#im doing better than i was when i made this i suppose
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ender-cloud · 3 days ago
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Jekyll and Hyde are so silly chat I love them so much
Tgs spoilers Under the cut
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This, this right here, this is projecting. Before even knowing about Hyde he has this assumption about him because he’s always seen Hyde as smaller than him. He is trying to belittle Hyde so Hyde will give up.
In any other world Hyde wouldn’t have gone into the mind Scape if he had given up, I dont think Jekyll is thinking right. This man has some block in his brain, because why is he all of a sudden so blind to see things infront of him.
What is that block? Well its like a truama block, its easier to say Hyde has given up because he is trying to finally have his peace. He’s spent all of this time worrying about keeping it secret and then all of a sudden it’s revealed to the entire society?
It feels to Jekyll that HES the one who LOST, not Hyde, so he’s projecting that onto Hyde. Deep inside he feels like a failure, and is having a hard time believing that Hyde could be stronger than him because Hyde is supposed to be the bad part of him.
The split wasnt all 50/50, some things that Jekyll may not have wanted to get rid of are in Hyde.
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Hyde has realized that he’s got to make Jekyll see how strong and determined he actually is.
All Hyde wants to do is bring Jekyll back because He wants to go back to normal, he wants everything to be the same, back to how it always was, because he’s terrified of the prospect of change. Even if things weren’t always the greatest his relationship with Jekyll is what kept him, well himself.
You can even see it here, even though he may need to be vulnerable to get Jekyll back, he can’t help but take a jab at Jekyll because thats their dynamic.
But it’s also because he’s scared, he doesn’t know where they are, he dosent know if he can win, and he doesn’t know if he can even get Jekyll, or even himself back safely.
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Jekyll’s shock could be because Hyde fought back, or because hes just Shocked that Hyde would ever want to save him after everything he did and how he fought with Hyde for so many years, he dosent get how Hyde could want to save him.
In his mind, it feels like Hyde is trying to trick him, trying to get him back, just to make his life hell once again. He dosent know about Lanyon, he dosent know about anything thats going on in the world, all he knows is that Hyde betrayed him by exposing them to all of the lodgers + his lover.
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They are 5 year olds your honor.
This made me giggle, I get that this is supposed to be serious in their mind but just imagine it voice acted and it just make things so much better.
“No im not!” “Yes you are!” They act like Little kids!!!!
Anyways, back to the actual update: as i said above, Jekyll dosent trust Hyde, he thinks its a trick and while we know its not it makes so much sense why he does.
But Hyde is not having it, he has tried so hard and has risked his life just for Jekyll to tell him no? Of course they are going into an altercation (no matter how childish it is)
They’ve always acted in this kinda brotherish dynamic. Where they would fight but kind of in a childish way, and I think that’s mostly because Hyde.
Hyde has some childish tendencies which Jekyll gets caught up into it often, especially when their emotions are both high and overwhelming that they have to express them in someway and that’s how they know how too, its always worked for them and for a moment it seems like things are going back to normal.
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First off, Just look at Hyde’s pose in this, even though the fight ended he isnt going to just give up just like that, no matter what Jekyll might think of him.
He’s not giving up, not just for himself, but he’s not giving up hope for Jekyll. He knows Lanyon is trusting him to do this and he dosent want to fail him aswell.
So much is riding on Hyde and Jekylls stubbornness is ruining his plans. He will probably just follow Jekyll, if he cant convince him one way there must be another, he will probably change his approach or keep on doing it until Jekyll breaks.
He needs to make Jekyll realize that he’s not useless, he needs to make Jekyll realize that people still care for him, especially Lanyon.
To get Jekyll back Hyde needs to give him hope.
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givepie · 2 days ago
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So Toxicator opened. So im bringing this back
BUT HERES PART II.
[Also Hyperia had some updates I'll talk about that too]
Actually lets start with Hyperia, theres less to cover there.
They decided to add shrubbery & grass. How cute.
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How the fuck is that supposed to enrich the fucking theming when the island is shown to be volcanic.
I am a firm believer most rides can be fixed up by adding a lil greenery. Nemesis reborn looked so much better with it, and part of that is that the world Nemesis lives in IS constantly progressing. It being slightly overgrown and natural after the initial excavation makes sense, because its been awhile since 1994.
Hyperia.... is set on a rocky island. So WHY. Of ALL things. Did they decide to put down turf instead of ROCKS. its an island so why is there now NO mention of water whatsoever while the splashdown is being investigated? MERLIN.
ANYWAY.
Toxicator.
So youd think, considering all my praise for Reborn just now, and all the praise in general, this would be positive. Ha. Hahahaha.
I am in this for the love of unconventional storytelling. Theme park lands are vefy much just worldbuilding, which is why rides like Hyperia - where an active story is involved - struggles because the story has to be all around you or it might aswell not be happening at all. I can best describe it as the setting of a DnD campaign before the campaign starts proper. The players arent going to give a shit about the other group of mercs in the area unless you make them directly interact, make each others businesses intertwined. Otherwise theyre just NPCs the PCs never get to meet.
There is no Hyperia fandom like there is for FV and Xsector. For a reason. Noone gives a shit about Hyperia. Her story is nothing to do with your own.
Where does this come into Toxicator? Well, it certainly looks appropriate. But where the fuck does it come into the lore. We literally just established that the Phalanx has minimal control over the monster, so how the hell are they getting close enough to her to extract whatever her teeth are producing. Which - by the by- is also an unexplained topic.
The closest thing i can think of that links is the Nectar, which actually came from the digested pieces of people she consumed. Like John Dalton. Who is apparenlty still alive, thanks to the fireworks. Again, this has not been explained or even acknowledged as anything weird.
He just showed up and talked about attacking intergalactic aliens, which does not exist in the Nemesis lore until THIS POINT. NEMESIS IS EXTRADIMENSIONAL. SHE CAME HERE THROUGH A WORMHOLE. THE WORMHOLE GALACTICA ARE USING.
I AM NOT KIDDING. GALACTICA IS BETTER LINKED TO NEMESIS STORYLINEWISE THAN TOXICATOR. ITS JUST THAT SOME PEOPLE CANNOT HANDLE A PLOTLINE THATS NOT "UAGGHH SUFFERING, GUNS!"
Then there's also the fact that making FV into a Phalanx heavy area rides-wise makes the area without actors feel like X-sector 2.0. I am not the one to first have this thought, but it has resonated with me. Part of what made FV so lively was having so many groups. You could see where threads crossed, how people interacted. But, due to Merlin not being Disney and having a much tighter budget, the Ent team can't be there all the time. How to enforce this spirit then? DIVERSITY IN RIDE THEMING.
Even if they just stick to the 3 groups in 2024 and got rid of the Galactica company, Toxicator could have more ripsaw-esque features and be themed to the STT troupe.
Galactica could come under new management with MCT and feed into the "cooperate entity not caring for tragedy, only profits" theme.
Instead we get a new ride where the theme is a brief idea that doesn't expand on the plot of the land. I am loathe to think about what they plan for Galactica.
Hm! I feel a rant coming on! Everyone duck!
MY THOUGHTS ON THE HYPERIA STORY AND ITS THEMING. ALSO A GENERAL RANT ON COASTER THEMING.
Let start with a general question: what counts as theming?
To me, theming is the set pieces, pre-show, and anything laid out in a rides area to help develop a story. Most of the time this helps world-building more than anything. To me, even music can be a piece of theming because it helps to set a tone. For example, when riding Smiler, the laughter sounds almost manic and it makes you realise straight away that something is off, before you even step foot into X-sector.
Anything that DOESN'T fall into this classification such as website and app pages, falls into "storytelling". In a theme park, it is almost impossible to tell the entire story from one repeated instance inside of said story. To tell a complicated story like that of the Smiler, it would take so much exposition, which is very much not the point and would take away from the experience as a whole.
So storytelling isn't a bad thing, it's how they handle it.
To me, there are three behemoths of theme park theming and storytelling worldwide. That I know of.
Baron 1898, X-Sector post-Smiler, And Forbidden Valley post-Reborn.
Baron 1898 is pretty easy to grasp while you're there, even as a non-speaker of the language. You're going on a mine tour and 3 ghost ladies are PISSED that you're going down there. The actual theming is downright impressive ans I would love to see it in real life. You can then look up the story to find out who the ghosts are, who the Baron is, and how the mine came to be. Really good treat for people who decide to look.
Forbidden Valley has a story that has remained relatively consistent throughout the years. It has wondering actors that establish the world in a realistic yet entertaining way rather quickly. There are an official operation; there are people opposing the operation so there is something sneaky going on; there is a tour group taking advantage of the centrepiece so the Alien is a tourist attraction in this universe, too. Just little things that help put together a bigger picture.
Of course this starts coming apart a little bit when the audio starts explicitly telling you what is happening, but it still holds. You see someone's office, a crashed helicopter, weapons for warding off the alien. All things to help build up this universe you are now ankle-deep in. And then there's the 3 pages on the Internet that break down the story for you, which can also be seen in the shop.
Finally, of course, there's X-sector. It doesn't usually have roaming actors, and the theme suits better that way. Without the roaming actors, you see that the Ministry are secretive. Trying to stay out of the limelight, except for the skeleton crew they send out to keep the coaster safe and operational. It shows a tone.
However, people casually wondering what this is about can never get an easy answer. Cause the answer is spread out across what remains of a decade-old marketing campaign. Fun for people who want a deep dive, not so fun for people who are just lightly curious. The website barely tells you anything either.
But, on a positive light, the story is so complex it keeps a fandom. Not many coasters have that. It's an insane accomplishment.
And I have a theory as to why. Now, stay with me here I think I'm about to upset some people:
It has aspects of social and political commentary. "Not everything is political" ALL GOOD ART IS A COMMENTARY ON THE TIMES AND CIRCUMSTANCES YOU WERE RAISED IN SIT YOUR ARSE BACK DOWN.
RIGHT, so, Smiler is a story about the government dedicating an organisation to keeping people artificially content to keep people compliant. What are Brits notorious for doing, in comparison to the French?
Doing fuck all. This wasn't always the case. We would riot, we would strike. Now we strike but while the other half of the country complains and just tells the strikers to sit back down and take the mistreatment. We are miserable, we complain, and we go about our day. And that's the joke. Its funny. So why bother changing it?
And if we can't be bothered changing something cause it's funny, what happens if they make everything purposefully funny? They'd never have to deal with the strikes in the first place.
The government functions off of our social compliance, which can come from making jokes at our own expense. We even see it now with our drowned-rat-faced PM as he continues to make a fool out of himself so he's funny. If he's funny, we want to see him more. That's a valid strategy nowadays.
Smiler. Is about how Keep Calm And Carry On is a stand against progress.
Smiler. Is a political and social commentary on the people of Britain. You're welcome.
Anyway!
HOW DOES THIS RELATE TO THE NEW WORLD-STAGE COASTER IN STAINES?
The problem is: it doesn't. Instead of taking inspiration from its sister park, Alton, Thorpe decided to take inspiration from Icon and its shoebox station.
Where is Fearless Valley taking place? When is Fearless Valley taking place? What point in the story are we looking at here? The issue [only issue, really] with Hyperia, is it entirely relies on storytelling and a few bits and bobs in the queue.
Remember the shortcoming in Nemesis? Where you can get a good grasp of the story without it being blasted in your ear? Yeah here they straight up tell you the story, too. The theming has BECOME the storytelling.
Next question: what is Hyperia, the coaster, supposed to be? Yes, we know the story is that a goddess called hyperia overcame her fear of the sea by building wings and escaping the island she was trapped on [for some unspecified reason. Is hyperia evil?], but what IS the coaster supposed to be?
Smiler is the Marmaliser, the machine that transforms you into a smiling advocate. Nemesis is the tentacles of the monster overtaking the metal that pins it down. Baron is the track the drill takes to get into the mine.
What is Hyperia? Are we following Her as she soars, were we stuck with Her; the Icarus to her Daedalus? Are we following in her footsteps as part of a ceremony Her followers reenact for her blessing? Are we supposed to be Her? It's never really specified.
The station is chocked full of a last-ditch attempt of theming, which in comparison with the whole lotta nothing you get from the queueline? It feels cramped. It feels cheap. It barely feels like it belongs on a stage alongside Taron, Velocicoaster and Voltron Nevera. If they didn't have the budget to do the storytelling and the theme, they should've gone for theme.
Any story with no theme feels cheap and artificial. Any theme with no story still stands out and has breathtaking scenes. If they focused more on the white-gold colour palate and maybe had a few statues around and about they could pass it as some sort of pantheon, like climbing Olympus.
I'm not gonna lie, I'm disappointed in all aspects of the Hyperia theming. It feels lazy, tacky and underwhelming when you consider Swarm is a 5 minute walk away. I'm hoping it improves at some point.
I geniunely think the stone head of Collosus is much better than anything in Fearless Valley and its inconsistencies. The Black and gold buildings feel very sleek and out of place for a story ultimately about a goddess who forged. She forged her own wings. She forged her own bravery. Shouldnt the building look a little home made? Where are the bolts? The soldering? I want to see her anvil and hammer pride-of-place, not shoved in the corner of the station.
Cmon thorpe. Get your arse in gear.
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strawbrryshak2 · 3 months ago
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11/3/24 worthms
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moomeecore · 5 months ago
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im actually really good at admitting when i dont know things its just that people keep talking to me about things that i know a lot about and am objectively correct on
#this is a cartoony exaduration of a very real sentiment#whoch is that im often told that i come off like i 'need to be right about everything'#but i have achived a place in my life where i recognize when i dont have all the info or perspective nessesary need to Listen#and that i dont have to have a strong opinon abt everything#and that admitting that i lack knowledge or opinion rather than masking that with false confidence is better in the long run#bc it dosent put you on defense - makes you more receptive to new information + perspectives + corrections#its just that people will try to tell me their opinions about lawn mowers and im not going to pretend like i dont know more than them#when i do. which happens to be all the time#never met a person whos done as much reaserch on lawns + lawn care industry and related issues such as sore machines#(small off road engines)#i know theyre out there but the chances of me finding them is small and i have yet to do so#and then people try and give me their opinions abt this subject and if THEY dont shut up and listen i go rabid#like i know when its my turn to shut up and listen but sometimes im right and OTHER people need to be shutting up and listening#but also even outside of that i tend to come off as harsh/agressive/judgmental even when relaying info that im not obsessive abt like lawns#its the autism. i just word things blunt and talk with flat affect and dont know how to soften the blow well when correcting people#or even just adding my own perspective + ideas to convo without intent of 'correcting' anyone#such is life i suppose#just so long as nobody tries to tell me lawns are ethical ill be fine#<- remembers when i made a post that accidently got attention abt this subject and melted down#bc the strangers on the internet dont understand that this is my WHOLE THINF#if you knew me in real life youd understand. its my passion#text#im putting this is the lawn tag actually#lawn posting
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teomodo · 25 days ago
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is there a reason for this apparent trend of Extreme Credulosity on the internet beyond the usual advertiser friendly/made for kids/eternal september/no-discretion-just-endless-content reasons... like i acknowledge i am not the target demo here but it seems very common these videos with the spooky scary thumbnail about how this media was BANNED omg what could it be and what it be's is like 30 years ago in the dark ages of mass media conservative christians had the power to take bloodhound gang off their radio stations because it was too off color for their tastes. like i think maybe this is only interesting to me because ive been around older/religious people so much so i hear the decline of society thing all the time and like accelerated degradation of social etiquette and taboo and Young People are all culturally relevant and hip and with it and savvy but it feels like wrapping back around to this like extreme wide eyed...ness... very disingenuous feeling very obviously for profit... like maybe in my mind im overstating the cultural relevance of rotten.com and it just feels like EVERYONE on the internet used to watch videos of the cartel torturing people to death and now EVERYONE only watches 30 pieces of lost childrens media found in 2025 [12:28:56] number 30 a reddit user posted about a show they couldnt remember about a blue dog who solbed mysteries and a comment suggested it was a show called blues clues Lost Media: Found. maybe the powers that be have enforced the dichotomy of content creator/content consumer in a 10/90 ratio because everyone acknowledging their capacity for creativity and self fulfillment is not profitable and they did it so well that it cultivates this feeling like we *are* running out of new things (even though we're not) so we take the campfire ghost story aesthetics of like a whang video on mr. hands and apply it to whatever the anticlimactic drama du jour is because this form of presentation is established even if we don't have actual content to justify such a presentation and we're just scraping the bottom of the barrel for ad sense, content wise. the other side of this coin is of course that uber savvy misanthropic irony poisoning is also still everywhere and the grand old tradition of white kids adopting aave to seem Worldly is alive and well so when they say "blud thought he ate with the top hat willy wonka ahh chile 😭 😭 " it sounds like everyone else is soooo gauche and naive and you see the top hat soooo often that everyone knows what you'retalking about. i think i understand that a little more as a cultural trend/defense mechanism where the gullibleness maybe i want to understand less because im afraid the answer is everyone buying wholesale into the modes of thought that make them good youtube viewers, or, if not enthusiastic conscious adoption of that kind of thinking just taking the path of least resistance because real life is so sucks right now. honestly most of the time it just feels like everyone is talking to nobody online and our little jokes and performances are always just whizzing over the shoulders of The Viewership so maybe none of this even matters whatsoever
#which is to say nothing of obvious rise in social conservativism thats another 9 paragraphs#probably just thinking about this bc my circle irl has shrunk so much recently and there are several layers of personality i feel unable to#connect with people on so im keeping a lot to myself. stewing on the thought of connecting with people in general (or being unable to)#< its not bad though. just thinkin#this all said without judgement too but again the eternal september thing i think#a lot about squaring the circle wrt the natural thing of your small circle u connect with and not wanting to b exclusionary#& obv not being like we need to go all somethingawful boys club again because the general population is dumber than me and my friends#but when i think about this its like ya blanket inclusion of everyone possible on earth with the expectation of like#fixing all the ills and not just going through your life doing good being kind where you can i think is still such a misguided effort#toward. whatever its toward. making The World your target demo#i guess blanket inclusion as a banner to march under rather than just making sure u see the person in front of you thats what im getting at#sorry maybe the tags seem disconnected but the connection bt the gullibleness and the absolute inclusionary stance i mean like#catering to utter inexperience and not expecting people to google for themselves#other people have made this point better but if we are all constantly casting ourselves in the light of newborn baby naivete with no powers#of discretion or judgement or autonomy we cant make much progress or like adult decisions#its not an empowering mindset its limiting. is the gist of this i suppose#long post
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lewyn-martell · 3 months ago
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#interview with the vampire#i just found and watched a video on youtube that is a lestat hate and rant about his fans and it was so SO cathartic#i dont even agree with everything said and was naturally at first skeptic of a youtuber's opinion#but finally FINALLY there is a louder voice of someone who can see things about this show from another point of view#even if it's a pov that's more strict than the one i use to analyze media myself#i thought i was going crazy when seeing the fan opinions surrounding this show. mostly out there but sometimes here too#like yeah with how popular loustat is i knew there would be plenty of bias for the angle that flatters it#but the things ive seen lestat & loustat fans say.... the longing for eye bleach was real#but finally someone is there to underline that hey. that very present very intentional racial and power dynamics are in fact very real.#do in fact influence the characters accordingly. and does not come out of thin air or just 'the circumstances'#it's valid to explore the other side of the coin in louis' character of course. but it doesnt mean that it's not there#mind you. all of that shit louis described? is while insisting he was not 'an abused person'#and its so satisfying to see how someone can pass all the bullshit and have the serenity of heart to recognize that#regardless of everything else. there is a reason why louis felt like lestat was a predator and he was being preyed on#that is because he largely was. lestat *was* a vampire on the hunt. an emotional vampire to boost along with the more literal sense#he might disagree to be doing that on a conscious level and he might have clear reasons to have the instincts he does. he still did that#thank you for also calling bullshit on the reunion scene dialogue and parts of the trial in how it was trying to frame certain things#its the main reason why s2 didnt fully work for me. like jesus christ.#that man literally was part of a ploy to murder their daughter. BE SERIOUS. and im supposed to be mad about armand's involvement??#i also felt so seen when he talked about how dickmatized penis delirious to the point of frustration louis is#there is so much to be grateful for. in highlighting the weight of lestat's involvement vs armand's#in talking about louis' family's side of things. expressing how people for some reason love to call armand a mastermind lying manipulator#when the first culprit of that is the blonde bitch??#honestly the irritation i feel towards many of the fans of this show and the major opinions was such#that i was feeling bad just be seeing iwtv content around and i dont wanna feel like that. i like the show so much.#this was soul clearing in a way. even if. again. i dont fully agree with everything#love how its so clear how so many people try to invoke the books when trying to dissuade him from thinking ill of lestat#because thats exactly my experience too LMAO. talk about a weak limpdick argument#and people who try to invoke unreliable narrator are not much better#and the whole story is made up from the writer's head and nothing matters! see i can do this too
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casualhedonists · 1 year ago
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DATING IS SO HARD WTF
#vent to follow in the tags lmao#like. what????#people!!! chill the fuck out!!#i had some dude unmatch with me bc i didn’t respond to him YESTERDAY#and like it’s not that big of a deal we’d only just matched but like?? patience is a fucking virtue?? and i have a life?#he was all like come back :((( then two minutes later he was like ok sorry for bothering you bye and then LEFT#like. fine if you do that but the message?? what??#anyway it came at a bad time bc. a bitch is already in crisis rn#cause i kinda feel like my irl friends hate me for some reason and i already feel bad that i’ve been so busy i’ve not been able to#talk to them that much#and i was supposed to go on a trip with my friend but that’s been postponed (not her fault or mine)#and my car still won’t start. we tried to jump it today and it didn’t do anything#anyway i’m like rapid cycling through major emotions and it’s like mimi chill the fuck out#and listening to way too much phoebe bridgers i know the end#also i’m in crisis bc i’ve made up with like. my oldest friend who used to have a crush on me and when i told him i preferred girls he like#stopped talking to me for a while#that was years ago and now we’re slowly becoming friends again but i feel so much guilt over it for no reason#and i get into avoidant episodes as a coping mechanism and like. i feel like im going into one atp#okay okay vent over im okay lmaoo#sorry folks hope your days going better than mine <3#。・:*˚:✧。 mimi speaks!
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cryptojuice · 1 year ago
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take this with a grain of extremely drunk but at this point I'm my journey? now? I'm like literally the idealest person in the world and I think everyone else has something wrong with them
#is it autism? is that why people don't just fuckin communicate with me?#my autistic superpower is im TOO GOOD at communicating and everyone else is behind me.#im already in the 'so how do we meet our needs' stage when other people are in the avoidance stage or the self awareness stage#idk. idk. fuckin tired of it#tired of games tired of excuses tired of IMMATURITY#tired of being more grown than people in their mid 30s. tired of being more grown than my parents in their mid 50s#tired of being the ONLY person i know ACTIVELY working on their flaws and making progress#maybe others are just working on things i dont notice and maybe others dont notice what im doing. but idk. people have seemed to notice.#is it because im becoming buddhist? am i like more fucking enlightened or something?#i would hope that wouldn't be the only thing causing such a disconnect cause that sounds fucking pretentious#im drunk cause i was upset. remember yhis if you're reading these tags#im not upset anymore cause i got drunk. and made a really good omelette#but yeah i feel so different from other people. so much better and also so much worse. hashtag paradox#best communicator deepest thinker most compassionate soul. also most horrible awful sinner#↑obsessed with the concept of sin in a fascinating way for someone who doesn't Believe in it#yes im a sinner yes im a real sex demon from hell no hell doesnt exist yes reincarnation is real yes i am buddhist yes i believe in ghosts.#i contain multitudes#anyways#i was supposed to *** ** ***** *** today and i didn't so I got grumpy i guess#i really need to practice the principles of detachment#I've gotten a lot better at patience and calm and meditation but i still care so much about inconsequential shit. enough to drink it away i#i should sleep i was trying to fix my sleep schedule the last two nights#but i don't want to. i want to drink and have fun and maybe cry#we'll see#doubt anyone is gonna read this it's mostly for me#gonna tag this#therapy#so i can find it if i need it#i just miss my girlfriend man. but she stood me up again without a word and it's disrespectful#and i know I'm gonna forgive her
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litt1e-prince · 2 years ago
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living in my own home away from my dad but he still waits up for me to get home
#i was panicking cause 'whos up at 2am. who can i call at 2am- no one will pick up the pho-- my dad. his phone is ALWAYS on loud.'#it rings twice and im like 'shit dad im so sorry to call you and wake you' and hes just there like 'oh dont worry. i was waiting for you.'#turns out: my mum was suppose to message me to tell me to call my dad when i got off the coach to walk home! she must've forgot tho#cause i was initially just gonna walk home ez - it wasnt until the guy cat called me and started following me again that i thought#nOPE NOT THE NIGHT NOT THE VICTIM I GOTTA CALL SOMEONE OR SMTH#so i thought i might have woken him but nope he was already waiting on me - kinda had a moment of !!!!!!#my dad miiight have grown to become my hero or smth pfshhh anyway#ALSO U KNOW I DID THAT THING AGAIN. random stranger starts talking loudly and i looked at him - u give them a glance and they take it ALL.#gotta learn to stop doing that for my own fuckin safety jfc. BUT I MADE IT HOME SAFE ANYWAY SO#me and my dad just talked about our days and mid way he was like 'are you okay? you sound like youre shivering? is it cold or-'#'OH YEA im just cold. its freezing.' 'Ha! trust me there is nothing better than being in the freezing cold and then getting into bed.#best feeling... i know you have your own life now but its good to make sure you get home safe.'#ITS LIKE ONE OF THOSE LIKE. ARHGHGH my dad loves me fuck the rest of yall-#this is for all those people who say i have daddy issues cause i make a father figure out of every character i like-#ur correct but-#ANYWAY SOmetimes forget my dad has unmedicated anxiety. my mans out here fighting for him life on a random saturday cause his kid#didnt get home until 2am. then he wakes up at 6am to help my brother - My guy doing It All.#my art#ted talk
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im-smart-i-swear · 1 year ago
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Does Jiro has ghost like abilities (possession, ability to levitate things, etc etc) or does she just live in Shiro's head?
when i created this au, i thought the best option would be for her to be unable to interact with the physical world in any way(including possesion), beacuse i really wanted to lean into her isolation and how it affects her....... and while thats something i still want to emphasise here, lately ive been toying with the idea of jiro being able to impact the physical world somehow(though it still being fairly limited). i think letting her have some control could have a lot of potential! buuuut i also have no idea what abilities i want her to have lol
For now i think im not gonna give her any telekinetic abilities, bc i feel like it would be giving her too much power......... if she could throw shit, shed go APESHIT with it. it would made things too easy for her. i'm sorry babygirl but i'm NOT giving you the possibilty to throw knives and other sharp objects, i dont trust you to not kill someone:/
i really like the idea of her being able to temporarily posses her old body in certain circumstances tho- maybe when shiros uncouncious?? or like when hes is very tired or heavily injured she can kind of 'squeeze through' and take control back for a few minutes???? idk. i think this could be a very cool ability to give her- it cant be frequently used but can also be very helpful, and also theres so much potential for ✨shenanigans✨here>:) oh god i could put these fuckers in so many Situations with this..........
uhhh. so basically i think all of her influence on the physical world are through shiro. shes here bc of her connection to her old body, and thus its the only way for her to interact with anyone besides him- and shes NOT HAPPY about this(neither is shiro).
#ask#thank you for this ask!! it made me think more in depth about jiros abilities and come up with this so thanks<33333#if you have any ideas pls share them with me cause im still not really 100% set on everything lol#also im making a new tag for this au ->#two disasters au#bc. theres two of them.. and theyre both Mentally Unwell#also im gonna use this ask as an excuse to ramble about jiros motivation and character a bit-#okay. so i feel like the most importrant things about jiro are her tunnel vision and self-rightiousness#she gets really focused on one thing at a time and then fixates on it so much that she doesnt see how her behavior affects others#so when she gets evicted from her own body her first reaction isnt 'oh god this is such a messed up and dehumanizing thing to do to your#friend. what the FUCK guys'#its instead 'oh COME ON how am i supposed to be the black paladin without a physical body??? what the FUCK guys'#and bc deep down she KNOWS that if she ever stopped and thought about her situation for like 5 seconds shed just fuckin BREAK. so. she#doesnt do that.#and bc her self worth hinges on being the black paladin#she is really protective of tha title and tries her hardest to make sure shiro knows just how much better at paladin-ing she is than him#and that he wouldnt be able to keep the role without her help#she doesnt have any sense of personhood besides her job and so she clings to it desperately#the same applies to her gender#when jiro gets a new body(did i mention that???? i feel like i forgot to mention that. whoopsie???) he#(sometimes im gonna use he/him for jiro for when im showing things from a certain characters perspective cause thats what pronouns#she was using at the time)(if thats not okay i can stop tho) was trying very hard to pretend that hes just Shiro No. 2 and nothing more#to kinda 'make things easier for everyone' and bc he could FEEL the gender crisis approaching and was just. dead set on ignoring it and#hoping those feelings would go away(spoiler- they very much didnt. it just made things so so much Worse)#so anyway. basically jiro is a person obsesed with being Good Enough and respected but also lacks the experience patience and foresight#wnich results in her ignoring everyone and everything else to focus on doing her job Correctly#does this makes sense?? im still figuring shit out with her but thats what ive got rn
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boomerang109 · 2 years ago
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spent my birthday money on replacing my loops cause somehow i lost them and this world is too loud
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teaboot · 3 months ago
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Sometimes I think a lot about my mom's cat
My mom's cat is a common domestic shorthair we found on the side of the road as a kitten
Regular cat, not a maine coon or one of those massive breeds. His mom was smaller than a loaf of bread
But in a sort of a Clifford The Big Red Dog situation, he grew super fast, and really really big, and took a super long time to stop growing
Worried that she was overfeeding him, she eased back his portions, but he stayed a massive round baby
When he started having kidney problems, she took him to the vet.
The vet took a look at him and said, "holy fuck, what are you feeding him", checked the nutritional listings on his chow, and told her "Yeah, maybe he's reacting badly to the amount of grain in this, try a meatier diet"
So my mom wound up special-ordering this specific high-protein prescription cat food made of like. Kangaroo meat or some shit that cost like sixty bucks a bag
And, as typical act two in an episode of House, he somehow got worse on the fancy specialized stuff that was supposed to be Primo Athlete Olympic Feline Blend
Like. WAY worse. His guts were inflamed and his kidneys were shutting down and he was all sore and HE WAS STILL HUGE, just miserable and sad
So shetook him back to the vet, where they had to help him pee (he was apparently close to bursting and had some kind of blockage too) and went "Yeah no this is NOT normal and we don't know what's going on, we're gonna do some tests but in the meantime you should go back to what he was eating before, at least that wasn't actively killing him" so she did
And he still wasn't great, but he also improved
And so they take his blood and do an ultrasound and a couple g's later she gets a call back like "this is gonna sound crazy, but we want you to put him on a low-meat diet. Just the least amount of protein and iron and shit. We need you to find the grainiest, filler-iest dollar tree kibble available and give him some of that bad bad shit"
And my mother is a woman of science. So she did
And he GOT BETTER
His energy picked back up, inflammation went down, he started drinking normally again, got back to pissing like a fuckin champion
And so it turns out that out of all the random ass freeway bonus cats we possibly could have scooped out of a ditch, WE got the one-in-a-million freak of nature with a SPECIFIC genetic defect that means a paleo protein free range diet is essentially poison and he THRIVES on cheap ass garbage
Like. He medically NEEDS junk food
I dont really understand how that works, but i cant argue with results.
If we had four of him, they'd outweigh my mom. And he's FINE
Also blind, but that's unrelated
Im not using him as a symbol or a metaphor or anything. I just keep catching myself thinking about my mom's Big Fucking Cat
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mafufuu · 2 months ago
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bleh
#vent thing so if you dont wanna see scroll away#i dont. feel good#not in a sick way nessecarily but#its weird seeing my writing perform so much better than my art#often times its like i put more effort into my art and my writing is just spur of the moment. ive been doing art for even longer than ive#written i dont even try to consistently write. i want to see people articulate their praises for me or at least acknowledge my work. for#some reason seeing it done privately isnt enough. i think i just want to be enough for me but i think that requires the applause. maybe its#just me chasing trends on the writing side but i think more people have seen anything i wrote compared to any work i drew and i dont know h#how to feel about that. i get hundreds of hits for some damn reason but as of late i dont get more than thirty notes. this is all so selfis#im questioning if ive even made it anywhere. if all my work meant nothing. if im even worthy of what attention i have. i know when you thin#of it ten people can be a lot of people but just comparing the numbers leaves a foul taste in my mouth. i dont like this. i dont like being#so insecure and jealous. i see my friends getting so much more than i do and instead of being happy for them i just feel worse about myself#and then feel even worse because im supposed to be their friend. im supposed to care for them. i think i do but something in me wants to#steal their place for the sake of the recognition. i keep on reminding myself this isnt a competition but something doesnt quite click. wha#a friend i am. ive thought about just posting it on here or self reblogging but its what little ego i have left telling me not to. i can#understand and i think if i wasnt feeling like shit rn id actually agree that its valid to want my art to stand for itself and not just#try to get notes for the sake of it. i mean anyway it just gets lost among everything else here so what even is the point. im sorry for#being jealous. its okay if you dont forgive me#arte screams into the void
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opens-up-4-nobody · 2 years ago
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fushitoru · 1 month ago
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worth the wait a nerdjo fic
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pairing ⸺ nerd/academic rival/rich boy!gojo x reader
summary ⸺ you abhor your academic rival, satoru gojo. he's a cocky asshole that you fight with constantly for the spot at first place. but when you finally discover what's underneath all those lame sweaters of his with a once in a blue moon visit at the gym (spoiler alert: he's not a scrawny nerd), you'll be fighting your severe attraction to the man who makes your life a bit harder. and maybe fall in love with him, too, in the process.
warnings ⸺ smut, f recieving oral, praise, he makes you beg for it lol, p i v sex, making out, angst if you squint, a lot of fluff, college AU, nerd!gojo, reader gets insecure sometimes and is treated horribly by her discord mod TA/research advisor, typical misogyny/sexism in STEM fields, but gojo defends her!!!, sleeper build gojo with a happy trail because im a slut, the good old pining and yearning i like. art by @/deltapork
a/n thank u to all my beta readers for editing part of this for me :3 happy valentines day!!!
general masterlist
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You blink at your paper.
98.
You suppose you should be happy—it’s a graduate level physics class, anyways. For a moment, you stare at the red markings of the TA that graded it, as if willing an error in the one problem you made a mistake on could make it go away. 
2+2=5.
You exhaled sharply, almost fighting back tears. You’d think you could avoid simple arithmetic mistakes, but apparently doing tensor products comes easier than simple addition to you. Shoving your backpack on your chair, you stuff in your laptop and the test haphazardly, not caring that it’s going to get messed and crumpled up in your backpack after your folders and binders jostle around. Fuck that test.
You wouldn’t normally act as if the test had personally wronged you—trust, you were not going to get that heated were it any class. But because of this one class, one person, you knew it was coming. The inevitable.
"Better luck next time." The voice, drenched in smug satisfaction, slithered through the air behind you, his voice and demeanor like a slimy, slimy snake. 
Your jaw tightened, but you forced yourself to remain calm as you turned around. And there he was—Gojo Satoru, the bane of your existence, a plague upon your academic record, a walking, talking statistical anomaly who somehow managed to be both infuriatingly brilliant and aggressively insufferable.
He leaned against the desk beside yours, glasses sliding down just enough to reveal the glint of those ridiculously blue eyes. He crosses his arms while they’re covered in that ridiculous, ugly sweater he’s wearing—he’s probably going for the old money aesthetic, but he doesn’t need to know he gives off more “finance bro that helps billionaires evade taxes,” or whatever finance bros do.
“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” you sniff, pretending to act nonchalant while you grab your backpack, swinging it roughly on your shoulder like it was the weight of your grievances against him.
"The test." Gojo unfolded a crisp sheet of paper with the kind of theatrical flourish reserved for revealing royal decrees. A perfect 100, circled in bold red ink.
Your stomach twisted. This is what those two points meant. Two stupid, meaningless, soul-crushing, rage-inducing points.
"Guess that makes it… what, five to three this semester?" He tapped his chin, pretending to count, as if the score wasn’t already seared into your brain like an irreversible branding. "My lead, obviously. But hey, if you ever need tutoring, I could always squeeze you in."
You bite the inside of your cheek in frustration. “I wouldn’t want to impose on the time for any of your hobbies. After all, when will you get the time to watch anime? My 5000 Year Old Girlfriend is Stuck in a Twelve Year Old’s Body, was it?”
He presses a hand to his chest in mock hurt, as if your words had truly pierced him through his chest. “Tut, tut. After all this time, I’d think you’d have my anime preferences memorized since you’re so obsessed with me. It’s Digimon, not whatever pedophilic shit you think I jerk off too.” He pauses, and then his voice drops into a conspiratorial whisper. “But you know Fred, the grad student TA that holds recitation every Wednesday? I just know he’s probably a Discord mod of a server that sends, like, daily tentacle porn. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s on the Megan's law registry either.”
Now, you have to hold back your smile because Gojo has a point. Fred is not just any TA. Fred is the grad student that mentors you on a research project; the program’s super selective, so when you realized you got him, you couldn’t just back out and give up the opportunity. However, Fred isn’t just a weird–-he’s sooo handsy with his greasy ass hands, so you accept any and all Fred slander. Because he’s your research advisor, you can’t wait to finish the project any faster. He probably would be into underage girls, but you don’t need to express your approval to Gojo, or worst of all, let him think he’s funny. God knows that would get into his head. “Yea, yea. Whatever. Anyways, I hope you have fun with your Pokemon—”
“Digimon.”
“—or whatever. I’m leaving. Some of us have things to do. Later, Gojo.”
You turned on your heel, lest Gojo hook you in with another taunt. 
Maybe you needed to blow off some steam, if you’re allowing yourself to lose to Gojo. 
Worst of all, it’s become a streak, like two times in a row—one on this quiz, and the other on the midterm a few weeks back. Your mind goes back to the last women in STEM recruiting event you had went to, and, how, in the middle of taking a bite of the delicious margherita pizza they offered, you registered that the woman in the panel had insisted that what helped her power through her PhD and dickwad supervisors was by exercising. Her fervor over pilates could almost qualify as a cult pitch, but it made you pause at the moment. Before you continued to further engorge yourself on the food offered on the charcuterie board. 
But maybe it was time to hone your focus in, and some sweaty endorphins might help you get just that. 
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You’re not really surprised the demographic at your university’s gym looks like the way it does. After all, not only was it renowned for its academics (from all the nepo babies like Gojo whose families donated buildings and had like four generations of alumnus), but it was also a Division I school. So not only was the gym packed but it was packed with men.
As you walked in the hallway towards the room that contained weight machines, gym bag slung over your shoulder, you eyed the glistening backs of the (D1, mind you) men’s swim team through the glass that separated your path and the swimming pool. 
Wow, those Speedos really hugged their asses. You imagined Gojo in one, and almost snorted. Rich boy nerd Satoru definitely didn’t  learn how to swim; his family’s mansion probably had a twenty year old personal lifeguard that Gojo lost his virginity to, or something. Regardless, he would squint in his silly swim goggles, the exact antithesis of sex appeal while his glow-in-the-dark eyes lit up the pool while he stroked, cheeks puffed like a pufferfish.
Regardless, the smell of testosterone that hits you when you enter the weight area is almost nauseating, and, if you’re honest, a little intimidating. You’re not exactly the fittest of people, so you quickly speed walk past the grunting and sweaty men at the squat machines and barbells, avoiding eye contact and praying furiously that none of them perceive you.
 When you reach the dumbbell stands, you hunch over, taking random light weights. Then, you pretend you know what you’re doing while jumping every so slightly whenever anyone comes in six foot distance of you. It’s only when another girl comes in to grab a weight (and when she bends over, you definitely ogle her ass in a way that would get you slapped if you were a man) that your gaze removes itself from where it was focused on the 2.5 lb dumbbell you were previously bicep curling with. To see him.
The glint of ivory hair is unmistakable—you’ve basically gotten off to the fantasy of razoring it off in his sleep. His blue eyes are bored, pretty boy face framed in glasses. Now, he’s giving teenage boy turned to Andrew Tate after a breakup. Black sweatshirt and sweatpants that are too small, because they cling to his legs in a form-defining way. He’s walking over, hands in his pockets, to a barbell station. Slaps some guys on the shoulder as he goes through, gets a lot of daps. 
Which is weird to you, because you only the Gojo inside your physics class, not outside. He’s a fucking nerd—a loser that spends his time beefing with you, so why is he so popular when he gives you the time of day?
There are three dimensions to gaining alpha status, or whatever they call male popularity. You have to be 1) rich, 2) really physically fit, or 3) just really charismatic. Considering that Gojo—in all his clothing—-looks like a twink moreso than ripped gym bro, it’s definitely not dimension two. So you conclude that it’s because he’s rich and probably throws yacht parties so these ripped guys don’t push him into a locker, or something.
When he finally reaches his destination, you smirk to yourself. With that scrawny build underneath all those loose sweaters, you know he’s only going to be able to lift the bar, no plates. After all, he was warming up. insulting Gojo in countless of ways by taking jabs at his physique mentally, so you barely register that he’s grabbing for the hem of his sweatshirt, peeling it up—
To reveal his bare torso.
Your first thought: Wow, he has huge bazonkas.
That has easily got to be one of the most built physiques you’ve seen at your college so far. His pectorals basically pop out out of his torso as he moves to grab plates. First, he grabs a really big plate—you’re not a gym expert, so you wouldn’t know the weight—and stacks it. And stacks another. And another. And another, until you’re sure it’s definitely more than your bodyweight.
As you’re staring at him in awe, your 2.5 lb dumbbells hang limply by your sides, abandoning all pretense of training to openly gawk at the clench of his biceps, the sweat rolling down his temple, and the set of his jaw as he stares holes into the bar. And by the way there’s heat creeping up your cheeks you realize one thing:
You’re screwed.
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“You know what?”
You keep your eyes on your notes firmly, refusing to look at Gojo sitting right next to you. You don’t know why he always chooses to sit next to you on recitation, really—it’s not like you’re receptive to his company. After all, he could be doing other things—like metaphorically sucking a TA’s dick by talking about their research, where Gojo probably knows more about the TA’s research than they do themselves. 
From your periphery, you notice Gojo pouting, then scooting his chair (dragging it, so it makes a god awful screeching noise against the floor tiles that has you cringing) until he’s so close that he slings an arm on the back of your chair and leans in closer and closer. You’re fighting to keep your eyes on your notes, face heating up traitorously until you feel his breath fan across your neck because he’s just so close.
“Rude, ignoring me. Look where that got you.” He then points to a problem on your paper, one you were currently working on. “You’re doing that wrong.”
You finally turn to glare at him, but he’s closer than you anticipated, his face just inches from yours. His grin is all sharp edges and knowing amusement, and it makes your stomach flip in a way you refuse to acknowledge.
“I’m not doing it wrong,” you argue, despite the creeping suspicion that, okay, maybe you did mess up somewhere.
“Oh, really?” Gojo drawls, tilting his head slightly. “Then why is your integral off by a factor of two?”
Your eyes snap back to your notes, scanning through the equations—and, dammit, he’s right.
You huff, begrudgingly erasing the mistake. “Whatever.”
“You know, you should really be thanking me,” Gojo muses, still leaning way too close for comfort. “If I weren’t here, who knows how many mistakes you’d make?”
“She’d have me,” comes a greasy voice, and you have to fight the tears in your eyes that arise when Fred (the aforementioned pedophilic TA and your research advisor) comes, his moldy cheese stench following him as he takes a seat from across you and Gojo. You grudgingly turn your face away from where it was so close to Gojo’s to look at him and sigh inwardly. At least Gojo’s face was prettier to look at.
“Hi, Fred,” you smile tightly, willing him to go away. “We’re good here, so you can help out other students—”
“How was your weekend?” He instead replies, and you wince. Stealing a quick glance at Gojo, it seems that his jaw and posture are uncharacteristically tense. 
“Lot of work for the class and for, uh, our research,” you respond, nodding and averting your gaze to your paper and feigning working on a problem so that he would get the hint.
Fred, unfortunately, does not get the hint. Instead, he leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes too focused on you. “You really ought to take breaks, you know. You can give me the code late. Someone as cute as you shouldn’t stress so much. You’ll get wrinkles.”
Your fingers tighten around your pencil, your skin crawling at the way his tone veers into something too familiar, too patronizing. You open your mouth to give a clipped response, but Gojo beats you to it.
“Oh? Didn’t know you were an expert on skincare, Fred,” Gojo drawls, his voice deceptively light. His arm, which was still resting on the back of your chair, shifts just slightly—not quite pulling you in, but making his presence more noticeable. “Though, if we’re giving out advice, maybe you should take your own. I mean, stress must be rough on you too, right? All those late nights grading papers, staring at screens. Takes a toll.”
Fred bristles, but Gojo just smiles lazily, pushing up his glasses as he tilts his head. “Actually, you know what? Maybe we should all focus on our own business. Like, say, teaching, instead of weirdly hovering over students. Crazy thought, huh?”
You swear you see the muscle in Fred’s jaw twitch, but he forces out an awkward chuckle, shifting uncomfortably. “Right, right. Just looking out for her.”
“Don’t worry,” Gojo interrupts smoothly, now fully leaning into your space, his arm draping a little lower behind your chair, “I think she’s got plenty of people looking out for her already.” His voice is soft, but there’s an undeniable edge beneath the words.
Fred lingers for a second too long, but finally, he mutters something about helping another student and stands, walking off with an air of forced nonchalance.
You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, slumping slightly in your seat. Gojo hums beside you, his fingers tapping idly against the back of your chair.
“You’re welcome, by the way,” he teases, but there’s something in his tone that’s softer than usual. He then makes a show of stretching, raising his arms. His sweater rides up a bit, exposing his lower abs and peeks of white that has you averting your gaze, the heat creeping up at his proximity once again. Then, his arm back on your chair. Weirdly, you find that you don’t mind it.
You sigh, resigned. You’ll figure out these feelings later. “Yeah. Thanks, Gojo.”
But you don’t immediately go back to your work, because Gojo suddenly hunches down and whispers in your ear. “Yea, I definitely saw an underage anime girl sticker on his laptop.”
Your responding snort is so loud everyone turns to look at you and Gojo, who is now sporting a mischievous and satisfied smile.
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It starts with a single drop, fat and cold where it splats against your wrist. You glance up from your phone just in time to see the sky split open.
“Shit,” you mutter, stuffing your phone into your bag. The library doors shut behind you with a heavy clang, sealing away the scent of old books and the quiet hum of studying students. Outside, the air is thick with the petrichor of freshly fallen rain, and within seconds, the pavement is slick, puddles forming in the uneven cracks of the sidewalk. The streetlights reflect off the wet ground, casting fragmented golden glows against the darkening sky. You’d been studying to grind for the upcoming assignments; after all, to rival Gojo is a no small feat. It’s just unfortunate it seems to take you thousand times more effort than it does for Gojo.
“Guess we’re stuck together, huh?”
You don’t have to turn to know who it is.
Satoru Gojo, standing beside you under the library’s narrow overhang, wearing that insufferable grin like he’s amused by the entire situation. Like the rain personally fell from the sky just to give him an opportunity to bother you.
“I’ll take my chances,” you say flatly, shifting your bag on your shoulder. But as you peer past the downpour, your stomach sinks. The rain is merciless, an unrelenting sheet of water stretching as far as you can see. There’s no way you’re making it back to your dorm without looking like you took a fully clothed shower.
Gojo hums, pulling something out of his bag. You blink when he flicks open a half-broken umbrella, the metal ribs slightly bent like it’s barely holding itself together. He gives it a little shake, sending droplets flying, before glancing at you with a smirk.
“Well?” He lifts a brow. “Wanna be smart about this?”
You do not want to be smart about this. You want to wait out the rain or make a break for it. But the storm shows no signs of letting up, and the thought of walking through it alone makes you hesitate.
Reluctantly, you sigh. “Fine. But I get most of the cover.”
“Hey, sharing is caring.” He tilts the umbrella slightly, just enough to make a point.
With great reluctance, you step closer. The moment you do, you regret it.
Gojo is warm. Even in the damp, chilled air, he radiates heat, standing so close that his sleeve brushes against yours. He smells good, too—like expensive laundry detergent with a faint undercurrent of something sweet, something distinctly him.
You swallow hard, forcing yourself to stare straight ahead as the two of you start walking. The rain pounds against the umbrella, droplets cascading off the edges, and with every step, you’re hyper-aware of the way Gojo moves beside you—loose-limbed, annoyingly graceful, a stark contrast to the crooked metal above your heads.
“Man, this thing’s on its last leg,” he muses, tilting the umbrella just slightly. Water dribbles off the side, landing directly onto your shoulder.
“Gojo!” you yelp, recoiling as the cold soaks through your shirt.
“Oops.” He does not sound remotely sorry.
You glare at him, but before you can snap back, he shrugs off his jacket and—without preamble—drapes it over you.
You freeze.
It’s warm, still carrying the heat of his body, and it smells so much like him—clean, sweet, dizzyingly familiar. Your brain short-circuits.
You force yourself to breathe, keeping your gaze firmly ahead. “You didn’t have to do that,” you say, voice tight.
“I wanted to.”
Something in his tone makes your stomach flip. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, and—
Damn him. Damn him.
Water drips from his bangs, clinging to the sharp edges of his jawline, sliding down the curve of his throat. His shirt sticks to his skin, fabric clinging in a way that reveals the toned lines of his arms, the broad plane of his chest. He’s watching the rain, the usual teasing glint in his eyes softened into something contemplative.
You swear your eggs just recently got released, for you cannot help but avoid your ever going attraction to Satoru Gojo except the age-old excuse: ovulation. Your mind wanders to how his arms would feel around your head, to lay on his chest, how he’d be able to manhandle you, force you to take it—
But you’re snapped out of your inappropriate thoughts by what he says next.
“You know,” he says, voice quieter now, “I like this. Just us, no grades, no competing.”
You pause.
He says it so simply, so easily, like it’s nothing at all. But the words settle deep, curling somewhere warm inside you, and you don’t know what to do with them.
So you do what you do best: you shove them away, bury them beneath years of rivalry, of late-night study sessions fueled by caffeine and stubbornness, of sharp words and sharper glances.
You roll your eyes, forcing a scoff. “Don’t get used to it.”
But even as you say it, your fingers curl into the fabric of his jacket, holding it a little tighter.
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It’s been a week since you saw Gojo. He had dropped you at your dorm in a surprisingly gentlemanly way, and you had insisted on returning the jacket only after washing it, to be courteous. What you didn’t mention was how you kept repeatedly smelling it in your dorm whenever you got a reprieve from your roommate’s eyes because Gojo smelled like expensive cologne and he did one thing most nerds / physics majors don’t do: shower. This fact, unfortunately, made you more attracted to him because the bar is truly in hell.
You’ve concluded that these…feelings can’t hurt you and that it isn’t real, like a beefy and shirtless Gojo-looking demon that’ll jump and surprise you from under your bed. So you move on your life, caught in the ever perpetual slog of studying and researching. 
Thus, you find yourself at the library once more.
The night hums low around you, quiet except for the occasional shuffle of paper and the distant hum of the library’s espresso machine (only librarians could use it, however. you fervently thought that was a form of elitism, but you digress). You’re at the corner table, the one by the window, where the dim light pools just enough to illuminate your notes but not enough to make you feel like you’re being studied under a microscope. You think you’re alone—until you aren’t.
You don’t have to look up to know it’s him.
Satoru Gojo is hard to miss, even when he’s not trying. He slides into the chair across from you with the kind of ease that makes it seem like he belongs there, like he was always going to end up sitting across from you tonight. His hair is tousled, white strands falling forward in a way that makes him look softer under the warm light. His glasses are perched low on his nose, a rare sight given that he usually has them pushed up like some kind of pretentious scholar.
The two of you don’t speak.
It’s surprising, really. Gojo never runs out of things to say, whether it’s an obnoxious quip or some unnecessarily insightful observation that makes you want to throw your textbook at his face. But tonight, he just pulls out his own notes, taps his pen against the edge of his lips, and starts reading.
You should focus on your own studying, but something about this—this silence, this late-night haze, this tiny moment carved out of time—makes your mind wander. You steal glances when you think he won’t notice. His brows furrow when he’s concentrating, his jaw tightens when he’s stuck on something, and when he exhales, it’s this slow, measured thing, like he’s trying not to get frustrated. He’s just—
He’s just really there.
You’ve spent years defining Gojo as your rival. Your competition. The person standing in your way at every academic milestone. And yet, somehow, somewhere, he’s slipped into something else, something harder to define. Because you’ve seen him like this before—when he’s so focused that he forgets the world around him, when he bites his lip in thought, when he gets so caught up in something that he mutters under his breath without realizing it. And for the first time, it dawns on you: you don’t actually hate it.
You don’t hate this comfortable silence. This moment of peace, a white flag waving lazily between you both.
The hours blur. The café starts to empty. Your notes turn into background noise. It’s late, and the warmth from inside lulls you into something dangerously close to comfort.
A soft sound breaks through the quiet.
You glance up and freeze.
Gojo’s head has tilted to the side, his glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose. His hand is curled loosely around his pen, and his breathing has evened out. He’s asleep.
For a moment, you don’t move. You barely breathe.
Gojo, asleep, is not something you’ve seen before. He’s always in motion, always buzzing with energy, always running his mouth about something. But right now, he’s still. His long lashes cast faint shadows over his cheekbones, and the tension he always carries—the cocky bravado, the smirking sharpness—is nowhere to be found. He just looks… peaceful.
Cutie.
What?
The thought slips in so quickly, so effortlessly, that it nearly makes you jolt. But when you look at him again—head tilted just slightly, glasses slipping down his nose, breathing slow and even—you can’t deny that the word fits. He looks like a lazy cat napping in a sunbeam, limbs loose, utterly unguarded. It’s so unlike him that you find yourself staring, caught in the contrast.
Your fingers twitch. Before you can stop yourself, you reach forward, slow and hesitant, to push his glasses back up his nose. But you catch yourself just before you touch him, as if the warmth of his skin might burn. Your hand hovers in the air for a fraction of a second too long, and then—
You pull away.
Your heart is pounding. It’s fine. It’s nothing. You just need to get out of here.
You gather your things quietly, glancing back at him one last time before slipping out the door into the cool night air. The moment you step outside, you take a breath, deep and shaking. The world feels different now. You feel different now.
Because for the first time, it isn’t just that you find Gojo attractive.
It’s that you care.
And you don’t know what the hell to do about it.
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The gym, once again, smells like sweat and overpriced protein powder.
You don’t know what’s possessed you to come here today. Maybe it’s because you keep telling yourself that you need to exercise more, or maybe it’s because you need to take a break from studying before your brain melts. But deep down, if you’re really being honest with yourself, you know the real reason.
Gojo is here.
You spotted him the first time by accident. You were on the treadmill, barely jogging at a pace that wouldn’t embarrass you, when you caught a flash of white hair across the gym floor. And there he was—dressed in a fitted black sleeveless top and joggers, casually loading plates onto a barbell.
And he wasn’t wearing his glasses.
It was a stupid, inconsequential detail, but it made all the difference. Without them, he didn’t look like the annoying academic rival who constantly got under your skin, flashing his smug grin as he beat you in exams by the smallest possible margins. He looked… sharp. Unfiltered. Effortlessly attractive in a way that made your stomach tighten in ways you didn’t like.
You’d seen him in his regular clothes before, of course. You knew he had broad shoulders and long legs, that his body wasn’t just a lanky frame hidden behind layers of sweaters. But here, in the gym, watching him roll his shoulders as he prepped for another set—it hit differently. He was lean but muscular, his arms flexing as he adjusted his grip on the bar, and for some godforsaken reason, you couldn’t look away.
You shouldn’t be watching him. You should be focusing on your own workout, pretending you don’t care. But the way his shirt clung to his back, the way his forearms tensed, the way he exhaled sharply as he lifted—
You’re so screwed.
You force yourself to look away, grabbing the smallest dumbbells available and curling them in what has to be the weakest excuse for a workout imaginable. You’re barely paying attention to what you’re doing, too busy sneaking glances at Gojo between sets. It’s pathetic, but at least no one else is watching you.
Or so you think.
Because then she appears.
A girl.
Tall, toned, and effortlessly gorgeous, with sleek hair pulled into a high ponytail. She strides over to Gojo with a confidence you could never dream of and smiles at him, saying something that makes him laugh. Her ass is definitely bigger than yours, and she’s in this coordinated, cute, pink set, looking like she walked straight out of a fitness TikTok. You can’t hear what they’re talking about over the sound of weights clanking and some obnoxious EDM song blasting through the speakers, but you can see it. The way she leans in, the way she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the way Gojo—
—smiles at her. That easy, lazy grin he always wears when he’s teasing you, except this time, it isn’t for you.
Your grip tightens around the dumbbells, something ugly curling in your chest. It gets worse when she gestures toward the squat rack, and Gojo nods before moving behind her, hands hovering just slightly as she sets up for a squat. You watch as he spots her, one hand resting lightly on her lower back, close enough to correct her form but far enough to be polite. He’s focused, watching her movements carefully, murmuring something that makes her laugh before she drops into another rep.
Your stomach twists.
This is stupid. You have no reason to be feeling this way.
It’s then that it hits you—you can have your silly little academic rival moments with Gojo, but, in the end, you’re just a footnote in his story, a fleeting challenge in a life where everything already belongs to him. He quite literally has generational wealth; he’s not going to spend his life buried in grant applications or clawing for recognition in a field that demands twice the effort for half the reward. He’ll be the one funding the research, sitting at the head of the table, making decisions that shape the future. And you? You’ll be one of the many who struggle just to be in the same room.
He’s the guy who spends his vacations on yachts or private islands—not just surrounded by wealth, but by people who belong there. Girls who glide through life with the same effortless ease as him, girls who don’t second-guess if they deserve to be in the spaces they occupy. Girls who don’t have to fight for their place at the table because it was always set for them.
Girls that are his equal—equally attractive, equally smart, equally rich.
Not you.
You swallow hard, forcing yourself to look away, but the image is burned into your mind. The easy way he talks to her. The way she tilts her head when she listens. The way he doesn’t even know you’re here.
You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t care.
But you do.
You grip the dumbbells tighter, exhaling sharply. Then you put them back, pick up your water bottle, and walk out of the gym before you do something stupid.
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The office is too small. Too suffocating. Too filled with the weight of unspoken words and the sharp-edged smile of Fred, the TA, as he leans back in his chair and laces his fingers together.
"You know," he begins, voice sickly sweet, "I really expected more from you."
You sit stiffly in the chair across from him, your hands curled into fists in your lap, nails digging crescents into your skin. Your heart pounds, but your face remains carefully neutral. You've been called into his office under the guise of "academic guidance," but you know better. You always know better.
"I don't know what you mean," you say, keeping your voice even.
Fred exhales dramatically, shaking his head. "Come on. You and I both know you're barely keeping up in this project of ours."
You grit your teeth. You're not barely keeping up. You're giving him your work at the highest level, at its best. But Fred—Fred has always had a way of twisting things, making you feel small, insignificant, like your achievements are nothing more than accidents.
“I think my progress speaks for itself,” you respond tightly. Mind you, while he was supposed to be your mentor, you’ve done 80% of the work.
But you think Gojo’s defense of you ran deep into Fred’s heart because by the way he’s sleazily smirking at you, you know he’s trying to get back at you.
He smirks. "Your progress? Sure, you’re smart. But you think that’s enough? You think anyone’s going to care about a girl like you when there are people out there who don’t have to struggle to be exceptional?" He leans forward, voice dropping into something conspiratorial. "You’re wasting your time. The best you can hope for is being someone’s assistant. Maybe a glorified research grunt if you’re lucky. Just like for me."
Your stomach twists. You shouldn’t care. You know you shouldn’t care. But the words burrow deep, hitting a place inside you that already doubts, that already wonders if you’re nothing more than a temporary obstacle in a world built for people like Gojo Satoru—people born brilliant, born wealthy, born effortless.
Fred’s eyes flick over you, assessing, smug. "You’re working yourself to the bone for what? You’ll never be at the top. Not really."
The bitterness of the situation really dawns on you—Gojo’s the one who took a jab at Fred last week, not you. But you’re the one who’s left to deal with its consequences. You’re not going to assign blame and lament that it’s not Gojo in this office dealing with him. It was in your defense, after all. 
But Fred’s words remind you. You’ll never be at the top. At Gojo’s level, who’s at the top without even seeming to put in effort.
You’ll never be his equal.
You stand abruptly, shoving your chair back so hard it scrapes against the floor. "If that’s all, I have work to do."
Fred chuckles, leaning back, clearly pleased with himself. "Sure, sure. Don’t say I never tried to give you advice."
You don’t respond. You just walk out, gripping your bag so tightly your knuckles turn white, the echo of his words following you down the hall, settling in your bones like lead.
The hallway is too bright. Too loud. Too full of people who don’t know that you’re on the verge of crumpling in on yourself like a dying star.
Your breath feels too shallow, too quick, and there’s a weight pressing down on your chest that no amount of rationalizing can shake off. It’s not even your meeting with Fred—just a slow accumulation of stress and exhaustion and frustration that’s settled deep in your bones. A grade lower than expected, an upcoming deadline you’re nowhere near prepared for, a general sense of drowning no matter how hard you try to keep up. It’s all too much, and your hands are starting to shake from how tightly you’re gripping the strap of your bag.
You just need to get out of here. You need air, space, something.
But, of course, the universe has a cruel sense of humor, because when you round the corner, you slam straight into Satoru Gojo.
“Whoa—”
Your balance is already precarious from the way you were rushing, and the impact sends you stumbling. For a split second, you think you might actually fall—your ankle twists awkwardly, the world tilts—and then there’s a strong hand gripping your wrist, another bracing against your back, steadying you before you can hit the ground.
You don’t process what happens immediately. Your mind is still stuck on too much, too fast, can’t breathe, and it takes you a second to realize that Gojo is holding you upright, his hands firm but careful, his expression hovering somewhere between amusement and concern.
“Jeez, what’s the rush?” he teases, but his voice lacks its usual careless lilt. He’s searching your face now, eyes narrowing behind his glasses, and that’s when you realize: you must look as bad as you feel.
Shit.
You jerk away from him, a little too fast, a little too sharp. “I’m fine.”
Gojo doesn’t look convinced. “You sure? Because it kinda seemed like you were about to pass out on the spot.”
“I said I’m fine.” You adjust your bag over your shoulder, shifting your weight onto your other foot, ignoring the faint throb in your ankle. “Go bother someone else.”
Most of the time, that’s enough to send him off with an exaggerated sigh and a smirk. But not today.
Today, Gojo just stands there, watching you like he’s trying to piece something together—like you’re a problem he wants to solve. He doesn’t press, not yet, but the silence stretches, and it’s unbearable, because you can feel the weight of his gaze, and you don’t want to be seen like this. Not by him.
So you give him a tight nod in dismissal, and walk away.
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There’s a knock at your door. You frown because you didn’t expect any visitors, and you’re in your sleepwear. Regardless, you pad your way lazily and open the door.
To see Gojo.
What the fuck.
He’s drenched in the glow of the hallway light, looking entirely too at home despite standing on your threshold. His hair is still slightly damp from the rain, white strands falling over his forehead in careless disarray. He’s not wearing his glasses.
"Why are you here?" you demand, gripping the doorframe, willing your voice to stay steady.
He quirks an eyebrow, tilting his head just slightly. “You’re holding my jacket hostage.”
Oh. Right.
You make your way to your wardrobe, where the now-cleaned jacket hangs neatly on a hanger. Grabbing it, you hand it over to Gojo, who’s standing at your threshold while eyeing the insides of your dorm, as if trying to take in what your living space looks like. You shove it into his chest, stepping back like the heat of it burns. "Here."
Gojo takes it, but instead of leaving like a normal person, he lingers, running his fingers over the material like he’s checking for something. Then,, he lifts a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it in that way that only makes his biceps flex, his lean muscles shifting beneath his shirt. You hate that you notice.
A beat passes.
"You know," he muses, far too casually, "you seemed a little disheveled back there."
Your stomach twists. "It's not a big deal—"
"—Bullshit." His voice cuts through yours, sharp and immediate. He shifts, stepping just the tiniest bit closer, his tone losing its usual teasing lilt. “You’re lying. I saw what you looked like. What happened?”
“It's none of your business,” you say, stiffening. “Nor is it a big deal, really.”
Gojo exhales, something heavy in the sound. His eyes don’t leave yours, and for once, they aren’t filled with their usual mirth or mischief. Just something searching, something that makes your chest ache in a way you don’t have the strength to deal with right now.
"You always do that," he says, softer now, but no less intense. “Act like no one’s supposed to care. Like you’re carrying the world alone.”
Your fingers curl into your palms. Your lips press together. You don’t want to hear this. You don’t want to acknowledge the way his words settle too close to the truth.
And then, quietly, Gojo asks, “Do you not consider me your equal?”
You swallow.
Your silence must be enough of an answer because something shifts in his expression. It isn’t anger exactly, but it’s something close—something bitter and disappointed and aching all at once.
"You’re the one who shuts me out, you know." His voice is sharp now, edged with frustration. "You act like I'm the one keeping you at a distance, but every time I try to get close, you push me away."
Your throat tightens. “Why do you even care?”
Gojo lets out a breath, his head tilting just slightly, eyes scanning your face like you’re something he’s trying to figure out. Then he laughs, quiet and humorless.
“You really don’t know?”
“I—” Your voice wavers. “What do you mean—”
“For a girl so smart, you sure do act stupid.” He steps forward then, closing the space between you just enough to make you want to back away, but your feet don’t move. His voice drops lower. "Do you think I talk to you because I give a fuck about physics?"
Your brain short-circuits. “What—”
He groans, dragging a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I give zero fucks about the class or any class, trust me. I have better things to do than to try to aim for 100s on every test."
Your heart is pounding now, too loud, too fast. “Then why—”
"God," he exhales, tipping his head back, like he's debating whether or not he should even say it. Then, after a beat, he looks at you again, and whatever is in his eyes makes your stomach flip, makes your breath hitch.
Something in your chest lurches, but before you can even process it, he huffs a laugh—like he’s just remembered something ridiculous.
"You didn’t even look my way the first week," he says, eyes flicking over your face, searching. "I could tell you only cared about anyone that could challenge you. Like, it wasn’t even until I did better than you on the second midterm that you even talked to me."
You open your mouth, then close it, heat prickling at the back of your neck. Because—yeah. He’s not wrong. You had ignored him, dismissed him as just another overconfident rich kid who thought he was smarter than he was. It wasn’t until he proved himself, until he became a real obstacle in your path, that you bothered to acknowledge him.
Gojo smiles, but it’s not cocky this time—it’s small, almost rueful. "And then you looked at me like I was finally real. Like I existed."
Your breath hitches.
He shrugs, eyes dropping for a brief second before snapping back up to yours. "So, yeah. Maybe I started trying harder. Maybe I cared about all those stupid tests because it meant I got to see that fire in your eyes, that I got to be the one you were pushing against." He rubs the back of his neck, his biceps flexing in a way that would usually annoy you, but right now, you’re too busy trying to remember how to breathe.
Gojo stares at you for a long moment, gaze unwavering, like he’s daring you to say something—anything.
Your chest feels too tight, your pulse erratic, and you don’t know what to do with the way Gojo is looking at you—like you’re something precious, something worth holding onto.
But he’s wrong. He has to be wrong.
“You can’t like me,” you whisper.
Gojo frowns, expression shifting. “What?”
Your throat clenches, and before you can stop it, heat pricks at your eyes, blurring your vision. “You can’t like me,” you say again, voice cracking. “I can’t even match you.”
Gojo's face slackens, his teasing demeanor completely gone.
"You do everything so effortlessly," you force out, your fists clenching at your sides. "It’s so infuriating." A shaky breath escapes you, and you shake your head, looking down. “So why would you even want this? You make me feel this way, and I—I hate you for it.”
For a second, there’s only silence.
Then, Gojo exhales softly.
“Is that what you think?” His voice is so gentle it makes something inside you ache.
You don’t answer. You can’t.
Gojo shifts, stepping forward slowly, carefully, like you’re something fragile. And then—then he reaches out, his fingers ghosting along your wrist before curling around it, grounding you. “It’s not effortless,” he murmurs. “I try so hard. You just don’t see it because I don’t want you to.”
"You really don’t get it, do you?" His voice is quieter now, something dangerously close to vulnerable. His fingers twitch at his sides. "I care because it’s you."
You shake your head, still not understanding, still unable to believe it.
Gojo watches you for a moment, then exhales, running a hand through his hair. “You act like I just woke up one day and decided to like you.” He huffs a quiet laugh, but there’s no real amusement in it. “Do you know how long I’ve been stuck on you? How infuriating it was, realizing that no matter how much attention I got, the only person I wanted it from was too busy treating me like an obstacle?”
Your breath catches.
“I tried everything,” he continues, voice rougher now. “Teasing you, annoying you, beating you in tests, losing to you in tests. It didn’t matter what I did, because you—” He breaks off, shaking his head. “You only saw me when I gave you a reason to compete.”
Your fingers tremble slightly at your sides. You don’t know what to say, don’t even know what you can say.
And suddenly, everything—the teasing, the constant pestering, the way he always had to be around you—it all clicks into place.
Your heart hammers in your chest, and before you can second-guess it, before you can even think, you surge forward and kiss him.
It’s a mess of a kiss—too rushed, too desperate, all clashing teeth and uneven breaths—but Gojo groans softly against your lips, like he’s been waiting for this. His hands are on you immediately, one slipping around your waist, the other cradling the back of your head as he presses you flush against him.
You’re dizzy. Overwhelmed. But it’s good. It’s him, and you don’t want to stop.
When you finally pull away, breathless and unsteady, Gojo is grinning, his lips slightly swollen.
“Worth the wait,” he murmurs, eyes shining.
You avert your gaze, fully blushing now. “But I—” You take a look at him, then hide your face in your hands. “I’m a stalker.”
“Maybe I’m into that.”
“No,” you bemoan. “I’ve stalked you at the gym, and I—” Your voice drops into a shameful whisper. “You were good. Like, stupidly good. Like, making everyone stare at you good.”
His lips twitch. “You were staring too, huh?”
You glare at him, but he just grins, all teeth, clearly eating this up.
“I hated it,” you insist, heat prickling at the back of your neck. “I hated that you’re already smarter than me, that you already have all these advantages, and then—and then you also have that? Like, it’s just unfair. You’re unfair.”
Gojo is silent for a second, and you think you’ve screwed up, but then exhales a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “You are so cute.”
“Stop it!” you whine, but you don’t protest when he pulls you closer and locks your lips with his another time. You clutch the front of his shirt, drag your hands on his chest, his arms, everywhere. Then, you guide his to firmly clutch your ass, to which he freezes.
“We can stop here. We don’t have to do anymore than this, and—”
But you interrupt him, slamming your lips against his once more. Grabbing him by the shoulder you pull him into your room and slam the door behind you, pushing him against the door. “Fuck no.”
He laughs breathlessly, then continues to switch your position, now you against the door. “Thank god. Now, jump.”
You do, and you almost moan at how easily he grabs you in his arms, your legs straddling him. It’s like you weigh nothing to him as he carries you over to your bed and manhandles you into it, following not long after.
When he gets on top of you, he maintains eye contact as he pulls your shirt over your head, trailing kisses down to your neck, the valley of your breasts (but not before giving each of the girls their own tender kiss), and your stomach. With his eyes boring into you, he slowly, teasingly drags the pants you were wearing down your legs until you’re just in your panties.
You let out a noise, and he coos. “I know, I know, baby.” He gives you a gentle kiss on the top of your mound, and you clench, squirming from the contact. “Let me take my time, though.”
He gently, but firmly, lays a hand on your hip as he starts licking the crotch of your panties. It’s truly maddening—the sensation is there, but you oh so wish his skilled tongue was meeting your skin, bare and electric.
He’s taking his time laving, ravishing your taste, but you’ve had enough. “Gojo, please,” you sob, throwing your head back and grinding further into his tongue, which he welcomes. “Stop teasing.”
“Mmmm,” he pretends to think, all while focused and looking only at your crotch, now rubbing your clit in small, miniscule circles. “I can, but,” and now he’s just mocking you, with the way he adopts a babying tone, “I think you’re going to have to beg for it.”
You groan in frustration as a response, but he only clicks his tongue as his fingers reach and finally rid you of your panties. He spreads your folds with two fingers, his face oh so close to your bare pussy. But instead of finally giving you what you want,  he clicks his tongue, pouting as if you’re the one forcing him to be a bastard. “Yea, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to earn it.”
Before you can respond, he holds out his tongue and inches his face even closer to your bare folds until you can feel his warm breath over it. “You just have to say please.” Then, he ahhh-s, as if holding his tongue out to a doctor and says, “Look I’m so close—ahhh.”
You can only plead with him. “Please, Gojo.”
“No, it’s Satoru to you now, baby.”
“Satoru, please eat me out.”
He smiles. “Yeaa, that’s my girl.” And proceeds to eat you out in a way that has your toes curling.
He acts like a man eating his last meal on death row. It’s the masterful combination of laving over your folds, kissing your clit, and groaning and making noises that has you inching closer and closer to your orgasm. When you tell him, you’re close, he does exactly what he’s supposed to do—keep doing what he’s doing, same spot, same tempo, same pressure.
With a cry of his name, you come quickly, and he takes your writhing hips and their motion like a champ, easing you through it. When you feel the all-too-familiar feel of over sensitivity, you grab his hair and pull him towards your face, kissing him tenderly. 
He maneuvers his huge frame to lay down next to you, and you fall easily into a gentle embrace. It’s a comfortable silence, as he burrows his face into your chest and you stroke his hair gently.
Gentler than how you’ve ever treated him.
It’s this thought exactly that you voice to him. “You know,” you muse softly. “I was such a bitch to you.” This gets his attention, because he moves from where he was comfortable (your boobs) to look at you in alarm. “Like, I was always mean, and like acting all high and mighty—”
“Whatever you think you did, it was hot,” he interrupts you, grinning boyishly. “Like damn when you insult me I get all fired up—”
“Satoru!” You laugh, shocked, looking down at him. “You’re crazy.”
“Yea,” he winks. “Crazy for you.”
You smile softly at that, biting your lip. “I mean, I get that.” You feel his curious gaze rove over you and heat creeps up your neck as you confess, “Like I was stalking you at the gym. I saw you one time, and um. You definitely have a sleeper build.”
He hums. “I get that a lot.”
“Yea,” you blurt. “you’re really hot. Like you have really big arms, which I definitely didn’t notice in all those sweaters you wear. You could definitely throw me around.”
Silence.
When you look down at him, he’s looking at you mischievously. He sits up, takes off his shirt, and says, “Want to test that theory?”
The both of you test the theory, indeed—it’s a nice nod to your guys’ academic, theoretical physics roots. But instead of some theory involving dark matter or quantum physics debated while in class, this theory takes all night to prove.
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general masterlist
a/n special thank you to @purplegemadventures ily pookie <3 we were discussing how a lot of fics so far have made seem nerd gojo really cute and shy but we tried to envision a shit eating sassy diva just like hidden inventory arc <3 like what that one anon said i need my gojo to be a little annoying cocky (but cute) bastard (or, i quote, "your gojo makes me want to oil his scalp and give him an aggressive head massage and mess his hair up"). ANYWAYS props to that one anon that dropped the "nerd gojo with sleeper build" and my beloved @tiramisuandlove i love you forever
comment and reblog to let me know ur thots!
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spacebell · 4 months ago
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I like to consider myself as someone who is pretty understanding but there is a limit and I just found it
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