#he has the audacity to think hes a normal person

[litnerdwrites]

This can't be seen as anything but racist to me.

We know three things about Illyrians based on what the IC have said in the books:

They are violent Misogynists, to the point where they believe mutilating women is supposed to be completely normal.

They are a warrior race who value status & bloodlines more than anything, happily throwing away and abusing those bastards and those considered weak.

They're super stubborn about the aforementioned points.

Nothing about the 'rich culture' that Illyria supposedly has. How does that make Rhys comparing Nesta to an Illyrian, especially as a woman, anything but insulting. It very much gives the same vibe as somebody insulting you, and then laughing it off because it's 'just a joke' even if it hurts you, putting you in an awkward position where your feelings are undermined but it's hard to speak up without seeming like you're making a mountain out of a molehill.

As things stand, all signs point to Rhys & Co. Not liking Illyrians. I'd argue that they outright hate Illyrians. So how could any comparison made between Nesta and an Illyrian be anything but an insult?

It's also unbelievably racist. The IC happily make comments about how terrible Illyria is and how it's cold and miserable. Mor says it right as they're walking through Illyria, so clearly they don't try to hide their distaste. The lack of Illyrian women in the library is also concerning, given that they're well aware of the treatment of women there, and in the HC. Why is that? Rhys is The Most Powerful High Lord, he could bring women to the library no problem, using his authority to overrule the Illyrians and save them, but doesn't. Why? Is maintaining an army worth the suffering of thousands? What about the orphans and bastards who are left with nothing? Or the children beaten regularly? Could he not do anything about that? Build more shelters, help provide more food, and other goods through trade?

Speaking of oppressed women, when Rhys compared Nesta to Illyrians, was he comparing to the oppressed women who are mutilated and abused regularly? Or the abusers who regularly mutilate and abuse women? Cause I have a feeling I know which and yet people still argue that Nesta 'should be grateful to him' and 'has said worse'.

Also, just generally, comparing a person you don't like or who you feel has wronged you, to an entire race of people you speak only negatively about, is racist. Especially when the original person isn't part of that race, like who tf do you think you are?

Even if Rhys did, hypothetically, mean it as a compliment, that doesn't make it any less racist or messed up. It means he has to reevaluate his view on the Illyrians, and learn more about them before ever speaking about/on behalf of them again.

Finally, let's talk about the 'she has no excuse' line.

First off, Nesta is having a very valid and common trauma response. One that I'm sure would be common in Illyria given how the Illyrians are a warrior race, and war is, well, traumatising. Veterans with ptsd, children being turned into soldiers, or beaten for having the audacity to be born with a uterus, families grieving the loss of mothers, fathers, daughters, wives, husbands, cousins, sons, sisters, brothers, friends, aunts, etc. Illyria, based on what we know, is probably ripe with traumatised people, and alcoholism, gambling and sex are some of the most common coping mechanisms for trauma. So what do you mean no excuse? Not even just Illyrian, but many people struggle with.

But, at the end of the day, a person's skin color has no bearing on what's an 'acceptable' form of coping. Suffering is suffering. Trauma is trauma. As things stood, the entirety of the IC were so unbelievably lucky that Nesta hadn't committed suicide, even by that point. Thinking of the potential suicides in both the HC and Illyria is actually terrifying, given the amount of trauma that the people from either location have to endure.

It makes you wonder what Mr. mental-health-matters-and-your-trauma-is-valid-Rhysand does to help the Illyrians to cope with their trauma? What resources do they have? Is there a library for them? What about a counselor, like the priestesses have? What about in the HC? What about the toxic masculinity that pressures boys into being strong soldiers, and abuse women? Being taught that they're there for domestic labour and child bearing, and nothing more?

Do you know what it feels like to be suffering in your own head, to the point you're contemplating an early grave, feeling alone, and unworthy of even the slightest affection or help, and everyone in your life just confirms your worst fears? Do you know how it feels to want to scream at the top of your lungs that everything from waking up to drinking water feels like the most difficult, painful thing you've ever done? Do you know how it feels when everyone tells you how much they love you, and want you to be happy, only to hate yourself even more when you can barely muster a smile for their sake, and all you can do in their presence is disassociate and try not to fall apart, as you hear your father's murder over and over again in your head?

Do you know what it feels like to be reminded time and time again how great you have it, and to be thankful, and that you should be happy for your life, and for the sake of others, and that it'll be better once you conform, and push everything down and let the world see you as a happy smiley person even if it kills you? Or what about when you're ridiculed, and insulted and spoken down to for the way you cope, the only thing keeping you alive? To never be able to let anyone see that part of you that's dying, because they care more about coping 'the right way' and appearances than you're wellbeing, is the most suffocating, lonely experience you could imagine.

If Nesta had conformed and interacted with the IC the way they wanted her to, I wholeheartedly believe she'd've been dead within a week. This is what Nesta's enduring, and the so called feminist, pro mental health, anti misogynist 'king' is saying things like that?

Seriously, it's such a small line, but it points to so many issues that people just refuse to acknowledge. It just comes off as Rhys being a misogynist who victim blames anyone who doesn't keep up appearances with him and his band of clowns and psychos.

thinking about the time rhysand said “nesta is… she’s illyrian. I mean that as a compliment, but she’s an illyrian at heart. so there is no excuse for her behavior.”

and that behavior is... playing cards at seedy taverns while spending the money rhysand owes her? if she's an illyrian at heart then maybe he'd prefer she go on a rampage and slaughter an entire village? rhys trying to pass this off as a compliment is also ridiculous because everything sjm has written about illyrians paints them as savage, violent monsters with bigoted/misogynistic beliefs. he is so foul for this

[lamb-bait]

I realized something about myself sooner than my parents did, sooner than my friends did, and sooner than anyone I managed to lie through my teeth and convince to love me.

I was a wolf.

Selfish, jealous, vile. The mask I wore to comfort those around me, the tendencies I had when I saw something or someone wanted - all those years of repressed urges. It's hard. I was born in the wrong century, the wrong millenia, the wrong era. Imagine if I could just take what I wanted? If bashing in someone's skull was an action people looked up at, all these violent and disgusting desires weren't socially frowned upon.

Thankfully, tumblr has been a lovely faucet to expell my thoughts. To share some things before I imploded. Even if my physical, innate horrid nature was left unattended, and my emotional capacity was shallow to hear empty, feeling my heart race and obtaining a genuine and pure emotion for someone other than myself - through rape, father figured smut and vile fantasies - felt as though my mask was finally off. Chasing something I don't deserve, something I can never have. lying to myself, convincing myself that it was possible. yeah right. as if.

my ranting aside, today's topic is about emotional selfishness.

I often claim that I'm obsessive and possessive, and while that's true, it only happens once I make a connection to someone. An emotional one. Expressing weaknesses, smiling at the messages, longing for the painful distance of someone who finally understands me for who I am. A creep putting on the front of a polite, somewhat normal guy who wants to be loved for the person he doesn't have the audacity to present to the world. I urge people to get close to me, I tease and smile and laugh, I worry and comfort, I ask them to tell me their secrets, their concerns, their lives - while holding every part of me back. Would they waste their time with me if they knew what I was? If they knew that my fantasies and desires were innate and not just built off of things I saw online? Could I truly take off the mask and still be accepted? Or, present myself as the engima and play along with that concept until they find someone else to make them feel the same way I once did? Can I handle watching someone I've grown attached to slowly drift away? The sick and twisted thing I call my heart, has it always been that fragile? It must have. The single most thing I despise being done to me, was easier to do to others.

I understand, more than what anyone may think I do about the fear of abandonment. And, it's one of the greatest hurdles I hope to jump through one of these days. But, I really need to put an end to dumping my insecurities online - but hey, it's my blog. I'm sure you'll get a more vile post later tonight. Until then,

With love, lust and everything inbetween,

Shepard

[sarachidouinsbae]

wilsons such a freak why does he think its okay to propose at a wedding FREAK!!!!!!!!

[starrbucky]

.

[fingertipsmp3]

My grandma really came here just to complain about her neighbour

[seumyo]

BAKUGOU KATSUKI ✰ 6:34

do u want to celebrate your bday, mr. great explosion murder god dynamight

Bakugou stared at your message for a while. He sits by his study desk, supposedly taking a break from his homework. His brows are contorted to one of contemplation, a pout on his lips as he types in his reply—rather quickly, too.

hell no

(ꃋᴖꃋ)

He shook his head. Bakugou turns off his phone and sets it to the side. 

If anything, he hates and genuinely gets upset with surprises, especially when celebrating his birthday. He doesn’t get it; why people celebrate another year closer to death. When he was younger, he remembered loving the attention, the gifts, and the praise. 

But now that he’s older, he’d much rather just spend time by himself. Maybe cook himself a dish or two to celebrate, but that’s it. He doesn’t need anything grand—not anymore, at the very least.

Then again, why would you be asking him a question like that as if you weren’t on the other side of Japan? He thinks it’s childish; besides, celebrating his birthday is a complete waste of time. He’s a hero-in-training, and so are you, so he’d rather use that time of celebration to either train or study (and he has the audacity to call other people nerds).

Bakugou decides to go to school earlier than normal because he doesn’t want to give those idiots (his classmates) time to even prepare for a surprise party (yes, Kaminari’s horrible at whispering and keeping secrets) for him in the dorms (and also the classroom; it just slipped from the tip of Kirishima’s tongue).

A hand holds onto his shoulder, and by instinct, he moves away from the contact and turns to the person with a scowl. If he weren’t alert, he would’ve blown said person to bits, and yet the moment he hears that familiar laugh, all raised defenses are lowered and his tense shoulders relax.

“What the fuck?”

“Surprise! I knew you’d come to school early,” you greet him with a bear hug. Bakugou scowls as he tries to push you away.

“Kats, I missed you so much! It’s been forever since we last saw each other—”

“How the hell did you get here?”

You grinned, ignoring his non-serious threats of exploding you to the skies. “Come on, Grouchy. I don’t have much time, y’know?” You dragged Bakugou toward one of the private lounge areas within the grounds of U.A., and he’s surprised you knew how to navigate your way around the campus. “Don’t worry, I asked for a bit of help from Midoriya since he’s the only one I know aside from you that goes to this school.”

“That damned—”

“Don’t get mad at him! Getting mad would make you wrinkle quicker, and don’t furrow your brows; I think I’m seeing wrinkled lines in your forehead.”

“You—”

“There’s no time for scolding me, Kats!” You held up a bento cake to him. 

He notices the two little boxes of what he assumed would be his presents behind you and the lighter you used to light up the candle. He thinks it’s wasteful when he could’ve just lit it up himself with his Quirk. Then again, he couldn’t really do anything anymore because what’s done is done.

The cake itself was thoughtful. Frosted with light orange frosting, decked out with what he assumed were mini explosions made out of fondant at the sides and a little lettering that said, “hbd dynamight,” with a little spark of red, orange, and black at the end of the sentence. 

Bakugou looks back on it, and the realization dawns on him.

This is the first time someone—aside from his parents—made the effort to give him a cake for his birthday. 

“Do you want me to sing happy birthday?” You ask when he doesn’t immediately blow out the candle.

“Fuck, no.” He rolled his eyes and took a moment before doing so.

“You didn’t have to do all this, nerd.”

“But I wanted to.”

That made Bakugou smile, even if it was only a little. “Thanks.”

“You’re seventeen now, and that is one year older than being a senior citizen,” he chuckled, “and as always, don’t smoke, drink, or do anything that would get your hero license revoked. Lessen the frown and turn it upside down; remember that I’m an awesome friend for remembering your favorite cake flavor even if you don’t eat it often—and finally, happy birthday, Kats.”

His heart is beating too quickly as he tries to play it cool by nodding to everything you said. He’s missed this, though he’d rather die than tell you that, knowing damn well you would never let him live it down.

“Whatever, you sap.” Bakugou stuck out his tongue, and you did as well.

“Well— shit, I have to go before I miss the next train.”

“Don’t have morning classes, then? Shiketsu’s a four-hour commute from here.”

“Uh huh. Remember—”

“Yeah, yeah. Cake goes in the fridge if I don’t want to eat it, and send you a video of me opening your gift. I hope it’s not ass, like last year’s mug with our picture on it.”

“Hey–! It was a very good picture,” you replied. “I have one too, just so you know,” you chuckled after finishing packing everything up. “Because it’s cool to match mugs. Really good way to strengthen our relationship. It makes you think of me whenever you have your morning coffee or tea.”

He snorts. “As if, nerd.”

Bakugou watches you leave, but not before seeing you stumble against your feet, which made him cackle obnoxiously at your misery. With the bento cake and gifts in either of his hands, he thinks this is one of his best birthdays yet. And spending it with you, even if it were only for a short moment, is surprisingly fulfilling.

He may start to enjoy surprises if they were this pleasant.

Now he just has to worry about getting back to the dorms without being seen by any of the idiots that would pester him about where he got his cake and gifts from.

SEUMYO © 2024, PLEASE DO NOT REPOST, PLAGIARIZE, MODIFY OR TRANSLATE.

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。the dictionary definition of a rich boy

synopsis. that rich guy who won’t stop asking you out is your partner for this project—send help

contents. pre dating rich boy! gojo, college! au, implications of a zenin being pushy on the first date, satoru being distraught you went on a date lol, pre relationship shenanigans with the cutest loser boy !!

word count. 3.8k (it’s literally all just him being a handful)

notes. thank you niku my most cherished gojo stan for comming this (and giving me the most ridiculous tip) i adore you so much :,) mwah 💋

he’s late—gojo is late. in fact, he’s very late, by forty-five minutes and thirty-two seconds to be exact. you aren’t really the count-by-the-second type of person, but somehow when it comes to that irritating, smug, too-talkative brat that you’re stuck with…well, you can’t help but be petty and use the seconds against him too.

he shows up close to an hour after your agreed time, waltzing in with a grin on his face—and, oh, you should kill him. he has the audacity to send you a wink when he walks over, coming up to your table and pushing his sunglasses down his nose just a bit to look you in the eyes over the lenses. 

what kind of person wears sunglasses indoors? surely only the kind that are nothing but trouble.

“aw, you’re here already,” gojo hums, “that excited to see me?”

“you’re late,” you spit.

“am i? i could have sworn—”

“now it’ll get dark by the time we get through what we planned for today,” you glare. he looks enthused, positively delighted by the statement—it’s almost as if you’ve offered him candy. 

“well, then i’ll just have to walk you to your apartment,” he offers smoothly. 

what a jackass. of course, just as expected, he’s still attempting to worm his way into your personal life (and likely your pants) in the most obnoxious of ways. over your dead body, however, will you ever allow him to know where you live, let alone accompany you on the way. you value your sanity, and having a conversation with gojo satoru longer than you absolutely have to seems like the most efficient way to fry every nerve and brain cell you have left.

“absolutely not,” you grit, “you can call me an uber. you pay.”

“alright,” he nods, “i’ll get an uber for you. but i’ll need your number to make sure you made it home safe. otherwise, what kind of partner would i be?”

typically, any normal pair of partners are meant to exchange numbers for a project—it would be the easiest form of communication, and more importantly, you can spam call if gojo decides not to carry his weight instead of just hoping and praying he checks his socials. but you can’t let him have your number—he’s not trustworthy enough for that. the last thing you need is him bombarding you with texts, or worse: calls, in the middle of work and class. so instead, you strictly inform him that any and all communication will occur via social media.

he pouts at that—it’s a cute pout, you have to admit. it’s slightly dangerous, too, because had you not had the self-control you do, you might have caved. but then he lights up at the prospect of you adding him back on socials. 

i’ll get your number one of these days, he says confidently. his confidence is as aggravating as the way he clicks his pen in the middle of class. he still chooses to sit right beside you despite all the free and very available seats the entirety of the lecture hall has. 

but no, he insists on sitting right next to you—and you? well, you have to hope you don’t get charged with homicide by the end of every class from the constant clicking he makes you endure. despite all that, gojo is surprisingly smart, which means your project might not be so doomed. 

he’s annoyingly smart, actually—he never takes notes, and just when you think the professor has him cornered by asking him a question when he’s seemingly dozing off, he answers immediately with the correct answer. 

you hate him.

“absolutely not happening,” you grumble, opening your laptop, “anyway i think we should start with—”

“well, i hate to inform you,” he sighs sadly as if it genuinely pains him to say this, “but i’ve actually deleted all my socials.”

“what?” your eye twitches.

“yeah,” he nods, “it’s a bit of a cleanse if you will. staring at your screen all day and finding value in fake posts is not good for mental health, you know? i’m trying to be more in tune with myself. it’s been a real self-journey.”

before the end of this project, you might either be a college dropout or an inmate at the county jail. you’re not sure, either is equally as possible.

“gojo satoru, i am sick of your games,” you spit, “we both know—”

“and i would hate not being in touch with my partner since it’s a crucial part of this project for us to work together,” he hums, something of a smug look plastered on his aggravatingly gorgeous face, “that thirty percent deduction for ineffective partner communication would be such a shame to get when we’re working so hard already on this, wouldn’t you agree?”

is he threatening you? for your number? with your grade? he is, you realize—and you clench your fist tightly around the phone in your hands as he eyes it with a knowing look on his face. he has you right where he wants you, whether you like it or not.

“you’re an asshole,” you spit.

“i’m a mental health advocate,” he gasps—he has the nerve to act offended, even as he’s so obviously enjoying working you up like this. you wish he’d drop dead immediately. maybe you could take his card from his wallet as his cold body lays lifeless on the table and order yourself a new laptop if he did—that would be ideal. 

“i saw you post on your story last night—”

“you didn’t watch it,” he pouts, “i posted a shirtless gym selfie just for you—wait a second, you pay attention to my story, huh?” he cuts himself off with a smirk, wiggling his eyebrows at you, “c’mon, you don’t have to force yourself to skip them. you know you wanna watch them.”

“no, i don’t,” you seethe, “it was just the first one at the top. stop being self-important—”

“anyway,” he drawls, eyeing your phone again. you want to splash your coffee in his face. “i’ll need your number,” he sniffs, “the crushing disappointment of you skipping my story made me realize i’m too focused on getting social media validation, so i’m taking a break. it’s the best thing for me to do in my headspace right now. hope you understand.”

“are you kidding me?” you stare at him. he grins before shaking his head.

“i would never joke about mental health,” he says seriously—it’s not as serious as your desire to slap him, however.

“fine,” you take a long, slow sip of your coffee to calm down, “give me your phone.”

“oh, you’re gonna set your own contact?” he brightens, immediately handing you his phone. it’s brand new—the newest model, in fact. it’s barely been a few days since it dropped. truthfully, you’re not even sure why you’re shocked—of course, he, of all people, would upgrade immediately. “how intimate,” he gushes, “it’s almost like we’re going on a date—”

“do not text me outside of project purposes,” you interrupt, thrusting the phone back into his hands, “got it?”

“you got it,” he grins triumphantly.

—————

like all things he does, gojo finds a roundabout way to keep his word without actually keeping it. it’s his secret talent, you think—finding loopholes through all the technicalities of things.

hey when ur free can u read over my portion? i just finished

btw r u going to that frat party this wknd? u don’t seem the party type haha but u should come 

i’ll introduce u to suguru! he’s my best friend he’s super nice u’ll like him

oh and when do u wanna meet this week? promise i’ll be on time this time ;)

you make sure to only respond to the questions regarding your project—just because he technically kept his word and started the conversation centered around the project before getting off topic doesn’t mean you have to indulge him. and the way he types is infuriatingly annoying—who shortens every possible word like that? only him, you think.

okay, maybe you’re just nitpicking now, but every time you see his name pop up on your screen, your mood sours tenfold. you decide to answer as dryly as possible.

k i’ll look. we meet same time as last.

the period at the end should add the perfect touch—you grin to yourself in pride at that one. instantly, bubbles pop up and indicate he’s typing again. your smile very quickly drops.

wow ur a rly dry texter aren’t u?

that’s ok i don’t judge

so how bout the party? 

i can be ur escort ;) 

it’ll be fun!

from his side of the screen, gojo watches as your contact shows notifications silenced at the bottom. he pouts to himself—no party, then, he thinks.

—————

gojo satoru, the guy who seemingly has everything he could ever want, likes you. 

frankly, he’s not really sure why—at first, he finds you mildly amusing, and he thinks it’d be fun to have a short fling with you perhaps. somewhere along the line, however, that changes. he watches you dedicatedly take notes in class, no matter how tired you seem from work the night before. he notices the way you chew on your bottom lip when you’re really focused—it’s actually very cute, he thinks. and he’s entertained by the way you always have some smart little retort waiting on your tongue. you’re not boring—and more than anything, you leave him a little humbled. it’s refreshing, and he kind of likes it, if he’s being completely honest.

he’s never liked anyone before—it’s a weird feeling. at best, he’s had a crush where he could appreciate that someone is generally pleasing to the eye and has a personality that might mesh well with his, but he’s never yearned for someone before. 

it just so happens to be his luck that the same person he wants more than anything in the entire world (for the first time ever, too) seems to hate his guts. it also happens to be that the same person he wants more than anything is currently getting asked out by some kid from the zenin family. right in front of him. and you’re saying yes. 

why on earth would you say yes to a zenin of all people? don’t you value yourself? 

gojo can admit that he’s had his fair share of heart robbing and tear inducing moments—he’s not exactly someone with the best track record for commitment, but at least he doesn’t use people for his own benefit. plus, he does, in fact, actually plan on committing to you. that zenin boy most certainly can’t be any good news if he’s anything like naoya, who gojo has met on a multitude of occasions, and knows very well is a scoundrel of a guy. 

“see you at nine?” he hears the zenin (what was his name again?) ask you. you nod, smiling sweetly. 

why don’t you smile sweetly at him like that? he buys you coffee every week. sure, he only gets to buy you the coffee because you have no choice but to meet him for the project, but he even offers to get you a slice of cake—you don’t ever accept, though, so he ends up eating both. but you do like coffee, very strong coffee that’s probably not sweet enough for his liking, but you enjoy the coffee he buys you nonetheless, and that has to count for something.

“sure, see you at nine,” you hum.

gojo watches in absolute shock (and abject horror) as you look down shyly. as soon as the zenin boy walks away, he stomps up to you.

“hey, what gives?” he asks petulantly, making your face paint on that irritated look that it always seems to adopt when he’s in the vicinity—how rude.

“what do you mean?” you ask tiredly, “i don’t speak toddler, so please use your words—”

“why’d you say yes to that zenin boy—”

“he has a name. it’s—”

“who cares what his name is? he’s an asshole! he won’t treat you right even if his mother’s life is on the line—”

“oh, and you would?” you raise an eyebrow, glaring at him. how is it his place to tell you who’d treat you right and who wouldn’t? how is it his place to even care?

“i would,” he gasps at the accusation, “you’d date a zenin but not me? how come?”

“because you’re annoying,” you counter like it’s obvious.

okay, now that is technically fair—gojo has heard his fair share of you’re annoying’s from people in his life. in fact, a good amount of them come from his own mother, but he’s also dashingly handsome, very good in bed, has soft hair, is tall and muscular, can buy you whatever you like, and can be smart and funny too if you really don’t care for those kinds of things. he’s the entire package and more. and more importantly, he’s not from the zenin family, and that automatically means you’ll actually be treated with an ounce of respect.

he looks at you incredulously, feelings a little hurt. “that’s not true! name one annoying thing i’ve done—”

“you laughed in the middle of me speaking in class.”

“that wasn’t at you! suguru showed me something funny on his phone—”

“and you took like twenty minutes in line ordering the most sweetest drink on the menu while i was running late—”

“you can’t use that against me, that’s not fair! i’m a paying customer, i should be able to get whatever i want. plus, it’s technically not my fault you were late.”

“you rubbed in the fact that you had a black card.”

“you mentioned it first!”

“you were late to our first meeting for the project.”

“okay, that was an honest mistake! people are allowed to make those, you know—”

“i don’t want to go out with you,” you say frustratedly, “and it’s really annoying when you act like a spoiled brat that can’t handle the word no and keep on insisting, okay? so leave me alone unless it’s to discuss our project—which weighs fifty-five percent of our grade, by the way, so don’t even think about getting lazy.”

he is not lazy, he wants to argue.

but before he can, you roll your eyes and take a step to walk around him, leaving him there to blink in shock. okay, he thinks with a huff, so you’re playing hard to get. that’s no matter, he’s good at the chase anyway. 

—————

the date doesn’t seem to have gone well. gojo can tell because your eyes are slightly red and puffy, and you’re extra grouchy today in class. your professor seems to have noticed, too, because instead of calling on you today, she calls on gojo extra as a rare show of mercy. 

gojo doesn’t mind—this class is surprisingly easy, and he’s bored half the time anyway. he might as well indulge the uptight professor in an ugly brown pencil skirt and answer her pretentious questions that aren’t as complex as she thinks they are. 

“so,” he finally breaks the silence, “how was your date—”

“if you’re looking for a chance to say i told you so, just get it over with, you jerk,” you grumble. he raises his eyebrows in surprise before both hands go up in surrender.

“i wasn’t,” he says genuinely, “you just…uh…you look upset, is all.”

you hesitate for a short second, gauging his sincerity for a moment before sighing and slumping on the desk, cheek resting on your arm. gojo resists the urge to poke the soft flesh—it’ll probably make you mad, and you’re already in a bad mood. 

“he was…pushy,” you say quietly, “i don’t really believe in taking things far on the first date. he didn’t like that.” instantly, his fists clench tightly, eyeing you from the side carefully, almost in concern. “nothing happened,” you wave off, “but he did make me feel disgusting,” you mutter.

“yeah, well, he is a zenin,” he points out, “they’re…well, my family’s known them for a while. my mom hates them.”

you look over at him in mild interest, raising an eyebrow. “don’t tell me there’s drama in the rich community,” you gasp, “i thought you all just came as one to sip fancy wine and laugh at the poor together.”

he snorts, throwing you a toothy grin that you think for a moment is kind of cute—but that doesn’t mean he’s any different from the rest of the rich folks. someone of gojo satoru’s caliber has no business mixing with someone of yours—it’s common knowledge. gojo has everything he wants, and if he doesn’t, it’s a simple matter of asking before it’s his. there’s simply no way you can mold into his world to be what he needs you to be, and when the time inevitably comes when he realizes you’re not what he wants, well…you’d like to save yourself the wounded pride and crushed soul while you can. 

“sometimes we have fancy appetizers too with the wine,” he jokes, “don’t forget those.”

“oh, my apologies,” you chuckle. gojo likes it when you laugh, he decides. it looks much better than when you’re glum—he thinks seeing your lips quirked in anything other than a smile is a waste of your perfect features, and he can’t have that.

“my mom married my old man in this stupid arranged marriage or something,” he explains casually, like it’s just the norm. you suppose it is—for the rich, at least. you wonder briefly if gojo will have a marriage planned for his future, too, and you wonder if he’s okay with that. surely it’ll be some wealthy and fancy socialite of a girl that fits his family’s standards. someone who’s not you—not that you care anyway, you wouldn’t marry him regardless. “my grandma wanted her to marry the zenin, but she said no. said he treated her like a piece of meat every time they met, so she settled for my dad instead. lucky her, 'cause now i’m her son,” he beams. 

settled—something about the way he says it makes you think his parents must not really care for each other as a husband and wife should. it makes you think briefly about what his childhood might’ve been like, not watching his parents happy and in love the way they should be. but still, the way gojo talks about his mother is fond, with a gentle smile on his face as he recalls the things she’s told him. you can’t help but smile a little too.

“i think that makes you the lucky one,” you snort, “you’d still be her son. just that you’d be a zenin.”

he crinkles his nose at the thought, dramatically shivering and making you giggle. “gross,” he gags.

“well, now you have her to thank,” you hum, “your dad would’ve been…whoever the zenin she was supposed to marry is.”

“yeah, well, trust me,” he mumbles, his smile dropping ever so slightly, “my old man’s not that big of an upgrade from a zenin. even my grandfather’s sick of him. imagine being such a douche, your own dad can’t stand you.”

you’re learning more about gojo in one sitting than you ever imagined (or planned) to learn—part of that is because he seems like he’s the type to overshare on the first meet; the other part…well, you have to be honest with yourself, it’s not exactly a bad pastime hearing him talk about himself. gojo is an odd piece of work, and you can’t say you hate learning about the little pieces that come together to make him so weird. 

okay, perhaps weird is a bit rude, you think—he’s…unique.

“oh, so you’re the dictionary definition of a rich boy, huh?” you hum, resting your cheek on your hand as you sit up and face him—gojo, for a quick moment, feels his heart stutter when you talk to him like that: with your undivided attention like he’s the only one in the room. 

“what makes you say that?”

“daddy issues is like…the first thing in the rich boy starter pack.”

he laughs at that, smooth and almost sweet—it’s a dangerous thing. it’s easy to attract you to him, like a bee to honey, with the way his lips curl like that, showing off his dimples. but the bees can easily turn into maggots—and you don’t want to find yourself as a dead carcass by the end of this.

“i don’t have daddy issues,” he says smoothly, “that old man should sleep with both eyes open. if anything, he has son issues.”

“you’re hands down the oddest person i have ever met,” you mumble.

“what was that? did you say hottest? yeah, i know—”

“shut up, jackass,” you scowl, shoving his shoulder when he leans closer with a bat of his lashes. he laughs, and so do you—and just for one, quick, momentary instance, gojo satoru is not so bad. dangerous and a bad choice maybe, a setup for a big mistake perhaps, something you should stay away from, in fact. 

but not so bad. 

“how about i show you what it’s like to go on a date with a gojo,” he grins, winking easily. he’s persistent—very persistent, you note. “you might like it a lot more than a zenin.”

“no, thank you,” you hold a hand up, “never going to happen.”

“never say never,” he hums, “you might eat your words.”

—————

“hey, satoru?”

“that’s not my name.”

“that actually is your name,” you say tiredly.

“hmph,” satoru rolls over, dramatically tugging the blankets over his body as he shuffles away from you, “not to you, it’s not.” 

you sigh, pursing your lips at his antics. “oh my god. okay—hey, toru?” you correct yourself. and just like that, he turns back around, grinning brightly as he inches closer until his head is resting on your chest.

“yes, baby?” he says sweetly, earning a roll of your eyes as your fingers weave into his hair. it’s soft—you don’t think you ever want to let go.

“it’s way better dating a gojo, by the way,” you murmur, “than a zenin.”

“oh yeah?” he grins smugly, arm draping over your body as he kisses your jaw, “i told you it would be, didn’t i?”

“i haven’t dated other rich families to compare, though,” you tease, “you might get replaced.”

“unlikely,” he chuckles, “no one,” there’s a kiss to your jaw, “will love you,” another kiss to your cheek, “like me.”

finally, there’s a slow, soft kiss to your lips—and when he kisses you like that, you have no choice but to believe him.

satoru sooooo sends multiple texts back to back he just like me for real

[dreamsteddie]

Once Steve and Eddie come out to the broader world, Eddie's floodgates open, and before interviewers can even think to ask about his "long-term partner and love of my life" Eddie starts gabbing about Steve almost as soon as a microphone is put near his face.

At first, Eddie refuses any and all requests to be on talk shows or long-form interviews. Steve himself has no desire to be interviewed ever, and Eddie wants the media hype to die down before he makes any big appearances off the stage. He knows that if he does the conversation will be a glorified investigation into his private life no holds bared.

So Eddie takes the occasional question after a show or on the red carpet but always dominates the conversation and finishes quickly. He's always dropping little tidbits about Steve, even if it's just talking about whether or not he was able to make the show or how handsome he looks in their matching outfits today.

Once the hype dies down and the media vultures aim their beaks at another celebrity, Eddie agrees to do a couple of talk shows with the rest of the band.

Everything is normal. The focus is on their next leg of the tour and the music video they released last week that went viral. Right up until the last three or so minutes when the interviewer asks, kindly, how his boyfriend Stevie is doing.

Stevie.

As in Eddie's Stevie.

The name only Eddie and Robin have ever called him. The name that used to make Steve flush so pretty when they first started drifting together. The name that still makes Steve give him one of those pleased little smiles that make his heart pitter-patter in his chest years later.

Eddie's hackles are immediately raised at the audacity of this stranger to talk about his boyfriend so familiarly. His shoulders rise, eyes narrowing ready to say something scathing when the rest of the band notices and steps in. Jeff drops a not-so-friendly hand on Eddie's shoulder while Freak steps in to very loudly tell a funny story about the last time Steve joined them on the road. Emphasizing "Steve" a little too much as he does.

When Eddie finally gets to stalk off stage he's let himself get worked into a tizzy. Logically, it's not a big deal but Eddie has always been territorial when it came to Steve and has been even more on edge since they came out. The idea of anyone outside of their family acting like they know them, know him, just because he's married to Rockstar Eddie Munson and shows up in the occasional gossip rag makes him so fucking mad.

As soon as he's backstage he's dialing Steve's number, impatiently running one hand through his hair as the phone rings and rings. As soon as he hears the beginning of Steve's standard WASPy "Hello, this is the Harrington-Buckley residence, Steve speaking" greeting Eddie launches into a long rant about "the audacity of media vultures."

Steve doesn't say a word the entire time, just letting Eddie vent out his frustrations. At the end, Steve lets the silence linger for a little bit before speaking.

"Hey babe?"

"Yeah, Stevie?"

"I don't know how to tell you this but you've been referring to me exclusively as 'Stevie' since we came out. I'm pretty sure when we made the announcement you said 'This is my Stevie. He's been my partner for six years.'"

".....what?"

"In fact, I'm sure that's exactly what you said because Robin replaced all my nametags at work with ones that said 'My Stevie' because she has the sense of humor of a middle schooler."

"God fucking damn it!"

They hang up not long after. When Eddie looks up for the first time since he dialed Steve's number he's met with the rest of the band and their personal crew all wearing various faces of exasperation.

Sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck, he rocks on the balls of his feet and says "Sooooooo...I may have overreacted."

----

The next day, despite Eddie's hopes that his outburst wasn't that noticeable, his clearly irate face is the subject of every magazine and gossip rag at the grocery store.

Robin frames her favorite one and gives it to Eddie for his birthday.

[miaoua3]

I Know You…Or Do I?

Pairing: vernon x gn!reader

Genre: fluffiest fluff to ever fluff, a little bit of comedy, first kiss scenario, childhood best friends to lovers (finally)

Synopsis: vernon decides to give you a heart attack and kiss you for the first time.

Note: i always thought that vernon would be such a friends to lovers guy and 2 minus 1 solidified that so here i present to you how i think a first kiss with this guy would go, enjoy!

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

it is clear to anybody who has known vernon for longer than one minute that he’s a bit…on a peculiar side. that wasn’t an insult, but rather a truth acknowledged by a wider audience.

you, of course, knew what was an usual and an unusual behaviour coming from him. this skill didn’t come up all that easily to you, but rather from knowing him since you were but an infant. you both had your mothers to thank for that, considering that their own history goes years beyond your births.

knowing someone for that long of a period is certainly admirable. you’ve always looked up to your mom’s and auntie melody’s friendship, ever since you were a child.

but now, you are an adult yourself, with your own decades long friendship.

you could confidently say that you knew vernon better than the back of your hand. so, as already mentioned, you know what’s usual and unusual for him, even though everything about him is a bit unusual.

for example, for usual behaviours we have his weird thoughts that he would message you at 2am, his weird food combos and his weird way of texting that nobody really gets except you and sofia, his angel sister that you love (sometimes more than him), to name a few.

for unusual behaviours we have the fidgeting when he’s nervous, getting unusually quiet (i mean, sure, he’s more on the quieter side as it is but…there’s just certain times when his quiet is just…off, yknow), trying to hide himself behind you in uncomfortable situations and not answering your messages for longer than 15 minutes.

oh, and kissing you out of the nowhere in your kitchen for the very first time to thank you for getting him his favourite snacks, apparently.

you’re not very sure if this has really happened or if you maybe accidentally did coke and this is just a weird hallucination as a side effect, but it got you so shocked to you just stood there, in your kitchen, with his favourite cookies in hand that you started to unpack and put on a plate before he waltzed in.

see, the reason why this is a really big problem and why it got your heart beating faster than a a racing car is because you have had the biggest crush on your best friend since you were 13. and you did such a good job at hiding your feelings and acting normal around him, even when you wanted nothing more to kiss those plush and soft lips of his.

and now it will all go to waste because how do you go back from this? how do you go back to being his friend now that you know how his lips taste, how soft they are and how much it makes your heart race?

see, you were always under the impression that, other than your friendship, vernon wanted nothing more from you. it seemed like he was perfectly okay with just having you as his platonic partner in crime.

or apparently f*cking not.

after another few second, you quickly finish platting the cookies and go back to the living room, where he’s sat, watching the movie he picked, without a care in the world.

you sit a respectful distance away from him, just watching him watch the movie, apparently feeling perfectly fine.

if only you knew.

with what must sound like the tone of a dead person, you more-so inform him “you’ve kissed me.”

the beautiful bastard has the audacity to not even turn his head in your direction, he just answers “i did”.

pondering over all the possible reasons as to why he did it, you gulp, and with all the courage left in your body, you hopefully ask him “do you like me?”

his answer makes you want to punch him…with your lips against his own, either very aggressively or very gently.

snorting, he answers “have for the last 10 years, thanks for finally noticing.”

you don’t give him any time to prepare or to see it coming for that matter-as soon as the last word leaves his mouth, you are pouncing on him, arms going around his neck, lips colliding with his, clumsily, at first, until you find your balance and climb on his lap.

it is clear that he both didn’t expect you to pounce on him like a wild animal and that he has been waiting for this moment for a very long time.

because as soon as your knees are on both sides of his hips, he’s wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you as close as the universe will allow him to and kissing you back like a starved man, like he’s dying and you’re the only antidote that could save him.

your hands finally-finally-sink into his silky soft brown hair, scratching his scalp to see how he would react.

and his reaction doesn’t disappoint-he immediately groans in your mouth, his hands starting to wonder themselves, squeezing your thighs before they travel over your butt, over your back all the way to the nape of your neck, pulling your head closer to his so he can deepen the kiss.

your own arms tighten around his neck, your bodies so close that there isn’t a single part of your body that isn’t touching his. your thoughts are both running and are nonexistent. thinking “finally, this is all i’ve ever wanted to know-the taste of his lips and the strength of his love”, but at the same time, your mind is nowhere to be found, it’s probably floating somewhere between the cotton candy soft clouds.

after many minutes, your kiss turns from hungry and rushed to intimate, soft and tender, until it eventually comes to a stop, your noses still touching, foreheads leaning on each other.

in what must be the softest whisper you ever heard him speak in, vernon says “took you long enough”.

you lightly pinch his cheek and smile “could say the same thing to you. been waiting since we were 13 for you to finally get your head out of your ass and kiss me.”

his heavy eyes fall on your mouth, inviting him to get himself lost in them again “well, the good thing is that now that i finally did, i don’t plan on ever stopping”.

and he never did.

as it turns out, you didn’t know him as well as you thought you did-there were still some things you had yet to find out about him. luckily, his kiss was officially off that list.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••

(somewhere, not that far away, your mom gives auntie melody 10$ for losing their bet that they had going since you and vernon were both 10.)

[kateksmallcuteowl]

June 26: Soulmates/Soulmate Marks AU

Your mark shows how old will your soulmate be when you fall in love with them. (Meaning both romantically and sexually)

For an event by @bagginshieldweek24

More headcanons after the cut. Seriously, there’s a lot, as I developed a whole idea but had no time to write a fic because of exams.

— Dwarfs come of age in around 80 y.o., having a soulmate from another race is a very rare occurrence; throughout the history of Middle-earth, there have been at most a dozen such cases, so most dwarves are unaware of this possibility. Having a mark with a number younger than the age of majority is a lifelong shame, essentially an admission of pedophilia. Unfortunately, this happens more often than having a soulmate from another race.

— Thorin spent his entire adult life, from the moment the mark appeared, wearing an extra layer of bandages under his bracers to prevent anyone from seeing the number. Fortunately, among dwarves, it is not considered inappropriate to hide the marks, as many value their privacy.

— The mark and thoughts about it were the reason why Thorin often appeared especially gloomy when the topic of romance came up.

— He truly tried to compensate for his "defectiveness" with his virtues.

— Of course, Thorin is a virgin.

— Bilbo, on the other hand, didn't think much about this; hobbits don't see anything wrong with living without their soulmate or seeing their soulmate as a friend. They are generally a loving people and don't worry about the concept of "the one and only."

— Although the topic of soulmates is considered highly romantic in hobbit literature, Bilbo was somewhat disappointed when he realized he would likely never meet his soulmate. (Hobbits are also unaware of inter-racial soulmates.)

— I tried to make young Bilbo look more like Frodo, so here he has smaller curls and a different style of shirt.

— Thorin and Bilbo both hid their marks, so when they felt an attraction to each other, especially after the Carrock, both were initially upset, thinking they weren't soulmates. Thorin, of course, was much more upset.

— During the two weeks they stayed with Beorn (yes, I'm mixing the movie and the book, what are you going to do about it? Slow burn needs time to be slow), they managed to reach the point of kissing near the river or something like that. But when Bilbo tried to unlace Thorin's tunic, Thorin stopped him and said that, unlike hobbits, for dwarves, sexual interaction is a very serious step in emotional attachment. It wouldn't be fair not to tell Bilbo what kind of monster he was getting involved with, because after seeing what Thorin had to show him, Bilbo might not even want to look him in the eye. Bilbo was honestly frustrated. (It is implied that Thorin used some term characteristic of a pedo... ahem)

— With a terrifyingly serious face, Thorin unwrapped the bandages on his wrist, and Bilbo, with a sinking heart, prepared to see a number like 5 or 12. Instead, there was a very respectable and completely normal age. Thorin turned away, not wanting to see the disappointment in the hobbit's eyes. Bilbo spent a few seconds calculating how long dwarves live and how old Thorin actually was.

— Thorin thought Bilbo wanted to shame him for having the audacity to enter into a relationship at such an age, knowing his soulmate's extremely young age. With closed eyes, he forced out that he was 195 and knew how disgusting he was because of it.

— Instead of a slap or something worse, which Thorin wouldn't have opposed, thinking any normal person had the right to treat him like that after seeing it, Bilbo reached for his own wrist and, with suspicious enthusiasm, pulled off the leather bracelet he had worn since the Shire. On the pale skin was clearly marked Thorin's age, written in dark ink with characteristic dwarvish notches.

— Some time passed in silence as they both realized that such a coincidence simply couldn't be.

— They were in for a very pleasant evening away from the company🌚🌝

— Later, when the entire company gathered by the fire, Bilbo and Thorin would come to them, holding hands, the hobbit nearly glowing with happiness in front, and a red-to-the-tips-of-his-ears Thorin slightly behind. This would be the first time anyone in the company saw Thorin without bandages, and if not for the matching age on Bilbo's wrist, now also not hidden by a bracelet, they wouldn't have believed Thorin could be normal with such a number on his skin.

— And the dwarves would realize how young Bilbo was by their standards.

— Truly, the ways of the Valar are mysterious.

— At the very end of the night, Fili would nudge Kili with his elbow and hint that since their uncle had an inter-racial mark, he might not be so angry and yell when he finds out that his brother has a four-digit number on his wrist.

[ddarker-dreams]

Lock I need you to share something about Gojo. Jjk is getting worse with no hope in the future. Plis just a tiny part is god. 🙏🙏🙏🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

Detour.

Gojo Satoru x F Reader x Geto Suguru.

Warnings: Mild not SFW implications, Gojo and Geto are Not normal about you, exhibiting possessive behavior. Word count: 1.2k.

-Index-

"—Excuse me, miss!" 

The exclamation barely registers amidst the crowded street's ambiance. Everyone has a destination they're eager to reach, and you're no different. Unlike those native to the area, however, you're more likely to get lost; hence your current conundrum. 

You examine the mess of squiggly lines, blocks, and patterns intended to function as a map. 

Kagurazaka, Kagurazaka... c'mon, I know this one... it starts with the kanji for god or something, right? 

While you scrutinize the map, the same voice from earlier calls out again, this time beside you. You glance around, not wanting to respond if he’s trying to flag down someone else. In doing so, it becomes increasingly obvious that you’re who he’s been trying to grab the attention of. 

From the looks of it, he’s a man in his late thirties, wearing a suit that could use a good ironing. You can’t recall meeting him before. Then again, you’re not privy to everything that happens back on campus. Meetings with influential figures frequently occur without your knowledge. You only ever find out about them later when Satoru loudly voices his critical view on everyone who attended. You are wearing your uniform, it’s recognizable to those in Jujutsu circles. 

You’d rather not stir up a scandal by unintentionally snubbing a Zenin or someone equally important. With this in mind, you politely inquire, “Can I help you?” 

“That uniform… you’re a high schooler, right?” 

You nod, figuring that this confirms your hypothesis. 

“What year?” 

This question makes less sense. Maybe he wants to know your proximity to Suguru, or, far likelier, Satoru. These types always have their own designs for the pride of the Gojo clan. 

“I’m a second-year.” 

“I see, I see,” he begins rummaging through his blazer’s inner pocket. He procures a business card and holds it out. “How about a job? From the looks of it, you’d make a good fit.” 

You blink. 

Are you… allowed to do freelance work? You’ve heard of specific sorcerers being requested for jobs, but that’s always been through the school. Besides, as a Grade Three, you don’t think you can go on unsupervised jobs. Not wanting to seem rude, you reach out to accept the card— 

—Only for it to be intercepted. 

“Sorry, she’s completely booked,” a voice that sounds the furthest thing from apologetic chimes in. 

Gojo Satoru stands to your right, adorned with his circular sunglasses and trademark grin. He rips the card in half without so much as a second thought. You stare at him, incredulous. Questions swarm around your head. When did he get here? How didn’t you notice him until now? Why does his cursed energy have such an unnerving quality to it? 

He bends down and hangs his arm around your shoulder. “You’re somethin’ else. Ignoring Suguru and I’s calls, chatting up strange men in Kabukichō… I swear, we can’t take our eyes off you for a second.” 

“Wh— I’m not chatting anyone up!” You whisper yell. His infinity nullifies enough for you to jab a finger at his chest. “Why can’t you give better directions?! ‘West of the Edo Castle’ doesn’t tell me anything, it just sounds like a TV drama!”

Satoru shrugs. “Should’ve just asked an auxiliary manager to drop you off.” 

“You might treat them like a personal taxi service, but I’d rather not. Taking the train’s fine.” 

The man finally overcomes the shock inflicted by Satoru’s audacity, taking a step forward. “What are you, her boyfriend or something?” 

“Bleh, no!” 

“Future husband.” 

Yours and Satoru’s responses come out simultaneously. 

“In that case—” 

“Excuse me,” A new presence interrupts the increasingly irritated man. Suguru wears a friendly smile which somehow comes across as more menacing than Satoru’s wolfish grin. He places a hand on the man’s shoulder. “You are aware that it’s a minor you’re trying to recruit, correct?” 

The man flushes at the accusation. “Listen, I dunno what you’re trying to accuse me of—” 

“I’d hate to see you get in trouble for a mistake like that,” Suguru cuts him off again, raising his voice ever so slightly. This attracts the attention of some bystanders. “Who knows what consequences that’d result in, especially for a married man like yourself…” 

Huh. You hadn’t even noticed the gold band on his ring finger. Suguru’s nothing if not perceptive. 

Nearby commuters whisper amongst themselves while eyeing the scene. The man’s gaze flits between a self-satisfied Satoru and an overly polite Suguru, eventually settling on an escape route. Wordlessly, he departs, although you swear you overhear him muttering ‘crazy kids’ and ‘doomed girl,’ along the way. 

“Yo, Suguru. Took you long enough.” 

“Unfortunately, not all of us can teleport.” 

“Your curse did a better job at tailin’ me than you.” 

Ignoring the jab, Suguru dusts his hands off while honing in on you. “You alright? You weren’t answering our calls.” 

“And you’re late,” Satoru whines. He helps himself to searching through your purse, taking your pink Razr hostage. “Huh. Battery’s dead.” 

Suguru appears content. “What’d I tell you?” 

“If she’s blocked me before, the same could happen to you.” 

“I wouldn’t block Suguru.” 

“She wouldn't block me.” 

This time, it’s you and Suguru who speak concurrently. Satoru pouts, putting his hands up like he’s under attack (which he probably believes himself to be). You snatch your phone back without issue, unlike when he last stole it. He unblocked himself and dangled it above your head until you promised you wouldn’t do that again.

“And here I was, about to treat you both to pastries,” Satoru sighs, melodramatic as ever. 

“While we were waiting for you, I noticed creampuffs and macaroons on the menu; which would you recommend?” Suguru inquires, not bothering to acknowledge Satoru’s complaints. 

“That depends on what you want from the experience,” you mimic his decision. “Creampuffs tend to be one flavor, whereas macaroons come in multiple, so the variety’s nice. When I get a variety pack, I always end up disliking one of the flavors and wishing I’d just gotten my favorites instead.” 

Satoru sighs as loud as he can. “Right, right, I’m just a walking wallet. Let’s get going before someone else solicits [First].” 

“Eh?” You turn your head to face Satoru. “‘Solicits?’ As in…?” 

“Se—” 

Suguru slaps a hand over Satoru’s mouth. “What he means to say is that this isn’t the best area for a high school girl to linger.”

“W-Wait, hold on! I thought he was like a… er, how would you say that… sorcerer employer?” 

They both stare at you. 

“You do know what Kabukichō’s famous for, right?” Suguru tentatively asks. 

“Hm? ‘Kabuki’ is a type of traditional theater, isn’t it?” 

“...” 

“...” 

“Let’s just show her what we mean,” Satoru bends down, picking up two halves of the business card he split in half earlier. “It’ll be a good lesson. I’d rather not have to come fetch her in this place again— oh.” 

Suguru inspects what has the power to shut Gojo Satoru up. You watch as his eyes move back and forth, his face shifting while he does so. His lips narrow into a thin line when he pulls back. Curious, you stand on your tiptoes, hoping to catch a glimpse yourself. Thankfully, there’s yomigana above some of the kanji you don’t recognize. This eliminates any possibility of you misreading the card’s contents. 

‘Oh’ indeed, you think. That poor guy…

It’s a business card for the company that oversees AKB48. 

[batchilla]

False Accusations (You know I KNOW right? Chapter Two)

Let me first say thank you for all the kind reception part one received. It was … a surprise, and a welcome one.

Also, a massive thank you to @sunnie-angel for beta reading. If you haven’t read their work… Do yourself a favor and check out their masterlist!

This Chapter takes place over a few days in two mini stories., and I would appreciate being told if at any point this causes confusion. Currently how I’ve done it is as tilted segments. Content warning: this chapter has themes of sexual harassment in the workplace up to the point of groping (from an OC), and corruption. Proceed with caution. Be safe.

The morning after. You are going to murder your partner, Grayson. Perhaps with a gun. Maybe your own two hands. Or maybe you just need coffee.

It's probably the coffee thing. Coffee, then you’ll decide if you're going to kill him and how. As you sit at your table, surrounded by notes you’d made at 4am, the urge to throttle Grayson slowly subsides. You hadn’t slept a wink. You’d had a weird night. But if you were going to do this, help him find this killer… you’d need a plan for if it all goes to hell. A diversion. A plan so that if you’re made, maybe the killer will think you’re on the wrong track. A dummy investigation. But simultaneously one that you won’t overthink, so that you can devote your time and brainpower to the truth. Luckily for you, you have the perfect person to pretend to accuse. After all, your partner, Grayson, is an incredibly weird guy. 8:55 am finds you walking into the station sipping your third coffee of the morning, only to find Grayson sat at his desk. Shirt pressed, tie perfect, hair shampoo commercial glamourous yet slightly messy. The urge to murder your partner returns, just a little. How dare he be so… normal? So unaffected? How dare this man fight crime by night, and be smiling at you as he is now, chipper and bright and perfect, before 9am? The nerve. Maybe you could hit him with a patrol car and claim it was an accident. “Morning detective… Long night?”

Oh.. This fucker. Your partner, Grayson, is the most annoying man alive. You hate how badly you have to fight the urge to grin at the sheer audacity.

She looks exhausted, the poor thing. Dick remembered the feeling, but at some point he’d adapted to running on less sleep than was by any means reasonable. He hoped she wouldn’t need to. That this would be over in a few weeks and she’d be back to getting a full eight hours. “Morning Detective… Long night?” She glares at him like he’s caused personal offence. He raises an eyebrow at her to prompt a response. Inside though, he panics. Had he done something wrong? Could she suspect? No. no of course not. But whatever she said next would surely be important. It was a test of sorts. What would she say she’d spent the night doing? Would she betray his alter ego? Could she sell the lie if she didn’t? “Just had a night in, had a little too much to drink,” she shrugs, opening her bag and removing a notebook. Casual, calm, partially true and nearly impossible to disprove short of a blood test or breathalyser, and even then there was deniability. Dick nods, and looks back down to his computer to hide the grin that splits his face in half. He knows he can’t dwell on it, knows he can’t act on it, but it’s completely unfair that she was that smooth. That helpful. She’d agreed to help him - as Nightwing - instantly. Her words about how Blud owed him a debt had played in his mind on loop for the rest of his patrol. He knew what it felt like to fly. To flip through the air at dizzying heights, gravity a mere afterthought. It was cruel, frankly, that he’d found someone who made him feel even better than that, only for her to be someone he couldn’t be with out of principle and professionalism. It wasn’t that he objected to her as a partner - short of his family, she was possibly the best he’d ever met. Frankly, if she was transferred to Gotham, the bat signal would be turned on far less frequently. And he didn’t object to rules about dating fellow officers, especially one’s partner. Objectively it made sense. But it didn’t change the fact that her smile was the best part of his day. That on the rare times she laughed he could swear he heard an angel just straight up quit its position in the heavenly chorus out of pure envy. That when she’d said she’d help he’d wanted nothing more than to grab her face and kiss her till she was breathless. But he can’t. Or at least Dick Grayson can’t. A new voice breaks him from his spiralling thoughts. “Detective Grayson.” The man standing behind his partner's desk has a hand on the back of her seat, preventing her from swivelling around. 

“We haven’t met yet, I’m Sergeant James McElroy. Seems you spent most of my first day back stuck on a stakeout.” “Pleasure.” he responds, with all the charm he’s learnt to use at galas and parties, forcing down the venom incurred by the way his partner had seemed to lose a gallon of blood at the sound of his voice, and the way she had seemed not to breath since the name was spoken.

He's not touching you. Of course not. He knows better than to do anything so blatant. It's how he’d gotten away with it for so long last time. He doesn’t touch you, or say the things he was so clearly thinking. He would masterfully walk the line between making you feel unsafe, alone, and naked, while never crossing over into anything actionable. Till one day he had. It had been in a crowded lift where he’d used the crush as an excuse to grab and to feel, whispering something vile in your ear. 

He’d figured he’d gotten away with it when you tried to tell your captain and he’d asked if you had a witness. You’d thought he’d gotten away with it too. Till a uniformed officer, Janet Rodwell, had stepped up to have your back. You should have known, really. For the second time in 24 hours you feel like a fool. But while the first time it had been accompanied with a dizzying realisation of love, this time the realisation is dark and chilling to your core. You’d thought you’d won, that it was over. But he’s back and he’s not touching you, but you feel the ghost of his hands all over. You can’t win. He’d been sent away and you thought you were safe again, but he’s back and he’s a sergeant now. Because Bludhaven, as it is, rewards men like him. You can’t bring yourself to look over your shoulder at him, so you look straight ahead, across your desk and to your partner’s adjoining one.

It's not Dick Grayson’s eyes you meet though. They aren’t cheerful, carefree and beautiful. Well, they are beautiful. But they are angry, intelligent, and fierce. You meet Nightwings gaze, and you feel the claws around your lungs relax, even if they do not recede. 

His partner did not rattle easily. Did not panic unnecessarily. 

Pinned down by the Penguin’s smugglers, he’d thought their goose had been cooked unless he could work at his true capacity, so he had shot out the lights and gotten to work. He’d taken out nine, but been unable to find the tenth, until he’d heard the struggle. 

She’d taken him down blind, without drawing her gun. When he’d asked her why she hadn’t, she’d told him she’d lost sight of him in the chaos, and was unwilling to risk it. He wished he hadn’t shot the light out so he could have seen it. 

Still, he had been oblivious. It had hit him like a batarang to the face last night, in that moment where she agreed without hesitation to help him find a serial killer. He’d known she was beautiful, and brilliant. That he had a crush. 

He’d realised last night he was in far, far deeper trouble than that. So, if she was frightened and upset by the presence of this man, then Dick would take his looming over her as a serious threat. He trusted her gut. “You haven’t introduced yourself to my partner, Detective—-” He’s cut off with a dismissive wave that boils his blood. “Oh we’ve met. In fact, she was my partner first. Until the misunderstanding.” There are many ways to snap someone out of a panic. He’s seen sheer rage do it many times. As it does now. “There was no misunderstanding,” she says, her voice firm, her teeth gritted. “Well. I want you to know-” he moves from directly behind her, to her side, leaning down over her, invading her space. Dick wanted to hit him. “I understand that what I did could have been seen as invasive, and you may have felt that I overstepped. I have completed a course, as demanded by HR, and will attempt not to cause you to feel that I have been inappropriate again.”

She takes a deep breath. He can practically hear her count in his head. He stands, moving around the desk to stand beside her, not quite a barrier but a comforting presence, or at least he hoped. “Well. Whatever occurred, we have work to be getting on with, if you don’t mind.” It takes a great deal of the restraint his training has given not to add the words ‘you bastard’, or something far more creative. “But of course. Detective. Detective.”  

Your hands shake as you sit back down in your seat. Your partner, Grayson, returns to his own, his gaze - Richard’s gaze, never leaving your face, crumpled in concern. “I don’t want to overstep… but are you alright? What … did he do?” “I…” you want to tell him, in part. Or maybe you don’t, and you want him to know without having to go through the ordeal of rehashing it all. Maybe by consulting whatever ‘oracle’ he used as nightwing. But you can’t right now. So you don’t. “I… need some air.” Your partner just gives you a comforting smile, a nod, and lets you leave without question. Wingding in the window 

It's five days later, on his patrol, when he notices it. The wingding left in her window. He stops on the roof of the building adjacent to her. As far as city roofs go, this one’s relatively nice. Someone’s placed some potted plants around, in an eclectic attempt at a rooftop garden. Some of these pots contain small pebbles as cover for the soil from the wind. Grinning to himself, he takes a handful. 

Was this a good idea? No. 

Was it deceptive? Well, no more than anything else he did as Nightwing… well, maybe a little more. 

But it hurt, holding her at arm's length, when a part of his soul he tried to ignore yearned to be as close as she would allow. He knows it’s not good. He knows it’s a violation of the utter trust she seems to hold in Nightwing. Really, it would only make things even more messy for his chances as Dick. But he wants to make her smile. Blush, even. He knows she finds him attractive, and in both contexts, but he wants more than that. Over the last week he’s realised just how much he wants to have with her, and it terrifies him. 

If it was simple lust he could deal with it.  But it wasn’t, and so here he was, about to attempt the cheesiest move known to hallmark films, just to see if it would make her laugh at him again. 

He’d managed to be professional while surrounded by highly capable, badass women in skintight clothes for most of his life. He’d had crushes before and gotten over them. He wanted everything with her. And that was not something he knew how to handle, given the mess of their situation. Dick shakes his head, snapping himself out of his doom spiral. He had a detective to meet, and a serial killer to find.

Bap. Bap. Bap. You look up from your book. You’d been getting ready for sleep, wearing your cosy pyjamas, curled up in bed with a book and a hot chocolate. You go still, listening. Bap. Bap. A pause. Then, the rap of knuckles on glass. “I ran out of rocks”

You know that voice. “With you in a moment.” You pull on a dressing gown, and take a moment to curse the fact that your slippers are rabbits before pulling the curtains aside. Nightwing is crouched on your windowsill. You lift it, stepping back as he enters through the window with all the grace of a cat. You know that you shouldn’t be embarrassed to be in your pyjamas, it's late, you had no means of knowing when he’d arrive. But he looked divine in that suit. An adonis. And you're in your old bathrobe and bunny slippers. Truely, you must have done terrible things in a past life. “Nice footwear.” Nightwing says with a smirk. Curse him. Curse his cheekbones and the way his lips look so damn inviting. “You picked up what, five rocks?” you sass right back. Nightwing makes a noise you suspect was supposed to be a scoff, but is more of a squeak. “Do you see a lot of pocket space on this?” 

“Fair.” you say, leading him out of your bedroom and into your living room. He sits on your couch, one leg spread wide, the other’s ankle resting on its thigh, as you open a drawer on your coffee table and produce your masterpiece. Nearly five metres of red string. Names, photos, dates, all studded with pins so pressed so tightly in they haven’t a prayer of accidental removal. You prop it up on the coffee table. 

Maybe your friends were right. Maybe you did need to touch grass. A line of thought for later. You look at Nightwing, who’s no longer relaxed and laying back on your sofa like he owned the place. 

Its years of maintaining a poker face in interrogations and more recently, dealing with his shenanigans that prevents you from grinning. 

He's as pale as you’ve ever managed to see him, and leaning forward now, elbow on knee and chin in hand. “Well, this is… impressive.” He sounded like he’d inhaled helium. “Shall we start with Sergeant McElroy?” you offer, smiling your best ‘there’s nothing wrong’ smile, enjoying making him squirm. “You seem to have … a significant amount of evidence against Detective Richard Grerson?” You fight the urge to roll your eyes as you take a ruler, poking your picture of him between the eyes. You hadn’t planned to do him first, you’d hoped to discuss evidence that would actually lead somewhere. 

This was still going to be fun though. You take a deep breath, and pause for a suitable level of dramatic effect, and begin your game. 

“Detective Richard Grayson. He’s my partner. He’s an excellent detective, and a good man. You might have heard of the charity he founded.” Nightwing makes a noncommittal humming noise. “But is it all too good to be true?” you ask, moving to your first notecard. “Exhibit one. He asked about the file. On its own, innocuous. But then, exhibits two through four. He’s prone to frequent disappearances on cases. He often knows a little too much about the criminal underside of Blud. Things that I have triple checked are not in any police database.”

You run a hand through your hair. “He’s a highly trained combatant. I once saw him take down nine men armed with guns, in the dark. They don’t teach that at the police academy.” “No? No.” Nightwing says, clearing his throat. “I mean yes. That is… suspicious.” “Incredibly. Which brings me to exhibit five. Now I’m no behavioural analyst or shrink. But I know my basics. Childhood trauma and instability can have… lingering impacts. I… don’t feel the need to dredge up his past, but I did look into it… and it’s grim. He was then taken in by Bruce Wayne. His relationship to his father, whatever it is, is something he’s even tighter lipped about then… everything else honestly. It’s not on the board because it’s circumstantial at best… but he has this skill of being able to hold long conversations and yet you come away not having learnt anything deeper about him.” 

He was pretty sure he’d been nodding for a good thirty seconds at this point.  

It would be funny if it didn’t hurt so much. 

The worst part was that it was all well reasoned. Practical. He had done everything she accused him of. She had just drawn a far more down to earth conclusion, that he was a corrupt cop, rather than Nightwing. 

It made sense. Too much sense. How could he shut this down without seeming invested in his own innocence? 

That isn’t what causes his lungs to burn though. No. The root of that was that even if he’d forced himself to maintain a professional - if friendly - distance from her, he would have hoped that she trusted him. 

But in this moment, looking at the evidence, looking at her holding that ruler to his photo’s face like a judge's gavel ready to condemn… he knows. He knows that she will never look at Dick the way she does as Nightwing, happy to see him, believing in his mission, ready to help as soon as he’d asked. Even if he clears himself of this crime, she would surely suspect him of others. 

He’d known it, at least on one level, ever since he’d first met her. He knows it now all the deeper, and he wants to scream. Dick Grayson will never get to tell her how truly wonderful she is.

How highly he regards her. 

How she is one of the reasons he keeps fighting for Bludhaven. 

Dick Grayson will never get to tell her that he loves her. 

But… perhaps Nightwing could have something. Because if she was his north star, then the way he’d felt when she agreed to help him had been like being engulfed by a supernova. 

If she was water, then seeing her cosy and ready for bed and smiling as she let him in through the window had been an oasis in the Sahara. 

If music was the food of love, her attempts not to laugh and stifled giggles over his peeps popcorn had been a symphony orchestra. 

But he’d never have her as himself. Not at all. Nightwing though? She at least found him attractive. Aligned with his ideology. No, he’d never feel that warmth of 10,000 stars directed at the real him. 

No, he’d never be able to be quenched by her life saving presence. 

No, he’d never feel her laughter shaking his bones as if in a musical crescendo.

But even the dimmest and most distant star gave off some light.

Even the last drop in an empty water skin was better than nothing.

Even the memory of a melody could be sweet. True, he would only ever have scraps of her affection. True, he could flirt, and perhaps go even further… but he’d never truly be with her. 

But who was a starving man to deny scraps of sustenance? He’d take what he could have and try to ignore the lingering hunger. 

“Perhaps we should discuss… another suspect?” he prompts, realising how long he’s been silent. How long she had been too, watching him with a strange, concerned look.

She nods, and moves on to their Captain.

Dick is almost relieved when some ten minutes later Oracle calls in a robbery downtown. “Well - sorry Sherlock.” He takes a picture of her board for further study. “I’ll be around next week to continue this discussion, and look over this in my own time till then. Duty calls.” “Be safe,” She says softly, as he’s halfway through the window He looks over his shoulder. “As you wish.”

Taglist: @jasontoddproblems

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@soradragon Banner credit is to @strangergraphics

If you would request to be added to my taglist, please reblog the fic. Honestly please just reblog it anyway? I worked hard on this. Nothing more demotivating than a fic getting only likes. If you want part three, reblog part two. 

[atsumwah]

too pretty!

featuring : matsukawa issei the loml <3

notes : you're jealous your bf is too pretty

you're aware that your friends are very attractive. 

oikawa's somewhat charming personality easily grabs a girl's attention, iwaizumi's buff figure immediately turns heads whenever he enters a room and makki had this boyish ruggish look that somewhat looks cute to some people. it's normal seeing them being hit on by girls and sometimes it's like a form of entertainment for you.

but your boyfriend on the other hand, now this is new.

you've been together since high school. you've always found issei attractive. he's not a smooth talker like oikawa, but his attentiveness and response when you talk to him makes you feel seen and heard. he doesn't seem as built as iwaizumi at first glance, but underneath those baggy clothes hid something you're glad only you can see and touch. he's not as easy going as makki, but the way he spontaneously shows up at your house at 3 in the morning when you're upset tells you maybe he's easy going when it comes to you. 

so falling in love with him was inevitable because all the things he does with you and only you are attractive. 

but you're not the only one who thinks that anymore. 

see, after your boyfriend figured out his own style that weren't baggy clothes and instead fitted his physique and also found a way to style his usual mess of a bedhead into luscious curls, he suddenly became attractive to everyone around him. 

and it pissed you off. he was always attractive without the sudden change but now its like that's all people see. 

like when you visited oikawa and iwaizumi at the gym and the manager shamelessly flirted with issei the moment you left to greet them. or when you visited makki with him at the cafe he worked at and makki's coworker only paid attention to issei and completely ignored you. or when you were out grocery shopping and left issei for five minutes only to come back to a girl who had the audacity to ask if he was single.

so yeah you're pissed off. and there's only one logical way to fix this.

"what are you doing?" issei asks as you settle down on his lap and ruffle his already done up hair. "baby, i just fixed it."

"i know. i'm ruining it." 

instead of being mad his hair is being messy, he raises an eyebrow instead. "but then we're gonna be late."

"you'll go out like this then." 

he has this amused smile now. "okay, what's up with you?"

"nothing." you said, somewhat proud of your work. "just fixing you up."

"this is the opposite of fixing me up, babe." he took your hands and plants kisses across your palms, then he rests his own hands on your hips. "why are you making me look like i just made out with you? there are other ways to achieve that." 

in another situation you would cave in but you had a mission. "you're too good looking. i'm trynna make you look less good looking."

this time, he laughs. "gee thanks babe. i appreciate the compliment." 

"i'm serious." you pout, though issei just keeps on laughing. "you're too pretty and girls are swooning all over you and you don't even do anything about it."

"whoa what," he stops, eyes locking onto yours. "who's swooning over who now?"

"everyone is all over you. can't you tell?" you huff when you realize his bed head makes him look even more attractive. damn it.

"honestly no." he says simply. "and you're…jealous?"

"i'm not jealous. i'm pissed. there's a difference."

"pretty sure they're the same thing, babe."

you squish his cheeks, framing his face with your hands. "stop being so pretty."

he chuckles and brings his hands up to cover yours. "this is really bothering you, huh?"

"maybe just a tad bit."

"you know i only got eyes on you, right?" he takes your hands off and leans in so you both are nose to nose.

"i've been told so once or twice."

"once or twice?"

"maybe hundreds of times but who's counting."

"and you know im stuck with you forever, right?"

"mhm," you indulge him by wrapping your arms around him, "you better be."

"so there's no reason for you to get all jealous." he says, eyebrows raising up as if an idea popped into his head. "what if you just kiss me if that happens?"

"like stake my claim? what are we, animals?" 

"i mean that's what i've been doing when guys hit on you."

"it is? wait, back up, when has that happened?"

"you're delusional if you think guys don't hit on you."

"they don't!"

"yeah well they don't get the chance to do it properly because my radar is just too good."

"oh my god, you're serious."

"deadass. and lemme tell you, it always works." he says proudly. "i get to turn you into mush and also send a warning to other guys. win-win situation."

"i do not turn to mush."

"really now?" he wiggles his eyebrows. "want a reminder?"

you think you've indulged him quite enough so you flick his forehead instead. he winces. good.

"so you don't mind?" you said, narrowing your eyes playfully. "you don't mind me staking my claim on you next time it happens?

"baby, please, I encourage it." he says, almost too quickly.

you giggle, feeling some sort of satisfaction that your boyfriend is all on board with you staking your claim in front of people. it should make you feel shy or embarrassed but it kind of makes you feel giddy instead. but he doesn't need to know that yet.

tempted to do a pt2 but it's just me reader making out w issei

[theoi-crow]

The humans in Greek Mythology are the mega rich and powerful:

In my college classes people are often shocked when I tell them my favorite part of Greek mythology is the gods themselves and I'm not a big fan of the humans.

99% of my classmates prefer the humans in mythos, especially the ones that stick it to the gods like Sisyphus and feel bad for humans like Kassandra and Helen who have been wronged by the gods because "they're just like us." My classmates and teachers hate the gods and don't understand why anyone in modern times would want to worship such violent and selfish beings whenever I point out there are still people who worship them. They hold onto the idea that people in mythology embody the human experience of being oppressed by terrible gods and fate and we should feel bad for them because "they're human just like us" but they forget that the people in Greek Mythology are NOT just like us. They are more relatable to medieval royalty, colonizers and ultra rich politicians who make laws and decisions on wars and the fates of others, especially the poor and the very vulnerable.

Every hero or important human in Greek Mythology is either some form of royalty or mega rich politician/priest-priestess (of course this is with the exception of people who are explicitly stated to be poor like the old married couple in the myth where Zeus and Hermes pretend to be panhandlers). All of them have an ancient Greek lifestyle more relatable to Vladimir Putin, Donald Trump, and especially to British royalty during the British empire, than the average person.

All of them.

Odysseus, Patroclus, Theseus, Helen of Troy, Kassandra, Diomedes, Agamemnon, Perseus, Hercules, Aeneas, Paris, Any human who has a divine parent or is related to one, etc. Although sometimes the story omits it, it is heavily implied that these are people who own hundreds or even thousands of slaves, very poor farmers and the tiny barely there working class as royal subjects.

They are the ones who make laws and whose decisions massively affect the fates of so many people. So no, they can't just be forgiven for some little whim, because that little whim affects the literal lives of everyone under their rule. By being spoiled they've just risked the lives of thousands of people and possibly even gotten them killed like when Odysseus' audacity got every single slave and soldier in his ships killed or when Patroclus as a kid got upset and killed another kid for beating him at a game. (A normal person wouldn't kill another person just for winning a game but royalty and those who think they're above the law do it all the time, plus the class status of the child wasn't mentioned but the way he didn't think he'd get in trouble implies the kid was of lower class, possibly the child of a slave or a foreign merchant.)

The gods get a bad reputation for punishing the humans in mythology but, if not them, who else is going to keep them accountable when they are the law?

And whose to say the humans beneath them weren't praying to the gods in order to keep their masters in check?

Apollo is the god in charge of freeing slaves, Zeus is the god of refugees, immigrants and homeless people, Ares is the protector of women, Artemis protects children, Aphrodite is the goddess of the LGBT community, Hephaestus takes care of the disabled, etc. It wouldn't be surprising if the gods are punishing the ultra rich and powerful in these myths because the humans under their rulership prayed and sent them as they did historically.

Every time someone asks me if I feel bad for a human character in a myth, I think about the many lives affected by the decision that one human character made and if I'm being completely honest, I too would pray to the gods and ask them to please punish them so they can make more careful decisions in the future because:

They are not just like us.

We are the farmers, a lot of our ancestors were slaves, we are the vulnerable being eaten by capitalism and destroyed by the violence colonialism created. We are the poor subjects that can only pray and hope the gods will come and correct whatever selfish behavior the royal house and mega rich politicians are doing above us.

And that's why I pray to the gods, because in modern times I'm dealing with modern Agamemnons who would kill whatever family members they have to in order to reach their end goal, I'm dealing with everyday modern Achilles who would rather see their own side die because they couldn't keep their favorite toy and would gladly watch their subjects die if it means they eventually get their way. The ones that let capitalism eat their country and it's citizens alive so long as it makes them more money. These are our modern "demigods," politicians who swear they are so close to God that they know what he wants and so they pass laws that benefit only them and claim these laws are ordained by God due to their close connection just like how Achilles can speak to the gods because of his demigod status via his mother.

Look at the news, these are humans that would be mythical characters getting punished by Greek gods which is why anything Greco-Roman is jealousy guarded by the rich and powerful and is inaccessible to modern worshippers because Ivy League schools like Harvard and Cambridge make sure to keep it that way. That's what we're dealing with. These are the humans these mythical beings would be because:

In our modern times the humans in mythos would be the politicians and mega rich that are currently ruining our society and trying to turn it into a world where only the rich can manipulate wars and laws, just like they do in mythology.

Fuck them.

I literally have so much more to add about my disdain for them and I didn't even touch on the obvious ancient Greek propaganda.

[kaeyx]

CHANTING FWB SITUATION WITH CHUUYA WHO DOESNT KNOW IF HIS FEELINGS ARE REQUITED !!!!!

its soso hard for him to keep composure whenever he sees you at work because whenever he sees you at work, he thinks of how much he likes you and how you were sobbing in bliss with each roll of his hip into you crying out his name in the process. he tries so hard to be normal about the situation, be normal about YOU but he just cant do it. he hates it whenever you show even the slightest interest in another person and he hates it when youre clingy/affectionate with someone other than him even if it’s platonic… he wants you to just pretty please to focus on him :(

YSYESYESYEYSES!!!! Fwb Chuuya who initially agreed because he doesn't mind a quickie in the storage closet every once in a while to blow off steam and you're cute enough anyway, plus it's less of a hassle than having to hunt down a new partner for a one night stand every time he gets tired of jerking off alone. And it works just fine at first! You keep your cool around him and never try to deceive him, disrespect him, or use the fact that you're having sex to get stuff out of him.

Chuuya is happy with his choice of partner, but damn if he doesn't start having issues with professionalism. Whenever you smile at him in passing he thinks about that same smile adorning your fucked out, messy, sweaty face as you come down from your orgasms. Every time you say his name he thinks how much nicer it sounds choked out between your moans, trying to keep quiet with his fingers in your mouth. Chuuya follows the shape of your legs, the way your shirt tightens around your waist when you turn, your hands holding pens and papers and weapons. He wants those hands wrapped around his dick again, he wants you scratching up his back as he holds you against a wall and fucks you full of cum.

He has absolutely no idea when his thoughts turned so possessive and he knows it isn't fair to you, but he can't help the way his chest aches when you laugh with someone else or lean in to confide in them. Chuuya's back is still stinging from the way you were clinging to him not 2 hours earlier and yet you have the audacity to play around with someone else? He knows he has no claim to you, you agreed to occasional sex and nothing else, but how can you look so happy to be apart from him when he knows his hickeys are blooming just under the collar of your shirt?

He'd unintentionally get rougher too and it's so sexy.... Fucking you like he wants to break you apart and put you back together again, ripping off your clothes just so he can send you home in his own jacket and buy you replacements. Biting and sucking your neck and chest, grabbing your hips hard enough to hurt, cumming inside you first thing in the morning and letting it drip out of you all day. He doesn't even realise he's staking his claim, he just wants you to notice how much he likes you :(

[factorydefaultlu]

Jealous Type

How the TBOSAS characters act when jealous.

AN: this was an ask, and I put it in drafts and then I couldn't edit it and then tumblr had the audacity to delete it so.. If you requested this I'm sorry. Also if there's typos... No there's not. You didn't see them

Coriolanus Snow

He's the possessive jealous type, only he can talk to you, or touch you, or even look at you.

He says he's not jealous, and is even fully convinced that his behavior is normal.

Coryo hates when other people get close to you, especially other men. He's so convinced that you'll be swept away by someone else.

He gets pouty, though he'll never admit it. His insecurities are very obvious, and it will take a lot to him to calm down.

Coryo may even start trying to isolate you, drive everyone away or manipulate you into abandoning your friends and family.

You're his whether you like it or not.

Sejanus Plinth

He's the guilty jealous type. He feels so bad for the way he thinks when he sees someone getting too close to you.

Sej scolds himself for even thinking about driving your friends away, he hates the idea of sharing you but hates the idea of you being upset even more.

He will get very clingy and touchy when he's jealous, subtly showing to everyone that you're his and he's yours.

A little extra attention will satiate him though, just as long as he has the confirmation that you still love him and want to be around him, then he's content.

Lucy Gray Baird

It's actually pretty difficult to make her jealous, if someone is obviously flirting with you then she's gonna get a little miffed at them.

She will make her presence known, and make sure that the person knows you're hers.

Lucy gets a bit possessive, but she constantly reminds herself that you're your own person and don't need her watching over you like a mother hen

Otherwise Lucy Gray is pretty easy going.

Tigris Snow

She tries not to be jealous, she really does. Her brain unfortunately doesn't leave her alone when she sees you laughing at other people's flirtatious jokes.

She quite easily steals you away though, and hides her jealousy well. Tiggy wants all your attention, and she knows it's selfish but she can't help it.

Tigris feels guilty when she gets mad at other people for just interacting with you, and definitely talks herself down from ruining your fun just because someone made a pass at you during a conversation.