#i am cringe but i m free
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merotwst · 2 years ago
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DIODELLET GAGO KAAAAAAAAA SHET SARAP PANAGINIP KO NGAYONG GABI THIS IS MY FAVORITE FROM YOU EVER AND IT JUST FLEW LIKE A DOVE AND MADE ITS LOVELY LITTLE NEST IN MY HEART IM SO IN LOVE WITH THE WAY U WROTE EVERYTHING FUCK IM IN TEARS
uso pa ba ang harana? (jamil viper x gn!reader)
translation: is serenading still in style? me to jamil: oh ur a dancer? WEH DI NGA... DANCE AROUND THIS!!! *throws out long-distance pining and crippling shyness* content warnings: light desc of bleeding and finger injuries ++otherwise, enjoy some yearning and mild romantic tension, this work is mildly unbeta'd, all mistakes are mine. word count: 842 words
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“You won’t form calluses if you just force yourself to practice.”
“I know! But—ow!” You can feel tears spring to your eyes at the sensation of the tape being pulled off. Risking a glance, you see spots of red gathering on the tip of your index finger.
“No buts.” His hold on your wrist tightens, keeping you from flinching away.
You grumble, “...you said you were going to be gentle.”
“I am. Stop being a baby.” Jamil continues to peel off the masking tape you wrapped around your fingertips. His words are admonishing, but for the most part, he seems to be taking care not to further aggravate the injury. “You could have avoided this altogether if you taped your fingers before you practiced.” 
He’s not looking at you, focused on peeling away the tape that covered your right hand’s ring finger. That one was hurting the most, so of course, it had the most tape wrapped around it. 
You sigh, bracing for the incoming pain. “I just want it to be perfect, if not perfect then…at least—” The tape comes off. “—ugh, that one looks horrible.”
At least, Cater had the foresight to help you replace the guitar’s strings before you started practicing. No risks of tetanus here! (Or at least, you hoped so.)
“It doesn’t seem infected at least,” Jamil observes before instructing you to wash off the blood at the infirmary’s sink area. After returning to him, you let him treat the wounds properly.
You try not to think about how your hand was about to start sweating. Or how you can barely feel the sting of the antiseptic, the light dab of the cotton over the wound.
(Because as much as he was cutting with his words, Jamil Viper’s actions betrayed his hidden gentle side.)
“You were saying about ‘wanting it to be perfect’?” 
“Not perfect,” you correct him, “It should at least be on beat and in tune with no slipup of the lyrics.”
“So basically, perfect,” he concludes.
“...I guess, yeah.” Your resigned response pulls a quiet, amused laugh from him.
(Who wouldn’t want to sing perfectly when serenading someone? How else would your feelings reach them, if not through a perfect performance?)
“You do know that the Pop Music Club doesn’t really perform, right?” 
You knew, but you needed to borrow a guitar from some place. “It’s not—I’m not going to be performing with them, I just…” 
“You just…?”
“...I have something I want to…tell someone something…through a song…” You shrug, shoulders helplessly rising with the motion. “And I just, really want this song to be good for hi—for them.”
The expression of fond exasperation disappears from Jamil. “Ah, I see.” Replaced with the usual mask of indifference he wore. It does little to hide his soured mood. He continues treating your other hand in silence. 
Does he think that you were talking about someone else? No, you misspoke—
The words feel like lead in your throat. Refusing to come out, or if they did, they’d tumble messily along with your heart and the other feelings you’ve tried (and failed) to keep under wraps. 
“There, done.” 
“Thank you.” His handiwork is neat, without any protrusions from the band-aids. But completed with the cold efficiency that he did everything else.
You might as well rip off the metaphorical band-aid while you were at it.
“Would you… I mean—after my fingers've healed up… and whenever you’re not too busy…would you be willing to listen to the song…?”
He pieces everything together, much too quickly for your liking. But you can't look away from his expression, because your bandaged hand was still resting on his palm. (And more than that, you needed to know even if he was going to say no, because what would be the point of you practicing the damn song in the first place?)
Instead Jamil’s eyes light up with mirth, his lips curving into a smirk. The kind of expression he makes when there’s no one around to watch him. 
(But you know of it, because you spend too much time looking at him.)
And to have it directed at you—it does terrible, terrible things to your heart.
“What if I asked you to give me a short demonstration right now?” Jamil asks, the smile growing on his face. Bright, contagious excitement barely restrained in his irises. His fingers are enclosed around your wrist again, you can’t escape.
He’s so close. Your gaze quickly turns away to your other bandaged hand as you weakly stammer a response, “But…what about my hands?” Your cheeks feel warm, too warm. 
(Because a part of you knows very well that you would fold, if it was for him.)
Laughter freely spills from him. This sight—this moment, coupled with the golden light of the afternoon sun filtering through the infirmary’s windows, you’re completely entranced by it.
“I was kidding, I can wait,” Jamil reassures you. His features soften into a rare smile. “I’m rooting for you.”
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A/N: i'll leave the actual song up to yalls imagination (or not, click link if u dare). i gotta confess that the moment i saw jamil i--🥴wanted to serenade him🥴 IT IZ EMBARRASSING BUT HUHU THE FEELING PERSISTS.... EVEN UNTIL NOW.... i got sidetracked from my current wip (HMM sino kaya may kasalanan dyan HMMMMM 🐍) and ive still got one more jamil wip in the works and im tryna muster the courage to finish it. these next uploads might be on the shorter end, but yee i hope you enjoyed reading this. dont be afraid to rb and holler in the tags ahaha💕💕 tagging my fellow simps😇😇: @merotwst @mochimiyaas
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greghatecrimes · 19 days ago
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alright i'm going to be a brave little toaster because this is my blog and i can write whatever i want forever! hilson, yes. toxic yaoi, yes. I get it! I do! It's great! but also... we as a fandom need to be way more insane about the women in this show. we need to step it up. 2025 should be the year of Being Crazyinsane About House MD Women. join me in the trenches, comrades. it's liberating
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starryali · 26 days ago
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Do people still like/make fan child? No?
ANYWAY, have Mitsi and Victim fan child with definitely no angst at all :)
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Here is Dawn! She is Victim's self-proclaimed assistant + creation
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Below Victim: × Dawn's creator. Try to be better for her, project on her instead. (Unintentionally)
Below Mitsi: × She died long before Dawn was created. Would adore her tho.
Below Dawn: × incidentally created by Vic as a way to cope.
Beside them: - named after one of Mitsi favorite thing to see (sunrise)
-homeschooled by Agent
-often follow Vic around when he was working
-Bothering the mercs is one of her favorite thing to do
-never met mitsi but starting to dislike her simply because how much people comparing them
-dislike grey
-gifted child, a prodigy one might say, but only wants to make Vic proud
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enthusiasticarsonist · 11 months ago
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i don't wanna talk about it
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artsyaprilmr · 2 years ago
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Some sketchezzz
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herald-of-aurene · 2 months ago
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I'm rising over dying flames
Hope the smoke carries my name
How could I watch the shattered sun
Burn the world around us?
This fucking chaos in my head is becoming too much
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androcola · 2 months ago
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he was in fact Not fine
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starrypawu · 6 months ago
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was talking to my sis and. it is a bit embarassing to say that im in a fandom where the characters are literal stickmen-
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im-kino853 · 3 months ago
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idol weirdmageddon bill... (other human bill designs under cut
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was bored in class.,,
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sunnibits · 2 years ago
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I’m sure this comes as a horrendous shock to everyone but I am once again thinking about fucking that old man
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redtailsins · 8 months ago
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posting on this blog again after 500 years
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thatonesakudere · 9 months ago
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★ ⸻ GENERAL
name : Mayu Jotei
title(s) : the Corporate Bitch (unofficial)
gender : Cis Female
age : 39 years old (human), around 20 years old (avatar)
birthday : 7th of August (Scorpio)
place of birth : Earth, Japan
spoken & understood language(s) : English, Japanese, rudimentary Na'vi
sexual preference : Bi with preference for men
occupation(s) : Chief Executive Officer of a company which is one of the RDA biggest shareholders
★ ⸻ APPEARANCE
eye color : Grey (human), Yellow (avatar)
hair color : Black
height : 152 cm (human), 259 cm (avatar)
major scars : none she made sure of that
★ ⸻ FAVORITE
color : deep reds and purples
song : classical music (Tchaikovsky, Swan Lake Suite, Op. 20a, TH 219, Act II: No. 10, Scene)
food : nigiri with black caviar
drink : coffee
★ ⸻ HAVE THEY…
passed university : yes, top marks
had sex : yes
had sex in public : yes (semi)
gotten pregnant/someone else pregnant : no
kissed a boy : yes
kissed a girl : yes
gotten tattoos : no
gotten piercings : yes
stayed up for more than 24 hours : yes (many times)
★ ⸻ ARE THEY…
a virgin : no
a cuddler : yes, but only towards close friends/partner/brother
a kisser : yes (a biter too)
scared easily : no, she knows how to keep her composure
jealous easily : yes, on top of being possessive
trustworthy : absolutely not
dominant : yes
submissive : yes, if "wrestled into submission"
in love : [classified data]
single : depends on who asks
★ ⸻ RANDOM QUESTIONS
have they harmed themselves : no, but developed some destructive habits
thought of suicide : no
attempted suicide :  no
wanted to kill someone : yes, and went through with it
have / had a job : yes
have any fears : yes
★ ⸻ FAMILY
sibling(s) : 
Younger brother Masa Jotei, Japanese, 13 — 14 years old, chronically ill.
parent(s) :
Mother Mayuki Jotei, Japanese, Chief Communications Officer, deceased.
Father Masaki Jotei, Japanese, CEO of a financial company, deceased.
children : none
significant other : that's for her to know
pet(s) : a bonded Ikran named Uzume
tagged : @pandoranfalconer thank you so much (hope we can RP sometime)! ♥ tagging : @bereavedconcupis (i'm making you rise from the dead lol) ♥♥♥
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cotyncosmos · 2 years ago
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i got sick the last three? four? days, istg gonna lose my marbles
there are a lot of tags, mainly me ranting a bit, sorry about not updating my canary story btw mind is a bit scrambled eggs currently n brain rot powers go to my comfort ytuber
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paterday · 1 year ago
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I’ve learned I really enjoy writing in second person. Oops..
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sufranstevens · 2 years ago
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me puse al día con la música de los jóvenes juntándome con mis amigas para hacer rompecabezas una de cal una de arena
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reignpage · 20 days ago
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Lying To Himself
Content: in which toji is left alone and how he deals with your temporary absence
You have to leave for two weeks, something about a mission in another city. Your boyfriend, Toji, swears it'll be okay, even insists that time will pass by in a blink of an eye. 
“‘m not a fucking child, ma. I’ll be fine. Just take care, yeah?”
And so, you peck him on his lips and wave goodbye before you get in the car. Then you’re disappearing in the distance. Toji shrugs, going back in feeling pretty excited to have the house to himself for two weeks — this has never happened before. As he sits on the couch, bottle of beer in one hand and tv remote on the other, he thinks about all the things he can do now.
The toilet seat can stay up, the bins will be full for longer, same goes for the dirty dishes in the sink, and he can watch whatever he wants; no more of those sappy romcoms with predictable plots and cheesy lines. 
“’s gonna be fun,” he mutters, a growing grin on his face. 
A couple days pass in relative silence, he stays out late, sleeps till noon and eats all the junk you’ve banned from the house. Toji cooks all the steak he wants and leaves the beer bottles to collect dust on the coffee table. And he accepts every invitation from his buddies to go out for drinks, watch basketball at the bar, and plays a couple games too.
He stays up all night, on the evenings he's not getting stupid drunk, playing videogames -- the violent ones you cringe at. During the day, he walks around the place in just his boxers, sometimes not even that, and it's liberating. All a man needs is to be free to be balls naked in their own kitchen.
"You're not missing her at all?" Shiu asks, smoke blowing in his face as they stand in the back alley, leaning against the wall of the bar.
Toji snorts. "What am I? Five years old? I can last a couple weeks without being sappy."
His friend gives him a look, half amused, half disbelieving and a hundred percent smug. None of them miss the death grip he has on his phone, the way his knee is bouncing, and how he isn't even looking at the hot chicks that sway their asses as they walk by.
It’s been great. Really fucking great. 
You haven’t been texting much. Sure, you check in here and there, letting him know you’re alright, you’re safe, and making sure he’s watered your plants. However, there are rarely any opportunities for phone calls longer than five minutes, no FaceTime either, and sometimes he goes to sleep without a ‘goodnight’ from you. 
It’s fine. 
At least, he can sleep at whatever time he wants without you whining about needing cuddles.
More days pass just like that. 
And now he’s rarely leaving the house, finding his drunk friends boring and obnoxiously loud. It’s like he's suddenly realised they’re kinda fucking stupid. He starts to get sick of all the steak and fried chicken and takeaway, and instead he’ll text you for the recipe of your lasagne or that smoothie you make him in the mornings that’s always greener than the last. 
His feet tap on the floor when you don’t reply straight away. And when his phone lights up, he practically dives for it and grips it tight in his palm, screen threatening to crack when it’s not from you. 
“God fucking dammit, Shiu. Don’t fucking talk to me if it’s not important.”
The movies he’s been dying to watch are pretty shit. There’s no depth, no proper pacing, and the dialogue’s cheesy as fuck. Usually, you’d throw popcorn at the screen and complain about all those things, but he finds that he has to mutter them to himself for white noise. Even smirks when he thinks he got it exactly right, guessing what you’d say as if you’re yapping right in his ear. 
“She’d totally find that shit stupid. And that blood looks fake as fuck. What was the fucking budget for this shit?”
Most of the phone calls on his history log are from him, more reds than greens. What the fuck have they got you doing over there anyways? 
When you do reply to his ‘g’night’ and ‘hey, sleep well?’, he’ll have a go at you for taking so damn long. It’s just fucking ridiculous that you’re clearly sleeping well when he has to hit the gym and tire himself out to even get an hour of shut eye nowadays. Sometimes, he can’t even get any and he just paces the length of the living room waiting for a notification from you to pop up. 
“Fucking come on! Y'r phone better be dead or something.”
Toji hates having dinner on the table; the seat opposite him is empty, the placemat bare and he feels a freaky fucking soreness in his chest. When that happens, he never finishes his dinner. Must be a symptom of early heart disease. Gotta talk to the doctors about that. 
Instead, he eats on the sofa or in his car.
Eventually, you find time to speak to him for an hour, recounting all the crazy things you’ve seen and had to do. He doesn’t interrupt, he just grunts here and there, not even really listening but he urges you to keep talking when there’s a pause, like you’re unsure if you’re talking too much. And when you try to turn the conversation on him, asking about his day, he gives one word answers and then throws you another question. 
“Yeah?” He grunts. “What else? Speak up, ma. Wanna hear ya. D’ya go to that shop? Yeah? Y’ buy anything? Send me a picture.”
He gets two nights of decent sleep after that.
But then…
The guys at work know better than to open their fat mouths around him when he turns up with an extra wrinkle and a ticking in his jaw. Toji is somehow even more sadistic and violent and eager for blood. Even finally accepts their invitation to go out for drinks and drowns himself in the extra strong shit. Assuming he just woke up on the wrong side of the bed, they don’t question his sour mood. 
But what they don’t know is that you texted, just a day before you’re set to come back, to let him know you’re staying another week. 
Fucking texted. 
Didn’t even get to hear it from your own voice. 
He buries himself in more work and stays at the gym for even longer, pushing his body so far, his mind quiets down and he don’t gotta think about the fact that he’s started sleeping on your side of the bed, that the house is losing your scent, and that divot on the couch where you always sat has flattened out. 
Everyone knows he’s losing his mind. They can tell by the dark circles under his eyes and the fact that he’s started snapping at women who are either flirting or just doing their jobs. And sometimes they even have to block his view of couples practising PDA. That’s the closest to hell they ever want to get around Toji. Suddenly, everyone’s hoping you throw the guy a bone and send a nude or something. Literally anything to rein him back in.
The day comes, though, when you’re finally returning home. 
“Y’ sure? Not gonna flake again? Be fucking sure, ma. Alright, get back safe.”
Toji throws all the rubbish out, washes the dishes and dries them, double checks that the toilet seat is down, and he’s followed your recipe for beef stew to the letter — it’s cooking in the oven, and it looks fucking great. Even exfoliated in the shower like you’ve been asking him to, almost took off an entire layer of skin. He doesn’t want to admit he feels pretty fucking fresh. 
The door handle rattles. 
He sits up. And then stands. Walks over to the front door, arms crossing and then uncrossing. 
You’re here. 
“Hey, Toji—“
Your greeting is smothered in his chest as he threatens to suffocate you with the hardest bear hug in the whole world. And though he’d never hurt you, if you weren’t a sorcerer, you’d have been in big trouble. 
“Y’ hungry? Or y’ wanna shower first?”
His hands are all over you, lifting your chin to search your face for any scratches, even squishes your cheeks to be sure, and he’s patting you down for bruises or just to make sure all your limbs are intact. There’s a frown on his lips and it’s pretty darn cute. 
“Aw, Toji, baby. Did you miss me?”
“No.”
You roll your eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re not a child, blah blah blah.”
Walking past him to take your shoes off, hang your coat and roll your suitcase to the side, you’re inhaling the air and moaning about the delicious food in the oven. Oh, God. You’ve been craving homemade food for so long now. You might actually die if you don’t eat. 
“Come here.” Your eyes dart to him, still standing by the doorway, fists clenching and unclenching. Toji looks furious. You look closer. No, he looks…embarrassed? “Said come here, ma.”
“Why?” You ask, head titling in curiosity and slight suspicion. 
He grunts. “What? I gotta spell it out for ya?”
Laughing, you tap your foot on the ground and retort back, “Yeah, you might because you need to have a good reason for keeping me from both a good shower and a warm meal.”
Toji rolls his eyes and stalks over to you, yanking you back to his chest so he can wrap his arms around you and keep you still. It’s much softer than before, but you feel the same sense of passion, something that verges on desperation.
It’s almost like…
No. 
It can’t be. 
Oh, but when you feel his face bury itself in your neck and you hear that long inhale, followed by a deep groan vibrating through his chest, you’re absolutely sure. 
Toji missed you. 
An overwhelming feeling of love fills you, so does a sense of victory, and you just hug him back, inhaling deeply too. He smells like home, like reluctant cuddles, pats on the ass, and early morning sex. You thought you’d have the most trouble in the two weeks, which turned into three, but as it turns out, he didn’t fare much better. 
Though he’d never admit it with his own mouth, his body betrays him.
Toji doesn’t let you get very far without a hand on you somehow, whether that’s a hand on your thigh as you eat dinner side by side, instead of across from each other, or you sitting on his lap as you watch the movie you want to watch. He even waits on the toilet lid as you shower, though that only lasts a couple minutes before he’s stripping and joining you. 
“Y’r not washing y’r hair right,” he tuts. 
Getting into bed is even worse because he’s practically lying on top of you the whole night, still sniffing your neck, and with his hands exploring your body. Not really in a sexual way, which is odd for him, but as if he just wants to feel you. He wants to feel your warmth, your softness, and reassure himself you’re home. 
Soon, he’s out cold and you mumble a goodnight against his forehead.
He wakes up feeling completely refreshed, like a newborn, stretching and grinning about getting ready with the day, and frowns when you’re still fast asleep. Part of him wants to make sure you’re getting your rest, but that part doesn’t win for very long and the much bigger part is shaking you awake.
“Come on, ma. Fucking bored here. Wake up, yeah? Let’s get some breakfast. Wanna talk to ya.” 
And when you do wake up, grumbling at how loud he’s being, he ignores the glares you’re giving and the swatting of his hands. Toji gives you a rare, wide, toothy smile and he says, 
“There’s my gorgeous girl. Good morning, baby.”
Yeah, this man totally missed you. 
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