#italic gods

[rottenaero]

AO3

Part 1

Part 3

Part 5

Part four of roommates idea

The officer clicked his pen again, signaling he took to long to answer. Steve faced him again, “Sorry I- Shit. Eddie he wasn't- he wouldn't do this shit. He's afraid of fucking dogs. Not even the real big ones either, he definitely wouldn't kill someone. He cries when he watches Bambi and gore freaks him out.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes! I'm absolutely-fucking-positive! He looks all tough and shit but he's not, he's just scared. Fuck that sounds- so bad but- God why don't you believe me and Wayne?”

The officer sighs, ”Eddie sold drugs, did drugs, it's entirely possible he had to many and did something…Not entirely in his regular character.”

Steve bit his lip, “He wouldn’t.”

-

Steve sat in the family video, he's been distant since the shift started and Robin couldn’t understand why.

That was, until the TV showed the news of a Hawkins student dying. Did he somehow know?

Not much later, Max and Dustin came in yelling about phones, and were quick to start using them.

Steve didn’t even seem shocked when they talked about Eddie being accused. When they finally got a lead about a ‘Reefer Rick’, his eyes lit up.

“I know where he is.”

-

“Hello?”

Steve looked around the boathouse, “What a dump.”

His eyes landed on tarp covering a boat, “Eddie?"

“Eddie, are you here?"

Now, Steve wasn't an expert, but that tarp looked a lot like it just moved, and if it wasn’t Eddie then-

He grabbed an oar that was leaning against the wall, and began poking it.

“What are you doing?”

“It moved.”

“So take the tarp off!”

Steve gave Dustin an incredulous look.

“If you're so brave, why don’t you take the tarp off!”

It was silent for a moment, then-

“…Steve?”

The man in question let out a relieved sigh, and smiled. “Eds!”

Steve drops the oar, a resounding clatter banging off the walls as he flings the tarp off the boat.

And there he is, Eddie Munson in all his glory, sitting in a fetal position and clutching a broken bottle to his chest like a lifeline.

As soon as he seemed to see Steve, he quickly threw the bottle to the side and stands up to step out the boat.

“Steve, thank fuck.”

Eddie engulfs him in a hug, pressing his face into his neck.

Steve bites his lip, “Hey, hey its okay.”

Steve slid them down carefully, positioning his back against a column. It was a bit awkward, with them being similar height, but he made it work.

“She- I didn’t kill her! I don’t, she started fucking floating. Then her limbs snapped, god Stevie, please you gotta believe me.”

He looked over to the party, Robin’s eyebrows were pinched, Max was darting her eyes between the two, and Dustin looked like he was about to say something.

Finally, he gathered the courage. “ Eddie, we believe you. What you saw, it’s been happening for years. Well, not this particularly but the supernatural.”

Eddie peeked his head out, “ What do you mean?”

Dustin crouches down awkwardly, hands together. “Theres another world. Its kind of like this one, but its terrifying. There are things there. Its called the upside down. We’ve been fighting it since 1983 when Will went missing.“

Steve feels him tense. “ ‘We?’ ‘Fighting?’, How do you fight an invisible force?”

“Demogorgons, demodogs, government people, russians. We’ve had to face them for years. Steve and I were there in 1983, Max in 1984, and Robin just joined in last year with the Russians and the mall.”

Eddie’s eyes widened, and he turned his head slightly to face Steve. “ Is that why you were so beat up last year?”

Steve shrugged, “ Yeah. Pretty much.”

Eddie burrowed his head into his neck again. “ Jesus H. Christ.”

“Look, we’re here to help you Eds, that murder in the trailer? They were asking me questions, they think its you. Wouldn’t let up on the idea no matter how much I insisted it wasn’t.”

Eddie looked at Steve with a mix of fear and gratitude, “What do we do? Can’t exactly waltz up and tell them it’s supernatural.”

Steve hummed, “We need to figure out what happened to that Chrissy, and clear your name.”

Max stepped forward, “We’ll help you, Eddie. We’ve faced worse than this.”

Eddie nodded, “Okay. Shit, we’re really doing this..”

Robin glanced around, “Not to interrupt or anything, but maybe we should do the whole story? Like, you guys didn’t even mention the super power girl, and shes like major isn’t she?”

The long haired metalhead nodded, giving Steve a squeeze before letting go and standing.

He turned to face Robin a grimace on his face, “ Right, yeah, full story. Super power girl, sure.”

Steve patted his shoulder, when did he even get up, and after a second, bumped him with his hip.

“Buckle up, Eds. This is gonna take a while.”

Tag-list

@bxlthazar @i-have-three-feelings

[lust4liyah]

*hides behind hands* I KNOW HOW LONG ITS BEEN YALL I AM SOO SORRY :(((( uni has been kicking my ass for a while but im back and still deeply in L word with miguel!!! here's an apology 4 being gone 4 SO LONG, a lot of y'all rlly wanted body worship so here that is!

not proofread! contains; chubby! fem! reader, insecure thoughts, body image, unprotected sex, praise, public sex, body worship, mirror sex, creampie, sir kink if u squint, rlly soft sex, WAY longer than it needed it to be.

it happens during your off day. you're out shopping with miguel at the mall, dragging him here and there to get cute little outfits and other things miguel swears you don't need. you're at the end of your list of stores, and quite frankly the store miguel's been looking forward to the most, the lingerie store.

you're excited to try on all the cute pieces you see! you're grabbing anything that catches your eyes and miguel looks alive for once as he watches you do so, even going so far as to recommend a few sets.

you take all the sets you're interested in, thank the pretty lady lazily watching over the dressing rooms, and head inside. you were excited at first, you really were. who doesn't love to try on new clothes? but once you get in one of the farther dressing rooms to try on the cute lace sets miguel had suggested, your confidence is shot.

you turn in the mirror, uncomfortable with what you see in the reflection. you're chubby, that was a fact that you wore proudly. you've always loved your body, never thought it was something you needed to change or be ashamed of, until now. you feel gross in this set, the lace not fitting right and not flattering your curves the way you hoped. you try on the next few sets, feeling worse and worse each time.

you're on the verge of tears when you try on the last set, a pretty red mesh one with a bow right between your breasts. you look at yourself and feel nothing but disgust, tears pooling in the corner of your eyes as you frustratedly tug at the material around your body. you hated feeling like this, like your body was less than it was, but gosh, you couldn't help it.

maybe it was the way your flesh peeked from the fabric, maybe it was the way your rolls showed themselves on the sides of the set, but either way, you hated what you were looking at. you hated it.

a knock on the dressing room door has you jolting in surprise, whipping your head around to stare wide-eyed at the closed door. "honey?" miguel's deep voice calls from the other side. you don't respond, and miguel, concerned by your lack of response, knocks once again.

"you in there, cariño? it's been a while, is everything alright?" miguel asks. when he doesn't receive an answer again, he starts to push the door open. "is it okay if i step in? i wanted to see how you looked". you can hear the smile in his voice and you panicked. god, you hated the mall sometimes. the doors don't close properly ever.

"wait!" you say, voice shaky. you clear your throat and try again, "don't come in." you're a mess right now and the last thing you want is for miguel to see you like this. "why not?" miguel says, clearly confused. his hand rests against the door as he respects your wishes and waits for your reply,

"is everything okay, honey? did you rip that one with the strings?" he lets out a deep chuckle. "that one looked like it would be difficult to put on anyway, mama. let's just leave it there and run out, yeah?" he attempts to joke and it pull a quiet giggle out of your mouth.

"no— it's not that. i'm okay, baby, really. i just…" you trail off and glance at the mirror again, the insecurities you're feeling rushing back at full force, "i don't like it". you're not lying, you don't like any of the sets. they made you feel like shit.

"the strings?" miguel asks dorkily and you smile sadly at the mirror. even when you felt horrible, he knew how to make you feel better. "no, baby, not the strings." you take a deep breath. "i just don't like the way i look in these sets, that's all." you finally conceded, hoping that would be the end of the conversation.

you knew miguel was persistent, though, and you wouldn't be surprised if he tried to get you to tell him exactly why you didn't like how you looked.

you didn't hear anything for a few moments and you started to hope that miguel had given up and left, but then, you hear the door handle shake and watched it twisting open in a panic. "no, wait! miguel—"

the door swings open, miguel's big body blocking the entrance. your hand falters at the failed attempt to keep the door closed and you shamefully take a step back, turning your body away from him and crossing your arms over your chest.

"cariño", miguel steps in and closes the door behind him. he walks closer and gently grasps your hips, moving you so that your back is facing the mirror and your front is pressed up against his body. "tell me what's wrong, why are those beautiful eyes of yours crying, hm?" his large hands move up your back, resting at the base of your neck and stroking the nape.

"do you not like the color? the patterns?" his eyes rake over your body. "because i think they're all very pretty".

you bite the inside of your cheek and avert your gaze, not wanting to face him. "nothing at all like that, they're all beautiful". you admit. you can feel his eyes boring into the top of your head, waiting patiently for a real answer, but you stay quiet.

"then, enlighten me for a moment", miguel starts, taking one of his hands from the back of your neck and using it to tilt your chin up. "what is it about these outfits that you don't like?"

"because, miguel," you huff out and push at his chest lightly. "they don't look good on me, okay? they just make me feel… not good. like i'm— ugh, like they just don't look good on my body." you admit, a tear falling down your face.

the sight of it breaks miguel's heart and he wipes it away with his thumb. "oh, my love," he says. he kisses your cheek. "what makes you think they don't look good on you, mama?"

"they just… don't. i'm not saying they aren't cute, they're just not for my body, i guess". you shrug and try to turn away from him again, but miguel doesn't let you.

"how could you say that about such a gorgeous body, hm?" he says, hands slowly making their way down your body. "you look stunning, cariño. borderline irresistible, and you don't like them?" miguel clicks his tongue and shakes his head in disbelief. "you have to be crazy".

you scoff, rolling your eyes. "yeah, right." you make eye contact with him and miguel's heart breaks with how broken you look. "how could you love a body like mine? it's just so— i don't know, not sexy".

you move to turn around and slip the lingerie off your body, but miguel grips your hips again, holding you in place. "look at me", he says. his voice is hard and demanding and you shiver under his grasp. "i want you to see what i see, honey girl, don't push me away." he murmurs and slowly guides your body to turn around.

"keep your eyes on the mirror, understand?" miguel says softly. you nod and keep your eyes trained on the reflection, watching him slowly caress your sides. "good girl." miguel compliments. you can't help the shiver that runs through your body at his words and his smirk widens. he loves having this effect on you.

he slowly moves his hands up and down your sides, taking his time in tracing your curves. "see that, baby?" he says and cups your breasts. "this beautiful, soft body of yours. it's fucking perfect." he squeezes them and leans down to suck a kiss into your neck. "it's made just for me." he murmurs against the skin.

you squirm in his grasp but don't take your eyes off the mirror. miguel pulls away and gives you a stern look, "are you gonna watch or do i have to make you?" he asks. he raises an eyebrow when you don't reply, and you whimper.

"n—no, sir." you stutter out. you're turned on, the feeling of his hands all over you and his dirty words not helping the growing arousal between your legs. miguel nods and returns to touching your body. he slips his hands around your waist, squeezing your love handles before bringing his hands down to cup the bottom of your tummy. he massages the flesh and sucks another hickey onto your neck.

"all of you is breathtaking, my love". he says and moves one of his hands back to the front of your body. "this tummy", he groans, one of his hands moving to squeeze the flesh of your sides. "these curves", his hand moves again, gripping the meaty flesh of your thighs and lifting the leg that isn't on the floor. "these gorgeous fucking thighs." he sighs, shuddering in pleasure as he practically gropes you.

"all of it is gorgeous, 'n' all of it is mine. can't have you talking down on what's mine, can i?" he smirks at you through the mirror. "it's just not right, honey girl."

"no, sir, i'm sorry." you whisper out. miguel smiles sweetly at you through the mirror, leaning down and pressing chaste kisses against your neck. "my sweet girl, there's nothing to apologize for. i know you get lost in that little head of yours". he says, his hands moving back up to squeeze at your breasts. "how can you not think of the way i feel about you, though? i love this body. i'm obsessed with it. would stay home 'n' play with all day if you'd let me, you know i could do it".

you did know. miguel didn't have any problems spending the whole day worshipping your body, playing with it until you were a mess, begging for him to fuck you. his favorite pastime, if he had one, would be spending the whole day in bed, making you cum on his fingers and his tongue. he's done it before, and he'd do it again if you asked.

"m'sorry, miguel." you whimper, tears pricking the corner of your eyes. you didn't know what else to say, all the praises and kind words were getting to you. you can't remember the last time someone made you feel as good as he does.

"don't apologize, baby." miguel murmurs and kisses the side of your head. "you don't have to apologize, jus' let me make you feel better, hm?" he squeezes your breast again, tweaking a nipple and grinning at the small moan that falls from your lips.

"i'll make sure all the nasty things in that head of yours go away, yeah?"

and that's how you ended up being pressed against the wall of the dressing room, miguel's hand over your mouth and his free hand groping every area of your body he can. tears of pleasure prick so prettily at your eyes and miguel revels in the fact that he's the one who caused it.

"this is what you should be crying about." miguel whispers, his lips right by your ear as he presses his hips further into you. he's relentless, his thick cock stretching you out so deliciously while he plays with your body. "should be cryin' about being fucked open on my cock, should be sobbing over how good you feel." he emphasizes his point with a hard thrust and his hands squeeze the flesh of your breasts.

"god, look at you, mi amor." miguel murmurs against your lips. "you look so fucking perfect like this, all fucked out on my cock. 'm so lucky." he presses a quick kiss to your lips and leans back up, a hand gripping your neck and his thumb stroking the underside of your jaw. he turns your face carefully to the mirror, holding you in place.

"watch me", he commands, his freehand moving down to rub tight circles around your clit. "watch me worship this perfect body. watch yourself get fucked open on my cock, and don't take your eyes off of us." his eyes are trained on the mirror, too, a dark lust swirling in them.

you nod, small whimpers and pants escaping your mouth as miguel takes his hand off your mouth. "m—miguel, baby." you whimper and throw your head back. "'m close, please, let me cum." miguel shakes his head and leans down to press a sweet kiss to your shoulder. "not yet, baby," he whispers and bites the soft flesh.

"gotta see what i see, 'n' then, i'll let you cum. sound good, honey girl?" he smirks. you whine and shake your head, but you can't help but follow his command.

he's making it hard for you to keep your eyes on the mirror, the way his cock is thrusting into you and the way his thick fingers are playing with your clit have your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

"look, baby, watch how well you're taking my cock. so perfect, 'n' all mine. look at that beautiful body of yours, taking me so well." miguel groans and kisses along the back of your neck, his lips brushing against your skin.

"that's it, baby. 's what i see when i look at you." he says. he brings his free hand up to rest against your cheek, forcing you to keep eye contact with him. "see how beautiful you look? see how sexy you are? fuck, i can't even put it into words, honey. you're perfect. every single thing about you."

your eyes start to roll into the back of your head again and miguel's hand moves back down to your pussy. "keep your eyes on me, understand? 'm not letting you cum 'till you do." he grunts and slows his thrusts, not wanting this to end just yet.

"please, miguel, i need—"

"i know what you need, baby. i know this body." he whispers and strokes his thumb across your cheek. "just a little longer, honey. you're doing so good." he praises. you do as he says, keeping your eyes on the both of you in the mirror.

you feel yourself starting to cry, and the tears are falling faster now. "that's it, baby." miguel encourages, his fingers starting to work faster against your clit. "there's that beautiful girl. see how stunning you look when you're taking my cock like the good girl you are?" he leans down and presses a soft kiss to your lips, and the tenderness of the action has you breaking out into hushed sobs.

"fuck, miguel." you whine, his lips and his words and his hands making you feel like you're on cloud nine. "thank you, thank you s'much, love you— fuck! love you, love you, love you!" you cry, the feeling of his fingers and his cock driving you insane. you're so close, just one more push and you'd be gone.

"i know, honey. 'm right here. i love you too, you and this body. love every single part of it." he murmurs. his thrusts get harder and his fingers press impossibly deeper, the feeling pushing you over the edge.

"you can cum, honey girl, 'm right here." he says, his eyes fluttering closed as he feels you tighten around him.

you let yourself go, and the feeling of miguel's body surrounding yours and his words have you spiraling into a blissful orgasm. you cry out, slapping your hand over your mouth as your body twitches, and miguel moans lowly in your ear. "there you go, that's it, cariño." he coos. he pulls his hands away from your body and pulls your hips towards his, gripping the plush skin tightly.

he thrusts his hips harder into yours, chasing his own high. "so fucking good, honey, such a perfect body." he praises. he bites your neck and comes inside you, his cum filling your cunt as his hips still against yours. "perfect," he groans out. "all of it, perfect."

the two of you are breathing hard, the air around you feeling hot and humid. miguel's sweaty body is pressed against yours, his softening cock still inside you.

and when he kisses you again, helping you settle on the bench of the dressing room while he assures the worried employee outside that everything's fine, you're left with a new mindset.

you don't mind the lingerie sets that much, they're really pretty and yeah! they do look good on you, real good.

when miguel makes a move to slip the underwear off your body and press his tongue inside you, whispering praises and warnings of silence into your body, you don't have a problem with them anymore.

not at all.

okay wow yeah this one was crazy, i rlly rlly hope u all enjoyed this one bcus i tried my very VERY hardest to do the body worship requests justice! im so sorry 4 leaving yall for practically months on end w RADIO SILENCE but i hope u all can forgive me w this teehee

[stellamancer]

between the moon’s divide (satoru gojo x reader)

notes: uh. a week ago i thought to myself ‘oh i want to write a kiss scene’ thinking it would take me a day or two but no it took a week of me agonizing over... everything lmao.

contains: gender neutral reader, gojo is taller than the reader (as usual), some kind of tension, and finally kissing!!

wc: 2.1k

It’s sometime past midnight when you run across Satoru Gojo standing in the school’s courtyard. 

Unable to sleep, you’d taken to the halls. It’d become a habit by now, wandering the corridors like a restless ghost until sleep could evade you no longer. You’d actually been heading back to your room when you’d seen him, statuesque as he bathed in moonlight. You’d been vaguely aware that Gojo was not much of a sleeper, but you’d never run into him on one of your nighttime strolls. 

You come to a stop, observing Gojo as he stares up at the moon. It’s very odd for him; to be still, to be silent. 

Naturally, it doesn’t last for long.

“Finally here for our romantic moonlight rendezvous?” he asks, his tone playful, his gaze still fixed on the moon above. 

You can’t help but feel mildly annoyed that he’s noticed you at this distance. “As if. I was just wondering if maybe you were thinking about returning to your home planet.”

Gojo hums as you step out onto the courtyard, approaching him. "And leave you here? You'd be lonely without me.” 

You wait until you and Gojo are standing side by side to respond, not sparing him a glance as you retort, “Actually, I think you’d be the lonely one.”

At first, you don’t think much of the words that come out of your mouth. It’s habit to take anything Gojo throws at you and hurl it right back at him. The words play back in your mind as you tilt your head up to gaze up at the moon. It dominates the midnight sky, larger and brighter than anything else in the expanse above. Something about it reminds you of Gojo, strong, brilliant, and—

Lonely.

“You think?” he asks, sounding almost amused, as if you’d said something funny. 

“Probably?” you answer. "Though, I don't know, maybe your home planet is full of more Satoru Gojos and you would all be one happy collective, feeding into each other's egos and all that."

The thought of more than one Satoru Gojo, much less a whole planet full of them is enough to make your head throb with pain. The world has enough problems with one alone.

"...and what if there's no one else there?" 

You blink, and turn your head just slightly toward Gojo. He's still looking up at the moon, his expression almost melancholic. Something in your chest aches at the sight and you look back at the moon as if that will ease the pain.

It makes sense for him to think like that, to think his home planet would be deserted— all your lives you've been told how he's unique, how he's special, how he's the one and only Satoru Gojo. The thought, the notion that there could be another like him is near incomprehensible.

(There was one, someone, who came close and he—)

"Then don't go."

The words are barely audible, escaping your mouth like a whisper in the breeze. You're not even sure if you actually said them because under normal circumstances you'd keep such words to yourself, bury them deep inside your heart like a well-kept secret because in Satoru Gojo's hands those three words are little more than ammunition.  

And as much as you loathe the thought of giving him something else he can weaponize against you, you think he needs it right now. Even with the weight of the world on his shoulders, his hands remain ever empty, ready and willing to take on more burden. If you're going to give him something to hold, it might as well be something he can find some measure of joy in. 

You expect Gojo to cut to the chase and start teasing you. Hesitation is a foreign concept to him, especially with the prospect of something new to play with, but he is uncharacteristically silent. Against your better judgment, you turn your head back toward him and find that he is no longer looking up at the moon.

He’s looking at you. 

Your breath stills in your chest. The bright gleam of Gojo’s eyes is a curse in of itself, rooting you to the core. You’ve never been good at dealing with Gojo like this. Stupid as that blindfold of his looks on him, it acts as a buffer, as a shield. You want to look away. You have to look away before the shocking hue of his gaze pulls you in, traps you, ensnares you with no hope of escape.

Gojo moves, shifting into a position that brings him down to your height, facing you fully as he unleashes the full power of his stupidly brilliant blue eyes on you. He leans just the slightest bit in your direction. Your heart rate climbs higher and higher as he inches closer. A voice in the back of your mind tries to remind you, to reassure you: this isn’t the first time that Satoru Gojo has pulled this kind of trick on you, and it won’t be the last. He’ll creep closer and closer toward you, taunting you, teasing you, but the space between you will forever remain infinite. 

But then he presses his forehead to yours and all bets are off. 

You need to get away from him. Now. You take a step back, to put some space in between you. It might be finite, but some space is better than none. But even though you’ve taken a step back you find that you are no further than Gojo than you were before, your foreheads still pressed together.

What in the world? You swear you took a step back.

Something in your peripheral shifts and your eyes flicker down for just a second, catching the corner of his mouth twitch. He knows exactly what he’s doing. Then it clicks. You’re so used to seeing him using his technique to push everything away, to make himself untouchable, that you often forget that it’s not the only thing he can do. HIs power doesn’t only repel.

It attracts too. 

Your heartbeat grows erratic at the realization that the once infinite space between you is now all but obsolete. Like this, you’re far too aware of him; aware of his hair, brushing softly against your face, aware of his breathing, echoing loud in your ears, aware of his lips—

“...what are you doing?” you finally manage to whisper after what feels like an eternity. 

As soon as the words leave your mouth, you nearly regret them. The question is begging for trouble, inviting it and the inevitable teasing from Gojo. But still you ask— you have to, you need to. It feels counterintuitive, but you need the distraction of his answer and the annoyance it’s sure to bring to cut through the thoughts, the feelings that are threatening to swallow you whole. 

You expect his response to come instantly like it always does, but… it doesn't. Something stutters in your chest at the change in routine. Is he being purposely silent? Or is he actually thinking about his words before they come out of his mouth for once? 

Finally, finally, he speaks, his voice low and teasing for sure, but there's something else there, diluting his tone, laced in his words. It's subtle, but whatever it is throws you completely off balance. "I thought you said 'don't go.'" 

Your mouth opens. You start to speak. But no words come out, instead they are lodged in your throat— honesty and reluctance mangled together in one huge lump. The thought occurs to you to just leave them there, unspoken. But, you wouldn't put it past Gojo to try and rip them free; with that in mind you pull at the words, unraveling them before releasing them into the night air. "…I did." 

It's official now: you've gone off script and you both know it. 

Gojo pulls back, just enough for you to see his face clearly. You think he's going to tease you for your admission, but instead, he studies you, his eyes probing, searching. You don’t know what for, but with no buffer, no infinity between you, it feels almost as if you are laid bare before the hypnotic glow of his eyes. 

Try as you might, you cannot even bring yourself to look away. You are charmed, captivated, enchanted by the spell of his eyes. Any hope for escape is gone and the only things that remain are you and the limitless blue.

Something shifts in Gojo’s expression and you wonder, distantly, if he’s found whatever it was he was looking for. 

He surges forward, pressing his forehead to yours once more, angling himself, positioning himself, and his mouth, his lips—

They’re barely there. Hovering as close as they possibly can without even touching. You can feel his breath, warm and intoxicating and it’s suddenly so hard to move, to think, to even breathe with the threat of Satoru Gojo imminent and about to swallow you whole.

He could, if he wanted and you both know it, and yet…

“Not even gonna try and deny it?” he asks, and you can practically feel his lips moving with each word he speaks. His tone is amused still, teasing still, but there's something more to it. It's like a secret, a plea even, interwoven into his words and actions, loud and unsubtle in a way that screams Satoru Gojo.

You don't know why he doesn't just say what he wants right now. Maybe he thinks it's more fun to try and be coy about it. Or maybe he thinks if he actually says it, you'll refuse like you always do, because you never think he really means it when he says it.

But right now, you think Gojo might.

You think he might really want to kiss you. 

This is your last chance, you think, your lips parting, your response heavy in your mouth. Whatever happens from here on out hinges entirely on what you say next. It’s not just about trying to deny what you said anymore; it's about denying whatever the hell is actually going on between you and Gojo. All this time, you've been turning a blind eye to things, adamant that there's nothing there— that Gojo is just a colleague and nothing more. And despite that, despite everything, he pushed and shoved his way into your heart like it's where he's belonged all along. Those three little words are undeniable proof that there's something between the two of you and it's awfully kind of him to let you try and deny it. 

But can you?

"...no." 

The realization settles in your chest, heavy yet liberating as you breathe the word into the air. You can’t— you won’t deny it, deny him.

Not any more.

Gojo’s entire body goes still, but then his hands are cupping your face, long fingers splayed across your cheeks. He’s holding you like a treasure, his touch reverent. Gojo presses his forehead to yours once more; his breath caresses you once more and you think that maybe, for the first time in his life, Satoru Gojo knows hesitation, feels it running through his veins as the space between your lips and his grows more and more infinitesimally small. 

You like to pretend that you'd never given much thought to how your first kiss with Gojo would go, but you never would have thought that it would be like this— gentle and sweet. But despite that, it feels almost like your chest is going to burst as he fills your lungs, your veins, your entire being.

For just a moment, you think he’s about to pull away, and your body reacts of its own accord, reaching out for him, keeping him close. It’s at this moment that the kiss shifts into something more hungry, more desperate. Gojo’s lips part, his tongue swiping against your lips, begging you to do the same. 

You do not deny him. 

Eventually, eventually you pull away, dazed and out of breath, but Gojo doesn’t let you go too far, his arms wrapping around you. A silence settles around the two of you as you stand there, bathing in moonlight. 

Of course, it doesn’t last for long. 

“You’re really down bad for me, huh,” Gojo remarks, his voice infuriatingly smug.

You rip yourself from his grasp... or, at least, you try to. What you manage to do is free yourself enough so that you can look at his face. Naturally he’s beaming, all too pleased by everything that’s going on, his eyes shining brighter than any star in the sky. 

The words you normally say, the words you usually say, try to force their way out of your mouth, but you catch them before they do. You’ve decided, you remind yourself, you won’t deny him any more. 

“...guess I am,” you answer, as casually as possible, then you add, as a cheeky afterthought, “And what about you?”

The grin on Gojo’s face widens as he leans in and that’s how your second kiss begins.

[italic-doing-random-shit]

Something I did for school :3

@largefound-the-sequel, I know you like Greek mythology

[pillsopa]

stopped in my tracks and almost fell to my knees when i remembered that the Only time the font changed in the entirety of trc was when adam sent blue the flowers with the little note….can’t get up…….

[nemorense]

✩ moodboards of Italic deities ✩

[hunny-pp]

good lord theo wants to smash

screenshots of theo being Very Down Bad below

[echodrops]

I know I've posted about nothing but my job lately, but I am really struggling right now...

I honestly think one of the greatest failures of our modern education system is that teachers are expected to exhibit patience and forgiveness beyond anything that would be expected in other career fields.

Genuinely, I think the world would be a lot more functional (and better educated) currently if teachers were just allowed to be a little more real with students and tell them that, yeah, actually, it's not acceptable to continue making the same mistake after being corrected on it twelve times.

Of course, I fully understand instructors cannot expect students to master concepts they're never been taught.

But if a concept or rule has been clearly communicated to the student multiple times, it is honestly just not reasonable to expect a high grade while still continuing to make all the same mistakes. If a student refuses to learn the material, they just shouldn't pass. If I give a student a step-by-step video walk-through for how to handle basic formatting and they still fuck it up because they didn't bother to even watch the video, they should lose points. Like is that rocket science???

Imagine being a cashier, being taught the proper procedure for closing out a register multiple times, and then still fucking it up every single time you have to close.

Would you be employed as a cashier for very long? No!

Man, I don't even know. I know I'm just ranting at this point because I'm disappointed, but... Really, I do think that teachers should just be allowed to be a little more real. Sometimes calling people out for not putting in the minimum effort is fair.

If a student makes the same basic mistake after I've corrected them 20 times, it should be socially acceptable for me to tell them to stop wasting my time--and wasting their own time--in a class they don't intend to learn anything from.

I'm so tired...

[whump-queen]

I overuse italics in whump writing bc I need yall to hear it in my voicee

— like I need you to emphasize it correctly, hissing and low and not fucking *boring*

[aussie-bookworm]

Chapter two of my SniperScout Time Loop AU is now up on AO3!

Summary

Working under RED can be repetitive at times - but nothing like this. After a curse is fired his way, Scout is forced to live through the same day over and over and over again. It should be easy for someone as perfect as Scout to break the curse, right? As long as he doesn't have to confront the things he's been feeling towards Sniper it should be a piece of cake!

Chapter summary:

Logically, the way to beat a bad day is to have a perfect day, right? This probably won't take long at all for someone as perfect as Scout!

[brewstersbru]

A little comfort continuation of my riz 💚character study (aftermath w/ jawbone to the rescue!! hes such a dad 🐺)

Riz meant to go back inside. He did. He was going to heave himself up and amble back in, wedging himself between Fabian and Fig (if they hadn’t already filled his space with their flailing limbs in the short time he’d been out).

He was going to do it. Just as soon as he swallowed the lump in his throat. Just as soon as he got a handle on things.

It can’t have been longer than twenty minutes after Pok hung up when the door behind him creaks open. Shit. He thought he had more time. Riz swallows and blinks frantically as if that will somehow cover the puffiness to his eyes, the tear tracks that- despite excessive scrubbing- won’t completely go away.

 “Riz.” It’s Jawbone. There’s relief in his voice, but something else too. A yawning kind of drowsiness. Riz takes a deep breath, ignoring the sinking ball of guilt in his gut.

“Hey, Jawbone, sorry. Did I wake you up?” He almost surprises himself with the calmness in his voice, but is glad of it, nonetheless. What an inconvenient time to find out he actually can lie convincingly.   

The door creaks again and there’s a sharp click in the silence of the night as Jawbone shuts the door behind him. There are a few moments of scuffling before a weight settles over Riz’s shoulders- warm, fluffy- and Jawbone sits next to him on the steps.

Riz looks down to find that he’s been wrapped in a blanket, one of the nice ones from the linen closet. Had Jawbone known he was out here? How much had he seen? Did he hear anything?

Riz pulls the blanket tighter against himself, suddenly aware of how cold he is.

“Thanks.” He mutters. Jawbone hums and turns to look at him.

“Course. Saw you shivering, didn’t want you to catch a cold or nothin’.” Maybe this is something to do with guidance counselors, or faculty at Auguefort in general, but Jawbone’s gaze is piercing. Riz feels at once flayed open and carefully examined.

He coughs, curling further into himself.

“I can go back in now. Was going to, in a second, but…” He can’t finish the thought, everything that comes to mind is either childish or worrying, neither of which he wants to be in front of Jawbone. He swallows thickly.

Jawbone leans into the railing behind him, getting comfortable. “There’s no rush, Riz. I mean, I do think you need to sleep at some point tonight, but that can wait a little. At least until your tail stops swishin’ like that.” Riz immediately tucks the thing under one of his legs, embarrassed at being betrayed by his own biology. His face burns.

“I’m fine. You’re right, I need to get some sleep before the exam tomorrow, or I’ll be totally useless to the party.” He doesn’t turn to look at Jawbone as he speaks, simply stares resolutely at some of the loose brick in front of him.

“Now I didn’t say that last part, kiddo. You need to sleep ‘cuz it looks like you haven’t gotten a proper eight hours in a while, and I can see it weighing on your shoulders with the rest of it.” Jawbone says, gently. Riz bristles, almost wants to hiss at him. What does he know about what Riz carries on his shoulders?

“I said I’m fine, Jawbone.” He grits, standing. “I should go.” Jawbone curses.

“Wait. Please.” Riz pauses, finally meeting his eyes. They’re as sharp as ever, but soft, too. If that makes any sense. Jawbone continues, “It kills me seein’ you like this kiddo. I feel like a broken record sayin’ this, but I really do mean it, I’m always here to talk if you need to. Or, even if you don’t want to talk I just- it just seems like you could use somebody, is all.”

Riz feels like he’s glitching. His mind is screaming at him to keep walking, to get back in the house, lay down, and close his eyes tight until the sleep takes. But he’s so warm. And he kind of wants to cry again and Jawbone would give him a hug, probably, if he asked for it. Right?

At war with himself, all he manages to do is freeze in his tracks and utter an intelligent, “Um.”

Jawbone smiles and pats the stone next to him.

“Come on. You don’t gotta say anything, but at least sit down. And- oh, here,” He reaches into one of his cardigan’s pockets and produces a small mini chocolate bar. “A little pick-me-up.”

Riz settles gingerly next to him, closer than before but not close enough to touch. He reaches over and takes the chocolate, movements slow as he raises his eyebrows.

Jawbone shrugs. “I always keep a few on me, just in case. Never know when you might need ‘em.”

Riz smiles, small and to himself, for the first time in what feels like hours. Jawbone grins back.

“There he is. If you want another, just ask, I should have one or two more on me.”

Then it’s silent for a good, long while. Riz stares into the pitch black that pushes up against the safe halo of light surrounding the house as he chews on silky chocolate. He can’t help but replay the conversation with his father over and over again in his mind. Jawbone’s head is tilted to the stars.

For all he knows- for all Riz ever knows- that could be the last conversation he is able to have with Pok until he dies again. The watch is what allows them to talk across planes and it, like everything else Riz is and owns, is breakable. It’s unlikely that the watch will break tomorrow (Riz is a ranged fighter, he never gets close if he can help it, nothing should get near enough to him to get to it…), but not impossible. Never impossible.

Something warm and wet drips down his chin and onto his fist, where its clenched around the blanket. Riz brings his other hand to swipe at his eyes. Fuck. He shouldn’t be crying like this. He thought he was cried-out.

Jawbone’s voice rings out from beside him, tender, “Kiddo.”

Riz shakes his head, curling further into the blanket as if the fabric might protect him from this mortifying situation.

“Sorry.” He mumbles. “I thought I was done with this part.”

It’s quiet for a moment.

“It’s okay to need to cry, Riz. Definitely nothing you need to apologize for.”

Riz shivers, somehow cold again, even with the blanket. He wants to burrow into Jawbone’s chest, to cling like he used to, to his mom before he grew out of it and became a man (he was so young, then; he should’ve given it more time, he could’ve given it more time). He doesn’t want to ask, though.

Doesn’t know if he can ask.

Jawbone looks down at him- shivering, hunched underneath a thin cotton blanket- and he must see something that Riz doesn’t mean to betray because his breath catches, and he does the asking for him.

“Can I hug ya, kid?”

Riz nods once, sharply, as soon as the words are in the air. Jawbone reaches out and gathers him up in his arms. Pressing him firmly, but gently, against his chest. Riz buries his face into his cardigan and allows himself a minute of foolishness.

He hiccups.

“I miss my dad, Jawbone. I wish he wasn’t dead.” His voice breaks on the last word, all he gets out is the ‘de’, and he leaves the rest to hang in the air with his sobs.

Jawbone’s hand comes up to rub lightly over his back. He doesn’t say anything, just allows Riz to cycle through his emotions.

“It’s not fair. It’s not fair that he’s gone and me and mom just have to deal with it.” Riz takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.

“Sometimes… I know it’s stupid and illogical, but sometimes I get mad at him. I get so furious with him. Because he’s not here. He didn’t do what he needed to do to be here for his son. And I know that’s wrong and he couldn’t help it and if he could choose to be here, he would, but it doesn’t stop the anger. I don’t like it. But I don’t know what to do with it because it’s not fixable. I can’t put it anywhere, so I just push it down and hope it goes away, eventually. It never goes away.”

Jawbone hums, and Riz can feel the vibration of it against his cheek. It reminds him of a cat purring, almost. If the cat smelled like dog.

“It’s okay to feel upset that your father was taken from you before you got the chance to know him. That’s not stupid or illogical. I’m sure he beats himself up about it just as much, if he’s anything like his son.”

Riz, despite himself, laughs.

“It’s nice getting to know him now.” He sniffs. “It’s just- I feel like I’m playing a game of catch-up every time we talk. Like I’m late to the race. Most kids know what their dads do for work before high school.”

“But it’s not a race, Riz.” Jawbone’s voice is low, but vehement. “No one is judging you for not knowing these things about your father, because you thought he was unreachable up until a year ago. The fact that you’re taking every opportunity to learn about him, that you spent so much time- even before you knew what he did for work- visiting his grave and updating him about your life, and still do, sometimes. It’s a testament to how much you love him. I think he knows that.”

The silence following those words stays for another minute or so before Riz huffs.

“But I don’t love him enough to bring him back, huh. There’s magic in any strong emotion, Kristin told me that, once. And I just started messing with magic stuff, but you would think that it wouldn’t be impossible. Not if the love was strong enough.”

Jawbone sighs, brings a hand to Riz’s hair and begins to card through it, almost absentmindedly. Riz freezes, then melts into it. It’s been so long since anybody played with his hair like this. His mom used to do it, when he was younger, but then the bills got higher, her shifts got longer. It fell to the bottom of the priorities list.

“You can’t do that to yourself, kid. You can’t. You think if Ms. Barkrock wanted it enough, was rageful enough, she coulda expelled the demon from her chest earlier?”

Riz shakes his head, slightly, afraid to dislodge jawbone’s hand. “Of course not. But that’s different-“

“Not really.” Jawbone cuts in, gently. “Point is, magic don’t work like that. Emotions are a factor, yes, but there’s so much else that goes into it. You love your dad so much, Riz, anyone can see that.”

Riz sniffles. “Thanks, Jawbone.”

Jawbone smiles where Riz can’t see, and ruffles his hair before allowing him to pull away.

“Anytime, kiddo.”

[glittergroovy]

[rogue205]

Does anyone else ever notice how Gale is sometimes depicted in Hunger Games stories as an abusive jerk to Katniss or a controlling manipulative bastard(get real people, like she would let him) OR a jealous prick who sets out intentionally to sabotage her relationship with Peeta? Just to name a few.

Why? To justify Everlark. (Luckily lots of Everlark stories don’t actually do this but I still see it and it’s irritating hence this rant)

Gale is actually written OOC a lot just so people can claim that Katniss belongs with Peeta who is apparently so perfect. And I hate it. That’s right up there with (likely) these same people who completely ignore the fact that Peeta manipulated Katniss into a relationship with him prior to the 74th Games during the interviews. (As I said in an earlier post too, the fact that Peeta kept pressuring her after the rebellion to have kids until she gave in just… that bothers me. But I digress.)

Yes, his feelings were probably genuine and yes, Haymitch also played a role in this but it was honestly a d*ck move for him to pull especially since neither of them told her this is what was gonna happen. So she faked it through the 74th Games. And Snow made her continue after while forcing Gale into the role of her cousin instead, something that neither Gale or Katniss liked, as it made them uncomfortable.

I feel that she was with Peeta at the end because she needed hope and he was almost like another Prim for her. Someone she needed to protect. But what happens once she feels like she can stand on her own again? And don’t even get me started on how wildly Gale’s characterization veers into left field upon arrival at District 13. That whole bit made little to no sense to me. Then there’s the end where Collins writes him off by “he goes to District 2 and no one sees him again”. Really.

Everyone in Twelve also probably believed that Everthorne was endgame as the two were seen constantly together and obviously cared about the other and their families very much. Until the reaping happened. As I said before, Katniss’s true love is her sister Prim but Peeta ultimately was Snow’s choice for her. Katniss’s choice was Gale and she even said so in Catching Fire. “Gale is mine and I am his. Anything else is unthinkable”.

So I hate that Suzanne Collins ultimately didn’t have the guts to follow through with that.

[ratatatastic]

do you also think fondly of lundy posing for pictures and its just the awkward leaning tower of pisa™

wdym "the awkward leaning tower of pisa™"

the awkward leaning tower of pisa™

[wilhelmsbee]

Literally months late this was made for the 14th of July but what matters is I'm posting it now :)

[that-spider-fan-over-there]

So uh, do you guys ever think about how Tenko grew up with a man who had the capacity to take away his Quirk - the thing that ruined his life, took away his family - yet seemingly never once took his? That was probably a way to make him internalize he truly wished for destruction the moment he was born?

And Tenko probably questioned it but never dared ask because he was the one who accepted him, and sure he gives you a sinking feeling in your guts to the point you scratch your neck at the mere idea of talking to him (when was the last time you've had a doctor's consult? Or a simple ointment to relieve the pain? Isn't he friends with a doctor?), but he picked you up from the streets (because you don't deserve gentle touches when you're followed by the dust of death. your name is defined by it how do you know the name of that kid who wanted to be a hero) he gave you a place to stay (because your home was based on silent rejections and lies on the very ground you decayed), he accepted you even though you're only an individual born for destruction (and so is the crafted garden you're rooted on, but you could've thrived in another garden, another life.)

And maybe, you're just ungrateful. Your sensei is the only one who can understand the lonely traces of death that follows you, unnervingly so. Even though he's the one who can take that away from you with a mere touch.

(just like you can. just like you did. why can't you feel joy with that? you were born in from for destruction.)

(you could decay your allies with one single touch. they're irrelevant to your goals. why does your heart stop you from fulfilling that now? you had it in you back then. it never mattered before.)

(you tried to help someone ungrateful, once. he was killed by his your hand. they've helped him. why weren't you offered the same?)

(isn't this why you reject the hand that wants to save you? you could've killed him. and he still held your hands. the denied reality you had since you were a child.)

(do you still want to be a hero, shimura tenko?)

(... why can't you start now?)

But then again, how do you know you deserved better when you were nothing but a puppet- and now, with his goals destroyed, a very useless one?

Just thinking about Shimura Tenko.