misty doesn’t HAVE a secret that’s big enough to break them up so they just. stay together.

misty stays on as the equipment manager but mainly just to cheer on her bestie and they join theater together. they don’t do very well but they LOVE it, and they decide to go to the same college to be roommates. crystal becomes a quirky high school theater teacher and misty still becomes a concerning RN who dates and intimidates weird little guys, but they live together and are like, what, gay? *pft* no, we’re besties! and they are, but god are they weird about it

laura lee and lottie- lottie’s parents made her go to the same ivy that her dad went to, and she really hates it, even though she does her best and gets her degree. (i’m thinking some kind of counseling/leadership) laura lee goes to a bible college that skews too conservative for her and she hates it too, so much that she decides to drop out until she can figure out where she DOES want to go. a lot of soulsearching and mishaps later, and lottie is taking on a youth minister position at a nondenominational hippie dippie queer loving church and inviting laura lee to check it out, and laura lee falls in LOVE WITH IT and then goes straight into the seminary she can find that best lines up with her own values. they become a power couple and get married in 2004 as soon as it’s legal. they end up with a congregation that isn’t very large but is dedicated and does a lot of good in their area.

travis and javi- coach martinez still died, so things are hard, but not nearly as hard as in canon. they work through his death as best as they can with their mom, and travis stays at home the next year to go to community college before leaving home. javi makes him join a dungeons and dragons campaign and it actually helps him a lot with the Big Feelings Time. travis goes into something that his dad thought was nerdy and not masculine enough but that he likes and is good at, and javi becomes an artist. he and shauna collaborate sometimes on projects <3. also travis and jackie become weird friends at community college

mari- she’s an mlm girlie but one that is Proud! Of! It! she’s got a big enough downline that she actually supports herself this way, even though it.... still sucks and is soulsucking. but it lets her be a little bitchy, do tasks, and be kind of in charge and kind of not in charge and mari DOES like that.

melissa and gen- let them play soccer together in college because they were on the fabled yellowjackets team that never got to go to nationals as well as the one that WON! let melissa get butcher. let gen have a sexuality crisis as she gets jealous about girls falling all over her best friend. let them be soccer lesbians who eventually move to denver and buy a subaru

akilah- they find out that shauna’s pregnant before they’re rescued and right before laura lee’s able to make her incredible journey. akilah the girl scout finds herself worrying about what might have happened if they had to deliver a baby out there, even though they DIDN’T. then she does a lot of research into the subject on top of studying for her SAT and finds out about maternal mortality rates in the united states, especially among black women like her and her sister. she decides to become an OBGYN to try to fight the problem, and despite the hardships, she makes it happen. she also gets to upset her sister with terrible pregnancy fun facts, which is what siblings are for

jackie- has a blowout fight with shauna about the jeff thing after they get back, straining her relationships with every member of the team. she still tries at college, but she rushes and doesn’t get a bid for a single sorority (she’s going through a crisis where she’s realized she’s a lesbian and doesn’t know what to do with that and also. is very depressed and angry), her potluck roommate doesn’t like her, and her classes are so hard now without shauna to help. she doesn’t know how to ask for help and things spiral for the two semesters it takes for her to get kicked out of college. she’s home the summer afterward, with her parents desperately trying to get her to figure out a different college or go out with jeff again (we understand what he did, but you aren’t exactly... rolling in prospects right now) and she’s just going crazy in her room.

shauna and jackie- shauna gets an abortion and does go to brown! she’s really upset with where things ended with jackie, but she’s still close to tai and some of the other girls and she’s exploring her bisexuality at college, so she’s doing okay javi sends her drawings sometimes, and that’s nice. when she comes home over her first summer and sees jackie absolutely rotting... she feels awful enough to try to mend the bridge. it doesn’t totally work, but by the end of the season they’re on speaking terms again, and over the next few holiday breaks they become tentative friends again, then good friends, then homoerotic girls who are dancing around each other.

jackie tries out the community college thing and tries hanging out with jeff again, who’s working at his parents’ furniture store. her parents are convinced they’re dating and jeff kind of is too and jackie... tries to see if she can fix herself. she forces herself to let it be dating and then they have sex and it feels wrong and weird and bad... but she does it. and jeff’s magical sperm does its thing.

timeline-wise the pregnancy becomes clear about 3 months before shauna’s graduation from brown/jackie’s graduation from the community college. (she and travis are weird friends there. no i’m not elaborating but it happened) and her parents are freaking out and trying to get her and jeff to get married right now immediately to save face, and jackie just. cries. and calls shauna. and cries some more. and they have a heart to heart and confess some feelings and decide that they’ll try dating and kinda. raise the baby together. (it’s callie yay!)

jackie isn’t going to be able to move in with shauna until after she finishes this semester and gets a bigger place, and her parents are livid that she refused jeff’s offer and is still keeping the baby! (they don’t even know she’s a lesbian yet) so she has to move in temporarily with the martinezes javi shows her lots of art pieces and is like “would shauna like this?” and the answer is always yes.

eventually, shauna becomes an editor for the local paper and a fiction writer. jackie stays home with bby callie for a bit and then cycles between different odd jobs for a while as she tries to find a good fit. she eventually ends up as middle management at a small company where she does a whole lot of team-building exercises that everyone pretends to hate until she pulls out the prizes

[ron456]

ADHD/ Neurodiversity rant, Ig?? (TLDR at the end)

I feel like I've definitely went through some character development over the years but especially when I learned more about my ADHD.

They don't really give you that much info when you get diagnosed, I feel (I got diagnosed pretty young at like 7-8 and started taking meds when I was about 9 years old, I think).

And I started learning more about it in, like, middle school and it was wild to figure out that I wasn't alone in these experiences I was having like RSD (AND THE RSD CHEST PAIN- I WAS LIKE "OTHER PEOPLE WITH ADHD FEEL THIS TOO?!?"), Sensory issues (I get pissed if I get overstimulated and it was a relief to find out that other people feel like that too), skipping lines when I read and getting headaches while reading even though I wasn't dyslexic (Convergence insufficiency), being uncoordinated (my handwriting always going upwards instead of in a straight line, having trouble with using keys, or getting food all over myself when I ate) , problems with emotional regulation, etc.

Shout out to people on tiktok/youtube who have info on ADHD like: Connor DeWolfe, Ethan Nestor & Markiplier (not really their main content but they both do have it and occasionally talk about it. Ethan has the hyperactive type and Mark has the inattentive type), Olivia Lutfallah (her ADHD simulators are SO ACCURATE- And she has AuDHD so she has some stuff about autism too, I believe)

I remember I felt sorta daunted at first to realize I was way different than my peers than I first thought

and I had that sorta grieving process that people get when they get diagnosed later in life even though I had already been diagnosed

Like, "Damn. If only my past-self had known that. Maybe I could've shielded her from getting hurt."

But also, knowing more helped me move forward with more of a plan, I guess

Can't accommodate to yourself if you don't know what to accommodate to, right?

Anyways, I'm saying this because I think it's so important that people be taught more about Neurodiversities

Kids, parents, teachers, etc. should all be more informed because it saves a lot of confusion and pain for people in the long-run

Cuz a kid won't know that they have a different brain because that's all they've ever known. Sorta reminds me of the quote:

“Everybody is a genius. But if you judge a fish by its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid.”

But yeah, if it hadn't been for my second grade teacher who noticed that I was coming home with classwork and who didn't think I was just being lazy, I don't know if I would be here, today, to be honest.

All it takes is one person to notice the signs of neurodiversity and speak up to change someone's life for the better

which is why I always try to educate my friends on this kinds of things so that they can be more helpful and understand of people with neurodiversites and of themselves if they realize they have a neurodiversity

Also, I write about this because I used to find characters like Mable Pines and Steven Universe annoying until I realized they exhibited ADHD symptoms and there was probablyyy some internalized ableism in my mind as a kid. I was able to watch the shows with these characters in them as a teenager and realize how much they characters were like me! And I loved them for it! It's really cool to see how much my knowledge and acceptance for my ADHD has grown as I've grown!

Anywayssss, that is all. I'm on my meds rn and I had some motivation so decided to talk about this hehe. I gotta get ready for some babysitting rn lmao.

TLDR; People should be educated more on the signs of Neurodiversities so that people can get the help they need sooner instead of thinking they are "Wrong", "stupid", or "broken". I bolded some cool resources for more ADHD (and some other Neurodiversity) info and a cool quote :)

[scotianostra]

Charles Darwin, was born on 12th February 1809 in Shrewsbury, England.

Yes he is English, but he attended Edinburgh University and he liked us Scots in general, going by this quote from the man:

“Scotchmen are so civil and attentive, It is enough to make an Englishman ashamed of himself.”

As a medical student in Edinburgh, It was on the shores of the Forth, at Prestonpans and elsewhere, that he carried out some of his early scientific work. Long before he became famous for what he discovered in distant southern seas and lands and then used in development of the Theory of Evolution,

Darwin became an expert in the marine life, especially barnacles, of the Lothian coast. He also learnt how to stuff birds (a skill that would be invaluable when collecting scientific specimens during his southern voyage on the ship Beagle, years later). His teacher was a freed black slave, John Edmonstone, who lived in the same Edinburgh street as Darwin. Edmonstone had told him about the South American rainforest in his native Guiana. It’s fascinating to think that this man, John Edmonstone, whose name is all-but forgotten, taught a key skill to Darwin, taxidermy, one of the most influential figures in science. He also gave young Charles an early taste, in his imagination, of one of the globally important natural habitats whose pleasures he would later experience at first hand. Darwin wrote of him:

“By the way, a negro lived in Edinburgh … and gained his livelihood by stuffing birds, which he did excellently: he gave me lessons for payment, and I used often to sit with him, for he was a very pleasant and intelligent man.”

As well as being complimentary of us Scots, Darwin was also a fan of our capital city, he arrived in Edinburgh in October 1825. He and his brother lodged at 11 Lothian Street. He described his lodgings in a letter to his father:

“We got into our lodgings yesterday evening, which are very comfortable and near the College. Our Landlady, by name Mrs Mackay, is a nice clean old body, and exceedingly civil and attentive. She lives in 11 Lothian Street, Edinburgh and only four flights of steps from the ground floor which is very moderate to some other lodgings that we were nearly taking. The terms are 1£-6s for two very nice and light bedrooms and a nice sitting room; by the way, light bedrooms are very scare articles in Edinburgh, since most of them are little holes in which there is neither air not light.

“We set out and walked all about the town; which we admire excessively; indeed Bridge Street is the most extraordinary thing I ever saw, and when we first looked over the sides we could hardly believe our eyes, when instead of a fine river we saw a stream of people.

“We have just been to church and heard a sermon of only 20 minutes. I expected from Sir Walter Scott’s account a soul-cutting discourse of 2 hours and a half.”

Not all was good though, Darwin had no time for Alexander Monro tertius, who had followed his grandfather and father as professor of anatomy, as he describes in a letter to his sister Caroline:

Monro “made his lectures on human anatomy as dull as he was himself.” “I dislike his lectures so much that I cannot speak with decency about them. He is so dirty in person and actions.”

Some years later Darwin visited Edinburgh again, in 1838, on his way to study the geology of Glen Roy. He spent some time on Salisbury Crags, studying the geology described by Hutton.

[lolotheparagon]

What Each G3 Pony Thinks of Scarecrow

Scootaloo: HES THE BEST!! He’s super scary, super smart, super cool and just SUPER EVERYTHING! I was the only pony out of my friends who liked scary stuff so I’m so psyched to have a friend I have something in common with! And to think this all started from me making a wish for a live scarecrow. We both try to scare people on the street which is really easy for me cos for some reason, I scare everyone in Gotham. Mr Crane says it’s because they can’t comprehend talking ponies. Weird. Anyway, Mr Crane may be a grump, but I bet having seven ponies to look after must be pretty hard. He always makes time for me though! He says I’m his no 1 henchpony and calls me Ragnarök! Which means natural disasters or something. Either way it’s cool! He’s the best boss ever and I hope he likes this new butterfly bomb I came up with!

Cheerilee: I thought he was a stinky old man at first, but we’ve got a lot more in common than I thought! For a scarecrow, he’s actually very smart! Which is strange, cos I thought scarecrows have no brains. Well, that shows what I know! Mr Crane has taught me loads of subjects like psychology, complex math and biology. Ponyville’s library doesn’t have any knowledge like this. It is a little hard to wrap my head around at times but it is worth it to rub it in Scoot’s face hehe. Mr Crane would make a very good teacher, if he didn’t look like a stitched up skeleton

Rainbow Dash: I know he doesn’t get my love of fashion and that’s totes understandable. He’s old. I mean have you SEEN that cloak?! Major frump alert! And pee-uw! does his breath stink! But he’s cool, as long as you don’t put him in a bad mood. But that won’t stop me from putting him in a dress! He is long overdue for a makeover!

Pinkie Pie: I don’t know if he’s our boss or our dad but either way, it’s nice to have someone to look up to. I may be the leader of my friends, but Im still a pony. So I can always rely on Mr Crane for advice. But he has a very weird sense of what’s right and wrong and I’m gonna criticise the heck out of that! I’ve never seen Mr Crane laugh, but when he does, it’s nice to see! But he’s never happy regularly when he’s around us. Sometimes I don’t know if he likes us very much… I try to cheer him up with a surprise party, but Mr Crane doesn’t like parties. Says they’re too loud. Doesn’t like the colour pink either. He does save us from Riddler’s bullying and protects us from people in Gotham throwing stuff at us, he’s very polite and says he “likes” us. So thats good!

Sweetie Belle: He can be a bit mean and grumpy but I think he’s very nice deep down. After all, he gives us toys, trips to the funfair and ice cream if we’re good! He also gave us such funny nicknames! I’m Pesticide! It’s also funny how he struggles to say our normal names without making a grumpy face! Haha Mr Crane is the funniest boss ever! Although I don’t get his whole scaring people thing with fear. I’m pretty sure he can scare people with how he looks already

Toola Roola: Its amazing how a scarecrow can be both magic and be really smart! He looks very scary but I guess that’s his job, isn’t it? And it kinda makes sense where he comes from. Gotham is a very gloomy place. Aw, I bet he misses it a little after being in Ponyville for so long. Maybe I’ll paint him a nice graveyard with lots of crows on it. That’ll cheer him up!

Starsong: You can tell he’s an old man cos he doesn’t know what TikTok is. Although it is so worth it cos his dancing is so silly, heehee! Good thing our babysitter whenever we visit Gotham, Barbara Gordon, knows all about TikTok and loves our dances! She has a beautiful singing voice! Oh yeah, we were talking about Mr Crane. Well, the only dancing he likes is the St Vitus’ dance. Why would a dance be named after a saint? That doesn’t sound very groovy…Mr Crane’s really weird.

Here is part 1.

[silurisanguine]

Backstory of Seren (Coe) Jones - Spacefarer and starborn

I dont think i've ever properly introduced the character of my new on going Starfield Coemancer fic. So here she is with a little bio of her og universe.

(backstory to her creation. Yes, she is loosely based on my appearance, or rather how i looked when i was her given age in game. She is to me a descendent of the Jones bloodline, probably my brother's side of the family as i aint ever having kids. )

Seren Coe /Jones (Takes the surname Coe after marrying Sam)

Background - Industrialist Traits - Freestar native, Empath, kids stuff.

Bio - 30 years old as of events of Starfield.

Born 12 sept 2300 Akila City. Parents lived in a moderate home in Midtown close to the Core.

Moved in 2305 to new Atlantis when she was 5.

Seren was bullied whilst she was on NA for being Akilan, making her loathe her time there and was glad when her family moved back to Freestar space in 2308 (age 8) settling back in Akila, but in a more modest home in midtown due to the war and losing money having to leave new Atlantis suddenly.

She never fully realised the war was the reason they moved but soon understood when her father had to be almost a full time online professor as all the universities in Freestar closed during the war as many teachers went to fight. Her father didnt fight as he was considered a vital asset. Her mom did lots of jobs to help support them both for the three years the war went on for

She mostly learned online but went to the local school on Akila, where she became almost obsessed with Solomon Coe and the creation of the Freestar Collective, though she was scared of the Coe kid, who to her caused mayhem around town and got away with it. Even if she thought he was kinda cute. His father scared her more, though his mum was always nice to her parents when they met at the school gates. (Yep she knew of the hellion that was the young Sam Coe, but only by reputation.)

High school she was schooled online, with a lot of help from her father. Her mom also taught her the fine art of diplomacy and business sense. in 2316, At 16 her father finally got a new job at New Atlantis University and they moved there again. Seren was older now and could handle any bullying, but decided to stick to online schooling in order to graduate with the people she'd learnt with.

She graduated top of her class and took business studies, piloting and ship design classes as she wanted to help support her family and dreamt of setting up a secure passenger transport business for people who couldn't afford their own ships, but wanted to visit other planets without bothering with tours. A direct shuttle/ transport system. Something very lacking in the systems. But her parents weren't rich and she realised any entrepreneur she'd read about all had a helping hand from wealthy parents, so the debt of her classes started piling up, and she started taking small jobs for courier companies, but refused to take the shadier jobs. Things just cruised along like this for years. Always being passed up for promotion because she refused to play ball.

She felt trapped in her job, hating the fact all her skills were being wasted because she didn't have the money or name to start anything, and that's when she decided enough was enough as she was sick of hiding the underhanded dealings of the company she worked for.

She became a whistleblower to a very dangerous deal going down in UC territory that would have affected FS too, she had to go into protective custody and become a miner, as part of her cover. She was able to let her parents know she'd find them, once the UC could clear her name. Years pass and she moved from mining company to mining company under the alias Dusty (as in Dusty Springfield, one of her father's favourite old Earth singers), eventually setting up with Argos.

The day the UC finally told her, her name was clear. That the company she worked for were dust and everyone was in prison, was the day she was told by Lin to collect that anomaly.

Below some more pics of my girl, inc her wedding day, the new family Coe and a pic of the entire Constellation team together.

[porygonlover2009]

oh!!! okay! ヾ(≧▽≦*)o i think i have everything all set up! i'll make the coding, like, super duper pretty later but...

hi everyone!!! my name is emilia, but i'd really like it if you guys just call me millie! ヾ(•ω•`)o i'm 15 years old, and i'm an attender of blueberry academy! i've been here for quite a few months now, but you can mostly find me hanging out with the computer club! i have a pretty good league club rank too though, hee~

ヾ(⌐■_■)ノ♪ i'm a, like, super good techy person who's been playing around with it for as long as i can remember! ƪ(˘⌣˘)ʃ my teacher is a really great lady, and she taught me all sorts of things that i've been using to help stress test some security measures, for her and a little for the academy, and along with helping other clubs out with their techy stuff! so if you need any help when anything breaks down? i'm your girl! q(≧▽≦q) hee.

my partner, pory, also helps me with some tech stuff too, but they mostly help me with software i'm trying to develop! ♪(´▽｀) i wanna help good people and pokemon as much as i can, so i wanna keep making things for people--let me know if you ever need anything!

...

um. i think that's good for now!!! (/▽＼) i-i'm not very good at, um. talking. outside of techy stuff. but if you wanna be friends, i'd be really, really happy...!

//ooc info below!! along with the trainer card.

HI EVERYONE, SABLE BACK AT IT AGAIN WITH A BLOG THAT'S. kind of a hot mess. she's one part plot device for ren's plot, and another part a kind of. attempting to play someone who's basically been raised by an evil team! lord help us all but especially me.

anyway, emilia has basically been raised to be a neo flare/noriko loyalist! to sum up her deal basically: after noriko properly established her team, a pair of grunts (who are millie's parents) were basically raising their daughter in preparation for the next world that noriko intends to usher in, noriko looked at the child and said "it's free real estate" and basically took her under her wing and taught her so many computer and hacking skills. and basically paid her tuition to blueberry academy anonymously so she can serve as a mole! ...she's kind of. messed up. she's a very good kid who's what every teacher would call a delight to have in class, but there is a very clear. awkwardness. about her. and a hell of a lot of naivete over the world itself.

so. naturally, she's gonna come with some content warnings that'll come up overtime, but i do all in my power to ensure that they're all tagged: living in a cult-like environment/mindset being the primary one, being raised in isolation, and despite her very loving and caring parents and to a certain extent, the care noriko was willing to provide, her inevitable endgame fate is. going to involve physical violence/abuse from the hands of someone she considers an authority figure. (who is. a terrible, terrible person, we're talking "former rocket who's violent tendencies have only gotten WORSE since joining neo flare" levels of ruthlessness.) this will be treated with the gravity and respect it deserves, and will have a kind of bittersweet ending (but no child death!!!), but that's going to be the worst of it. along with just. general team flare mindset of "destroying the world is great, actually".

anyway standard rules apply!

Player is an adult, character is a minor! Do not send NSFW this girl's way or you will be blocked.

Try not to infomod. She's not going to be forthcoming about her origins because it's supposed to be ~super duper top secret~, but I'd appreciate no godmodding in regards to her.

Along that same line. She is not going to be easily convinced that what's going on and what Noriko has planned is wrong. After the plot happens, though, she'll be infinitely more open to considering that, so please do not be surprised if she's very stubborn or stonewalls your character.

That being said! I will also endeavor to not godmod, given that she is technically going to be a boss for someone to overcome. Her Pokemon are very strong, about the mid-80s range (except for Pory, who's lv. 100), but she is defeatable. Just. Come prepared essentially.

Down to interact with just about anything; if you're uncertain, feel free to ask! Millie's very innocent and also. Very much an idiot savant. She'll believe just about anything.

This blog is going to be pretty high stakes, especially as Ren's (@/eartheats) plot gets under way, just as a fair warning.

If you don't wanna interact with Millie, please feel free to tell me and I shall respect your wishes. o/

[sappho-favourite-pupil]

#SERIOUSPOST

#tw: bullying, mentions of violence and someone dying because of cancer

I'm italian, i've only ever attended italian schools, but i think this is an issue that goes beyond nationality: how scholastic istitutions and professors refuse too often to deal with bullying, and more precisely to punish such behaviour.

I have a particular form of disability, because of that i "had" to undergo a few surgeries and stuff, but, yk, i learned to live with it. The issue was that, during the whole three years of middle school, i had two or three classmates that kept bothering me. it was an everyday thing, constant bullying and mocking me and stuff, altrough it was never really anything physical. I tried to ignore it, because that's what they tell you, right? "They will stop, if you ignore them". Well, they didn't.

And it's not like our professors didn't see what was going on, i know for sure they did, i even told them what was going on and asked them to do something about it. They didn't. I mean, they did talk with my classmates for like five minutes about their behaviour, but it was useless, nothing changed. And that's it. None of my professors felt like doing something more, despite knowing and seeing the situation didn't get better.

My third year of middle school was almost over, and by that time i got used to it, it became normal to go to school every day and have to endure all of that (thank godness i also had very good friends). But then my grandmother died of lung cancer, and i was not even 13 yet, and to see her die like that infuriated me, because she didn't deserve it and because if only we had discovered the cancer earlier maybe she could have been saved.

I just came back to school after the funeral and one of those dudes came up to me, and started his bullying like he always did. Honestly, i don't think he said anything particural or much more offensive than the usual, but that was the moment i lost my shit. I basically broke his nose, without getting into graphic details, and told him, more or less, that he'd better stop or i would have broken one of his arms next time.

I got suspended for a few days, as a punishment. And, don't get me wrong, i totally deserved that. I felt so bad for what i've done, mainly because i despise violence and i've always considered it unacceptable (except when it comes to self defence).

But then, the situation also angered me. I mean, everyone just decided to "play dumb", and pretend i had a random fit of anger and decided to hurt an innocent boy, while completely ignoring every horrible behaviour i had to endure for years from him and his friends.

And, i'm not gonna lie, during the following years i've noticed clearly that this bullying had affected me deeply, much more than i thought while i was still in middle school. The worst thing that this experience taught young me is that i can't trust people, and that even if i ask them to, they won't move a single finger to help me. After seven years, i'm still struggling and trying to unlearn these concepts.

Teachers who don't address the problem of bullying, are teaching kids they can't rely on the adults in their lives, and that are living in a society that is fast to cluelessly judge them but not willing to aid them if they ask for help.

[mercyluvsyouuu]

I doubt she remembers this but one time my mom was grabbing something from the bathroom and my cat was sitting in the windowsill of said bathroom. I was in my bedroom which is close by to the bathroom and I heard her say "it's a big world out there, isn't it kitty?" And. I have no idea why but that stuck with me. I have so many moments like this

Another time my brother and I were sitting next to each other on a plane. I had gathered up the courage to show him my poetry and I was so worried about him disliking it I forgot about the message of what I even wrote. I anxiously asked him if he thought it was good and he only shrugged at me. "It's not a matter of whether or not I like it. It's yours, and you had enough pride in it to show me how you feel. If you were to tell someone how you were feeling, you wouldn't ask if they /liked/ how you felt, would you?" Or something along those lines. It stuck with me. He does stuff like that a lot without even realizing it

Another time I was sitting outside of the house I used to live in (Which was a trailer park), and one of my neighbors who I knew quite well came up to me and stood next to me for a second. He then looked down at me and said "you have the eyes of someone special. Please don't let anyone take that away from you. You are yours to keep" and even if he was high out of his mind when he said that (he was known to smoke pot which, I had no problem with) it still stays with me

In that same trailer park I had even more neighbors, a sweet old couple. I used to have a pet lizard and I helped the old lady get over her fear of them. That same lady taught me how fo crochet and let me show her gravity falls. The man would tell me stories about his youth and the band he was in. I always heard him playing drums since he lived right next to me and, he even tried to teach me how. I didn't get very far but it's not because he was a bad teacher. I will always always remember them

Everything I've ever written or done is all for them, really

[spinobsessed]

That One Teacher

Im pretty sure that we’ve all had that one teacher that totally changed our lives, here’s mine

I had a teacher who changed my life in 3rd-5th grade, she was amazing and so comforting to me as a kid. Her hugs made me feel warm and fuzzy inside, a feeling I’ve been yearning for since I went to middle school, and she inspired me to want to be a teacher. I always thought I’d grow up, get a degree in teaching, and then become her assistant teacher. Child-me never thought that she’d move away, I was so heartbroken when I found out. I was in 6th grade and a while into the lockdown, I was mostly upset that I never got to say goodbye. Now she’s in Virginia and married with the bf she used to tell us abt, I wonder if she ever thinks abt me like how I sometimes think abt her. I was so attached to her too. I was the only kid allowed to sit next to her at the front of the class while she taught (whenever others tried to sit there too the other kid and I would be distracting), I would happily be at her side whenever I could, we’d sometimes sit and talk about stuff, she gave me fidgets (I was a very fidgety kid. I had like 3 and usually you just borrow them then put them back, but I was allowed to keep mine. I chewed on them) and ofc I was always hugging her. If I wasn’t hugging someone else then I was hugging her. Once we went on a field trip and I tried to touch foreheads with her bc I saw it as an act of affection on TV but she asked “what are you doing?” And I was so embarrassed I didn’t even look at her for the rest of the field trip. On the last day of 5th grade she gave me a big hug and told me that she knew I was scared to leave elementary school, tbh I don’t think I was fully paying attention bc I remember looking down her shirt and then back up at her face. I think I had a crush on her lol

[harleiquina]

"May siblings be together, for that is the first law. May their union be true in anytime, because if they fight each other they'll be devoured by those outside" (José Hernández, "Martín Fierro").

So, today I found out that there was going to be a picket to support the WGA strike in my country (Argentina) and relatively close home. I wish I knew it sooner, I would've liked to join... but

I'm not a guild member (reason why I never received any kind of news about it) because...

Technically I'm not a writer (a professional, I mean. The ones that get paid to write) which leads me to...

I have a job that I hate and I can't just skip a random day because...

Even If they pay me very little, I am the breadwinner at home and every little cent counts... since...

My country's economy is a bloody mess that could be solved in over 50 years, if we are lucky.

So, here I am, making a post in solidarity to the Strike while waiting for the calls to start to ring. This might be a lenghty (and personal) one.

My journey into writing:

It was hard to answer the old question "what do you want to be when you grow up?" as a child because I wanted to be everything (except Doctor and Vet. I still don't like the idea of inflicting any kind of pain to heal someone -yes, I do know that anesthesia is a thing but it does wear off, did you know that? And painkillers too!).

At school I absolutely hated writing as homework, however I always ended up telling stories (my grandfather's folk tales) in the schoolbus for a limited audience. It wasn't until 7th grade that I realized that I was able to have original ideas and put them on paper... then I started to love writing and I would put my best effort into it. Yes, those were silly little stories usually prompted by whatever paragraph or sentence our teacher gave us (twice my aunts laughed at something I was proud of and I won't lie, it did hurt back then. Probably I would laugh now too). Still, coming up with something new was exciting.

In my senior year of Highschool I had "Applied writing" a subject that, supposedly, was there to teach us how to make our resumes, formal letters and other stuff that is "useful" in the work place or life itself. But that's not what I've learned.

I had Marcela Bullentini as my teacher. Someone that was quite scary with her desire for us to speak properly (eliminating the 'sh' sound from our bonaerense accent that changes words like "lluvia" -rain- to make it sound "shuvia", or our usual "perdón" -forgive me- instead of "lo siento" -I'm sorry- EVERYTIME she would answer with a mighty "only God forgives" to remind us that we were using the wrong term). After a few months of trying not to get on her bad side, I started to like her because I could tell that she loved writing and reading. And that's why she never gave us those boring lessons the other classroom's teacher (and school Principal, mind you) gave her students. She taught us the basics tools to write news, anecdotes, opinions and scripts for audio-drama (podcasts weren't a thing in 2009) and even TV (we did had to shoot a short film by the end of the year. Yes mine does suck). She is the reason why I considerated making a living out of writing. When the school year was coming to an end and it was time to enroll in College or the University and my classmates would ask "what are you going to study?" I answered them "I would like to be a Movie Director or Script writer". Guess what was their response... "Why?" usually followed by "that's too easy"

Too easy.

Too easy? How come? Why the Arts are "easy"? Why do you think that your dream of becoming a Sport's Journalist is better than mine wanting to tell stories? You'll still have to write something, you idiot!

Still, I did not followed my passion because making a living off the Arts is quite hard in here. You have to know someone who can "get you in" or beeing a professional boot-licker or work in the worst things ever, beeing completely stepped over and then you might ✨️MIGHT✨️ have a chance to do something true to yourself. And I wanted to be the argentinean Tim Burton, I knew nobody would've backed me up. So my aunt gave me an idea "why don't you try with Advertising? Many movie directors and writers began with Ads". So... off I went to Advertising School.

For those of you that don't know, Advertising is divided in 3 major branches: Accounting (the bridge between the Clients and the Agency), Media (the ones in charge of the budget and with the contacts to publish/play the ads everywhere) and Creativity (the ones that make the ads). I belong to the 3rd group and guess what? We're still thought off as an afterthought... as if making or writing for an ads campaing is something that is "easy", something that anybody can do. That we, the creatives, are just lazy people that every now and then receive a task, like anybody else would toss a bone to a dog, to "do something". To be fair, since I've never worked at an Agency I do not know if this kind of behaviour is present in them too... but all my classmates had this attitude and if they were meant to be the future of this profession, then I'm better off doing anything else but working as a Copywriter.

So here I am today, working as an Over the Phone Interpreter with over 20 stories locked in my head (and scribbled across many notepads and documents in my PC), too tired to write after work and trying not to sit on the computer on my free time because I spend the whole day, 5 days a week sitting in front of it. Still, sometimes I do get things done. My brain doesn't stop just because I have no time or because I'm tired. I know I'll get things done... eventually.

But Laurita, what does this have to do with anything?

This is my blog, I write what I want.

Context was needed.

As I said the whole "writing stories isn't serious enough" "it's too easy" "you can do something better" has been plaguing my life since day one. I was even able to see a glimpse of my favourite teacher's hopes and dreams for me crash in his eyes when I told him that I was studying to become an Advertising Creative. (I'm pretty sure all my teachers thought I would become one of them, or a doctor, or a lawyer, maybe even a scientist).

People!... Telling stories is important!

I dare to say that ours is the oldest profession (not the other one 😏) because whenever a lesson had to be taught, or something needed explanation, there was someone ready to tell a story about it.

Telling stories was never just entertainment. People seems to forget that even the silliest fairytale was meant to leave something behind with their audience. For ages my family and I wondered about the Magic Fish, a russian folckloric tale (a very lazy young man goes fishing in the ice for once in his life and catches the magic fish that promises that if he lets him go, he'll grant any wish he has. The guy ends up living in a palace made of gold and marrying a princess) and then it hit me: it was not the story itself... but the posibility of making many kids go fishing in the ice hoping to catch the Magical Fish that will grant them any wish. Well done, slavic people, well done 👏🏻👏🏻

I do not understand the constant dissmissal of our craft. Well... yes I do. People think it is easy because we make it easy for them. What's the point of creating something inaccessible? Why would anybody need to have a Post Doctorate in whatever field to understand a comic, a joke or a novel? We turn dozens (if not hundreds) of different concepts that fly through our minds into something understandable to anybody.

I watch Cinema Therapy where both hosts analize the psychology behind stories and characters. It is all in plain sight, we all know that Indiana Jones is resiliant, that Aragorn is a non-toxic man... but do you know how my family reacts when I tell them about any of their videos? "Isn't that reading too much into things? It's just a story, it's fantasy!"

It is a story, it is fantasy... but in order for it to work it has to be grounded in reality. Otherwise no-one would feel a thing for any of them!

And who does the dirty work? We do. We have to come up with real non-existent people so their fantastical escape is a good one. One that will make them forget their worries, one that might break their heart in a thousand pieces but carefully put it back with the warmest and stickyest-sweet glue you can find.

Oh! You know who killed the victim before the detective? That's because we feed you the clues so you can participate too.

Whenever my teammates in college had a "creativity attack" and started shooting ideas for ads, I'd step in to tell them why it would be impossible for us to use them (or at least why they didn't worked at all). They would get angry, of course, so I'd suggest them to do it themselves and what was their answer? "You do it, you are the creative one" So you make up your mind, buddy, either you trust me or not. You cannot have it both ways.

People doesn't realise the power that we hold, they think that we just come up with anything off of thin air. They ignore our investigations, how we observe the world and learn from it. They ignore our minds but get surprised even with the most obvious plot-twist (as it happened to mom, I told her something that was going to happen on her soap opera -so the bar was very low- and when it did happened she was like "how did you know?" I was tempted of answering with a "I'm a writer, I see what they are doing" but I just said "because it was obvious" If I actually tried to explain to her how I came up with that she would've thought that I needed help 😵‍💫). We accumulate knowledge like a dragon hoards gold. Anything is useful, anyone is useful. Don't make us turn you into a villan for our book or movie.

But still... we always get short-handed, stepped on, underappreciated.

We are the weirdos, the ones that live with their heads in the clouds, the "lazy" ones that spend their whole day on the computer "doing nothing" and can't close deals or use brute strenght to do their job. The ones that make up imaginary things hence things that have no value.

We know that it's not true. We know that we deserve better.

We had enough of that.

That's why we strike.