#just thinking about this makes me so emotional
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Have my baby - Max Verstappen
Warnings: 18+, breeding kink obviously, creampie, unprotected sex
Word count: 1,4k
I feel like you’d realise that Max has a raging breeding kink right in the middle of a heated makeout session one ordinary Tuesday night.
"Damn, schat, you're so beautiful… Wanna put a baby in you so bad."
His comment freezes both of you. He must have realised what he just said and stopped in his tracks, scanning you for a reaction. But your face is blank, free of any emotion.
You're in shock, Max had never even mentioned having kids of your own before. Sure, you both knew that you wanted kids someday but you had not discussed it further until now. Besides, Max was good with children, and the biggest dream you had was to have a baby with him. But his admission came as a surprise.
You huff, "Baby, huh?" Gazing up at his icy blue eyes. They were filled with shame, and his head sunk into the crook of your neck with a sigh. Your hands sink into his thick hair, and you can't help but pull on it slightly, encouraging him to look up again.
"Max, look at me." You tell him, and he does, still with that adorable frown on his face.
"Say it again." You order.
"I'm not doing that, Y/N." Max quickly replies.
You sigh. "I didn't know you had a breeding kink, Max." You wink at him.
You're really into the idea. "Baby…" You whisper while playing with his hair and brushing over your stomach, imagining feeling a baby bump under your hand.
"Liefje, I didn't mean to-" He starts, his tone slightly panicked, but you stop him before he can explain himself.
"I like that, Max." You admit. As you say that, his eyes widen in surprise.
"Really?" He coos while peppering your face with kisses.
"Yeah…" You giggle. "I mean, I wasn't exactly ready to hear that from you but I like it."
Max lets out a laugh, "I wasn't thinking, I'm so sorry. I didn't want to make you uncomfortable or anything."
You shush him, "You didn't, trust me."
He offers you a faint smile as he traces his hand against your cheek.
"Can I remove these?" Max asks rather desperately, pointing to your jeans, making you nod and assisting him in dragging them off.
When the sweet smell of you hits him, he inhales and lets out a small whimper. "God, smell heavenly…"
His words make you blush, and while he's busy taking your underwear off, you look down at his bulge.
"Need you so bad, Maxie." You whine while palming his jeans.
He answers with a couple of thrusts against your hand, feeling desperate to have you and to get out of the tightening lock-up of his pants.
Something in him switches when he sees your pussy, and he manhandles your tiny figure onto your hands and knees.
"Please Max, need you." You beg. Your hand slides down to your heat, and you're already soaked. As you're playing with your clit, you slide two fingers in, stretching yourself for him.
You hear the clinking of his belt behind you, and you look back at him, arching your back further, allowing him to see you even better.
"Such a tease…" He chuckles, and you feel something slide along your slit. Something wet and familiar. You recognize it as his tongue almost instantly, and you can't help letting out a moan.
"Hmmm, taste even better." He whispers against your core. As he's licking and sucking on your clit, his nose brushes against your seeping hole, wetting his face.
You feel yourself getting closer by the second as you feel two of his fingers penetrate you and curl up against your G-spot.
Max feels the way you're clenching around his fingers, almost cutting off blood supply to his poor digits.
Before you even had the chance to react, you came. The feeling of him on you is overwhelming and you're frantically trying to get away, but he's holding himself and you in place, still sucking on your clit and fingering you frantically.
When you've come down, Max pulls his fingers out and collapses beside you, stroking your flushed cheek with his fingers.
"So what do you say, schat?" He asks, his eyes filled with adoration.
"About what?"
He pauses before he speaks, "Let's have a baby." He says, still looking at you.
"Max…" You try to sound serious but the thought of having his baby is tempting. "You're away all the time for work. It wouldn't work."
"I'll quit if you want me to. Just have a baby with me."
Silence. You try to come up with a good excuse, but the post-orgasm haze makes it hard. The only reason you're waiting is because of his career. And if he quits, there's no reason for you to wait. "You can't stop racing just because you want a baby, Max."
"Watch me, Y/N… Besides, if we make a baby now, it'll be born in the off-season, it's perfect!" He tries to resonate.
"You've planned this really well, haven't you?" You giggle.
"Mhm… You would make the most beautiful mama. You and pregnancy would complement each other." He coos while rolling you over onto your back, kissing you all over your face, making you burst out in laughter.
"Okay, okay, I give up!" You laugh, allowing Max to hover over you.
"Let's make a baby." You whisper, not sure if he heard you.
"Oh… Love." He sighs contently while pulling your hoodie off and freeing himself from his jeans and underwear. "I love you." He leans in and catches your mouth in a searing kiss, his cheeks flushing with each word.
The thought of making love to you without any barriers, feeling you for real, sends Max reeling.
His knees push your legs apart, placing himself between them. Max can't help capturing your lips in a hungry kiss, tasting your lips with his tongue. Excitement runs through him as you run your fingers down his body to his pulsating member, you grab it and give it a few pumps before brushing it against your cunt, collecting the slick from your previous orgasm on his tip.
"Are you really sure about this?" He asks for confirmation one last time.
"I'm sure of it, Max." You reply, giving his nose a gentle kiss.
Max is beaming at you when he hears the words, and slowly slides into you, connecting two bodies into one. When the tip is in, you stop him with a hand on his stomach. You would never get used to his size. "It's okay, schat, take a moment." He tries to comfort you.
Once you've adjusted to him, you nod to indicate your readiness to continue. He slowly burrows into you, ensuring you feel okay and as comfortable as possible while showering you with praise and encouragement.
"Doing so well for me, liefje."
"Looking so good like this."
"Our babies will be just as beautiful as you."
"I'm so lucky to have you."
When he bottoms out, you moan out brokenly, as does he. The feeling of him sheathed in you almost sends you into a raging orgasm instantly, in any case, you're close.
"Look at me, Y/N." He asks as he pumps into you. Your eyes are squeezed shut as you are desperately trying to keep yourself together. When you hear his words though, you open your eyes, only to find him close, looking at your contorted face. The sight of him aids your impending orgasm, and you're pushed over the edge with the help of his thrusts.
As you moan out your second orgasm, you suck Max' delicious lower lip into your mouth, while rocking your hips to get some kind of relief. Max doesn't let you come down this time and continues pumping into you, increasing his pace.
You are both a moaning mess; kissing, sucking, licking each other wherever your mouths happen to land.
"Can't wait to see your stomach swell with my child, lieve." Max stills, out of breath, drops of sweat decorating his forehead. He stills in you, pulling your legs up on his shoulders, folding you in half. The change of angle, his tip against your G-spot, drives you into a frenzy. You're hyper-aware of everything happening, his hands on your body leaving goosebumps wherever he touches, his eyes on you, feeling like fire, his thrusts, god, you're going to cum again.
You clench around him, "My god, I'm close." Max announces, "Please, cum with me." He begs while he picks up the pace, slamming into your cervix again and again until you both yell in ecstasy. You feel streaks of his seed painting your insides while you milk his member dry.
Max collapses on top of you, spent and tired. "Jesus, Y/N."
You giggle into his shoulder, you too feeling tired, but happy.
"What if it actually sticks on the first try?" You ask.
"Might as well go for another round to up our chances." Max winks at you.
#fan fic#fic writing#f1 fic#formula 1#formula 1 imagine#formula 1 x reader#formula one#formula one fanfiction#formula 1 fanfic#max verstappen#max verstappen x you#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen imagine#max verstappen fanfic#max verstappen smut#f1 fandom#f1 x reader#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1#formula 1 x you#formula 1 fic
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avoid - Matt Sturniolo
summary: when matt calls you out on you pushing him away, until a huge fight breaks out between the two of you. a couple hours later you find him a mess, you have no choice but to make things right.
contains: angst, crying, arguing, yelling, fluff, comforting, swearing.
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you didn't realise you were doing it, you just were.
you had accidentally been avoiding him and pushing him away for the past couple of weeks, there wasn't a specific reason but you just were.
9:04pm
i'm laying on the couch alone, watching some random romcom as i stare at the screen.
the floorboards creak as i hear matt coming down the hallway, his footsteps are heavy as he approaches the living room.
he stands in the doorway, just observing me for a couple of seconds.
i hear his lips part as he gets ready to speak.
"y/n..?" he mutters softly, his voice is weak and shy.
i hum quietly as a response, not even diverting my gaze away from the bright screen. i hear matt huff slightly, a hint of annoyance in his tone.
"what- why- can you at least look at me when im speaking?" matt scoffs.
"what difference does it make?" i mumble back, still staring at the television.
"makes me think you might actually give a shit about me still." matt spits, his arms fold over his chest as he leans against the doorway,
"pfft." i dismiss him which only sets matt off even more.
"why are you acting like this? seriously!" matt exclaims,
"why are you being so sensitive." i groan,
i know i’m being annoying as shit, but i can’t help it, i’m just doing what i can to tick him off.
matt just stares at me, his breathing heavy as i see him visibly start fuming.
“you wanna know what it is? you’ve been acting like a total stranger for the past couple months and i’m done with it, i’m done with you.” matt raises his voice
i stand up off the couch, standing a couple feet away from matt as i lock eyes with him,
“me? i’ve been acting like i stranger?” i laugh dryly, not cause this situation is amusing, i’m just in shock.
“yes! you’ve been treating me like crap for the past too long!” matt keeps his voice raises,
i point my finger at his chest as i walk closer to him, “you cannot be serious? i literally do everything for you? i gave up so many things for more time with you!”
“i didn’t ASK you to do that! nobody did!” he scoffs loudly, grabbing my wrist and yanking it away from his chest.
“so it meant nothing to you? clearly you’re not appreciating my love for y-“
matt cuts me off,
“don’t even. you’re trying to make me feel bad when i’m literally trying to talk to you about my feelings!”
his eyes are narrow slits now, his fingers wrapped tightly around my wrist.
“let me go, now.” i mutter angrily,
“just listen to me!” he spits, moving his hand off of my wrist to grab my shoulders,
he jolts me back and forth harshly,
“i fucking hate this new attitude of yours, you’re the most self centred bitch ever!” matt shouts,
his voice booms through my living room, making my heart race quicken.
“would you just shut up- shut up!” i scream,
matt shoves me back gently, not enough to actually hurt me, just enough to get his point enough.
“you’re just- you’re just being ridiculous?” matt mutters, turning on his heels and walking away from me.
“i fucking hate you! i hope you get that through your thick head!” i snap
i didn’t mean it.
not at all.
i was so angry, just doing anything i could to be mean.
i hear matt’s heavy footsteps as he walks up the stairs, followed by the door slamming shut.
i flop down on the couch, running a hand through my hair as i pant.
i don’t know why i said any of that.
(35 minutes later)
i’ve just been thinking for the past half hour, about things i shouldn’t have said, things i shouldn’t of done.
i’ve held back all my emotions, feeling somewhat numb, except for the intense feeling of guilt gnawing away at me
the whole house has been eerily silent, usually it would be filled with matt and i’s endless giggles, but it’s not.
i stand up off the couch, my legs somewhat wobbly and my stomach churning with immense guilt.
i need to talk to him,
i drag my feet over to the bottom of the stairwell, knowing matt’s at the top of the stairs, locked away in our bedroom.
one step,
after another,
i slowly walk up the stairs.
my heart pounds against my rib cage, not knowing what matt would say, nor think, when he saw me in the doorway,
the same person that just screamed at him, making him believe that i hated him.
i reach his door, my hand stalling on the doorknob as i let out a soft sigh.
i couldn’t bring myself to just twist the doorknob, my hand was lightly shaking.
i swallow harshly before twisting the knob,
i stand in the doorway, looking around the dimly lit room.
there’s a discomforting feeling in the air, the room is cold.
my eyes search around the room until they land on matt.
he’s laying down on the bed, his back facing me and his still.
is he asleep?
“matt..?” i call out quietly, my voice breaking.
i walk over to the bed, my footsteps light.
suddenly i hear him,
a choked sob escapes him.
he’s crying?
i made him cry,
matt’s never cried infront of me before
and i’m the reason he now has.
“baby- are you crying-?” i whisper, reaching down and brushing his hair away from his eyes. he shivers at my touch, rolling over so his face is buried in the pillow.
i quickly crawl into bed beside him.
“please- please don’t cry-“ i mutter, my tone is panicked as i reach for him.
i sit up against the headboard as he stays buried in the pillows beside me, letting out strangled sobs.
“please look at me- darling i am so sorry, seriously.” i speak softly, my voice just loud enough so it’s audible to him
“matt, look at me please.” i say, my tone shaky as my voice cracks again.
he gently lifts his face from the pillows,
i take the opportunity to grab him, and tug him to sit up beside me.
i run my hands through his messy hair, he looks like a wreck, i feel terrible.
his eyes are swollen, his lips are a deep red and puffy and tears roll down his pale cheeks.
i grab his hands, “matt,” i sigh, “y-you’re killing me.”
matt stares down at the bed, “can- can i have a hug?” he whispers with a small hiccup.
“of course you can have a hug.” i sigh, wrapping my arms around him and pulling his body flush against mine.
i hold him close to me as i lay down on the bed, his head buried in my chest.
he sniffs shakily as he just cries, letting everything out.
i can still feel the undeniable tension in the air,
we’re both so angry at eachother still, it’s hard not to be after argument like that.
“hey, it’ll be okay- we’ll be okay.” i whisper, running my fingers through his locks of hair.
he lets out another sob against me, the noise making my heart break.
“you’re gonna make me cry.” i whisper with a small sigh, holding the back of his head gently.
“sorry.” he sniffles.
i hold him in my arms, whispering small words of affirmation while matt slowly starts to calm down.
i fight back the tears in my eyes as i attempt to stay strong for him.
“could we- talk maybe?” matt sniffs, wiping his eyes on my shirt before slowly lifting himself away from me.
he sits up on the headboard beside me, his legs outstretched and his hands still gently shaking.
“i think we need to.” i nod,
we both sit in silence for a second, waiting for one person to start.
“i know i was-“ i start but matt interrupts me,
“can i go first- i just want to tell you… how i’ve been feeling.” he rambles, his voice cracking.
i nod, “yeah..”
matt starts,
“i mean it when i say you’ve been stupidly distant for the past months, everytime i try to initiate anything with you, i just get brushed off, all of our conversations are shallow and i can’t tell if you actually care about me anymore!”
i stare at him as he rambles, trying to take all of his words to heart without getting mad again.
“i love you so much, and it’s hurting me to see you slowly drift away from me, i just want to know what i did wrong..?” he follows on, swallowing harshly,
i nod slightly, my lips parting to speak but no words coming out.
“i’m not trying to push you away matt.” i whisper,
he goes to speak but i interrupt, “i think it’s just a mix of everything, i’m just so exhausted with work after half my coworkers quit, i’ve been working long hours and i don’t mean to push you away, i swear.” i ramble on,
matt nods slightly with understanding, his hands fidgeting in his lap.
“i love you so much matt, and i’m trying to do better, i promise.” i finish,
matt just looks at me, before finally nodding.
he lets out a breath, one that i can tell took a weight off his shoulders.
“i’m sorry about the argument.” matt says,
i shake my head, “no i was being a pain on purpose, it could’ve been avoided if i acted differently.”
“i came at you with like a confronting tone- i should’ve approached it better.” he speaks,
“and i also shouldn’t have laid my hands on you, i didn’t mean for it to ever get physical..” matt whispers, his eyebrows furrowing as he breaks eye contact with me,
“it’s okay, i needed it-“ i try to defend his actions but he cuts me off,
“no- no that was a shitty thing for me to do, i feel super guilty about it.” he sighs,
the room goes silent, my heart aches as i try to apologise for that one thing i said, the 3 words that exited my mouth, which is now eating me alive.
“i’m sorry- for saying i hate you.. i- i don’t i swear, it wasn’t true at all i was just saying it to make you mad- i promise, i love you more than life itself.” i spit it out.
matt’s gaze softens,
my eyes well up with tears, “i shouldn’t have said that, i’m so sorry-“ i whisper out,
matt reaches his hands up to my face, his hands caressing my cheeks and his thumbs wipe my eyes quickly.
“no tears.” he gently coos,
“i’m so sorry- i fucked up so bad-“ i continue, but matt cuts me off.
he presses his lips to mine, his hands still firmly on the sides of my face.
he rolls us over so he’s ontop of me, keeping our lips connected.
i kiss back, distracting myself from the swirling thoughts in my head.
after a few moments he pulls away from my lips with a small ‘pop’.
a warm smile appears on his face as he peppers kisses all over my face.
i squirm with a giggle as his pecks kisses all over me, before pressing a final peck to my lips.
“we’ll always talk things out next time, i promise this won’t happen again.” he whispers comfortingly, his hands gently running through my hair.
i nod in agreement, “i love you.”
“love you too sweetie.” he whispers, before going back to peppering kisses all over my face.
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Dorm room - Jegulus, Black brothers, wolfstar, platonic prongsfoot - TTPD Server Micropromt Challenge - word count: 497
“Reg, I need to talk to you,” Sirius said, sitting on a bench next to his brother and frowning. “I don’t know what to do.
Instantly worried by Sirius’s sincere demeanor, Regulus placed his homework to the side and turned. “What is it?”
“I think James is gay. Or not straight, anyway.”
Regulus could have listed ten things, a hundred things, a million things that he thought Sirius was worried about, and he still wouldn’t have come up with this. It took all of his self-control not to gasp or choke or laugh. “Why d-do you think that?” he asked, stifling all of his emotions.
Clearly not picking up on Regulus’s struggle, Sirius shrugged, staring into the distance. “Well, he’s definitely meeting up with someone. He comes back to the dorm room late and he’s been happy lately. Even happier than usual. He’s fucking floating on air most of the time, if I’m honest.”
Trying not to flush with pride at the fact that he was the one making James so happy, Regulus gave a noncommittal grunt, his own fear of being outed outweighing his happiness. “Why would that mean he’s meeting a boy, though?”
“Why would he hide a girl?” Sirius questioned softly, frowning. “Plus, he’s been asking me questions. First he kept asking about how I knew I was queer. How did I figure out I liked blokes, what it was like to be with a bloke, things like that. But now it’s about how I knew I loved Moony, how I knew he was the one for me…seems like whoever it is, it’s serious, you know?”
Hardly daring to breathe, Regulus nodded. His emotions were a swirling storm. Panic at someone finding out. Fear at his parents’ reaction. Overwhelming joy at what Sirius had said. He and James hadn’t said those words yet, but he’d been feeling them for a while. It was mind-blowing to hear that James might feel the same.
“Hey Reg?”
Still distracted by this revelation, he hummed, brain half half paying attention while he pictured James’s smile in his mind’s eye.
“Can you…can you tell James…whenever he’s ready to tell me about…whoever it is. Can you tell him I’m just happy that he’s so happy?” Sirius asked, eyes wide and mouth in a worried frown.
He froze, stomach sinking to his toes. “Wh-why would I-?” he began, trying and failing to sound casual. Fuck. Fuck, did Sirius know? How did anyone find out? Oh Gods, what would happen now? What–?
“Just…” Sirius said thoughtfully, a small smile on his face, “I get that it can be scary. To be open about stuff like that. So…if you see him around or whatever, and he’s with whoever he’s seeing. Tell them both I’m happy for them, and I’m there for them. Whatever they need. Alright?”
Desperately biting his lip to hold back tears, Regulus nodded. “Yeah,” he said gruffly, avoiding Sirius’s gaze. “I will. If I see them, that is.”
“Thanks, Reg.”
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Viktor's Sequence in S2's Opening, What It Symbolizes & What it Means for the Rest of S2
So Act I dropped and it's great—Lots of plot points to go over in the future—but for now I want to deep dive into some interesting things I noticed about the intro, particularly found in Viktor's portion of it.
The opening is full of interesting symbolism and representations of Arcane's characters in their clearest, "purest" form (pure as in lacking impurities, not as in morally pure).
There's a lot of neat tidbits hidden in the opening, but I particularly want to dive into Viktor's segment because i am biased as hell his shots have some potentially incredible depth to them that I'd like to dissect.
A lot of that potential comes from what exactly the mask represents, which I'm arguing is not a symbol of Viktor's Machine Herald identity.
Hear me out.
Starting off with his first shot: we see Viktor reaching for the mask. Instantly after he makes contact we cut to a shot of Viktor holding the mask and considering it. He even turns it a little as he looks at its face, as if he's not quite sure what it is.
These shots are telling the story of S1 Viktor's experimentation with the Hexcore, particularly the research Viktor conducted AFTER his blood mixed with it...and yet, the mask does not represent the Hexcore itself, so how can it be telling that story?
I've seen a lot of theories of what exactly is the catalyst of Hextech's corruption into the Anomaly, and the most popular one at the moment seems to be that Blood + Hextech + Abuse of Magic = Anomaly/Angry Arcane. This theory seems to stem from the fact that not only did the Hexcore react to Viktor's blood, but so also did the Hexgates themselves.
Corruption found on the base floor of the Hexgates. There's a ceiling to this room, so there's very little chance that this is literally where Viktor's blood landed, but I do think his blood's presence in the Hextech-charged room triggered a chain reaction with the rest of the Hexgate. We may even see this happen in a flashback.
So, assuming these intro shots are representative of the moment when Viktor reached out and touched the Hexcore, and later when he's examining it more closely/experimenting with it, why don't these shots represent the Hexcore itself?
Because Viktor isn't making a move to put on the mask. He's just looking at it, thinking about it, considering what it is. Viktor absolutely made a move to use the Hexcore in S1—and killed his assistant in the process.
So what is he "looking" at?
I believe the mask is representative of the Arcane itself, and, by extension, its hold on Viktor's mind.
He's examined the Arcane and played with its properties—unsure of what to really make of it, but he never had the chance to take on the full potential of it. Once Sky died he realized that something was very wrong. Maybe he didn't realize how wrong, but he definitely concluded that this form of magic needed to be destroyed—thus the "Promise me" scene.
If the Blood + Hextech + Magic Overuse = the Arcane lashing out theory is true...then the moment that Viktor's blood mixes with the Hexcore is the moment it crosses the line from a mindless device to a tool of the Arcane.
This idea is only strengthened by Viktor's next shot—the mask being held to his face.
Viktor himself is not holding the mask—Jayce is. This shot depicts how Jayce used the Hexcore to save Viktor's life—very much against Viktor's will on multiple fronts—replacing Viktor's identity with a false one.
Jayce is putting the mask of the Arcane onto Viktor's face, hiding his true features, his emotions, his personality. The mask wears a flat, serene expression, reflecting Viktor's forcibly suppressed emotions in this Act—as we see with how Viktor interacted with Jayce when he woke up. As cathartic as that scene may have been, Vik was acting wildly out of character, and I sincerely think that was on purpose.
It's difficult to tell in this lighting but Vik's eyes are also their typical golden-amber in this shot. That would only make sense if this is symbolic of Viktor's true character being concealed by a false identity. It would make no sense to use Vik's amber eyes in a sequence meant to symbolize his new identity being concealed by the literal Machine Herald mask.
The final shot is not much different from the last one, but really drives home this comparison and the idea that the mask represents the Arcane, not Viktor's MH arc. The same mask is worn by numerous others, all slowly fading into view.
These faceless people are the Church of the Gloriously Evolved, all represented by the same exact mask that Viktor is poised to take on.
And yet, the mask is never fully put onto Viktor's face, unlike Viktor's followers. He can still back away. He can still hesitate.
So what does this all mean for S2?
It means that this ^ is not Viktor. This is a man either heavily under the influence of (or being fully controlled by) the Arcane.
And it also means that this trancelike state is not Viktor's endgame. I sincerely doubt this husk of who Viktor used to be will end up being the calculating antihero that is the Machine Herald.
Another point for the theory that Viktor's mental humanity will come back to him is the fact that Vik's in-game MH mask has golden eyes, mirroring Viktor's real eyes, not the lifeless—albeit shifting—gray of Viktor's current irises. Assuming Riot will be keeping this iconic part of Vik's design, that signals a change back from the emotionless puppet Viktor seems to be right now.
But I suppose we'll know for certain by the finale.
#arcane#arcane s2#arcane season 2#viktor arcane#arcane league of legends#arcane viktor#arcane hype#league of legends#viktor#arcane theory#viktor machine herald#machine herald viktor#the machine herald#machine herald#arcane season 2 spoilers#arcane s2 spoilers#arcane spoilers#find later
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Please Don't leave pt.2
(Light at the end of the tunnel)
Summary: where ingrid and mapi try to mend the forces , leading alexia to explain herself to you.
Contains: angst ,fluff ,polyamory and a little suggestive at the end
Word count : 1.3k
Part 1 / part 2 / part 3
The next few days were a whirlwind of emotions .
You cried about it. You sobbed and cried, but eventually accepted the fact that you weren't enough for them .
Your manager was contacting multiple teams for your "loan" that you were hoping to turn into a full transfer. The teams interested were Manchester City ,Arsenal , Real Madrid, and Chelsea , along with a few other European teams .
Today , you had a meeting with the team manager to actually talk about if you really wanted to transfer.
Your plans were deranged when a fan account posted about your possible transfer from Barcelona to Manchester .
Word got around quickly, and surely enough,your teammate started flooding your messages ,questions you throughly in the team group chat.
You decided to just ignore them and talk it over at practice.
So , you got up ,went into the shower whilenoncall with your best friend from back home ,telling her about your situation.
This led to her talking and intense amount of shit about the girls and telling you that she was there for you.
A few hours later
You arrived at practice with the intention to ignore everyone .
You parked your car at your designated parking spot and went to the trunk of your car to get your bag .
When you walked into the training ground ,you were greeted by the media woman asking you what your phone wallpaper was ,you quickly showed it to her ,telling her that I was a picture of you and your bestfried ,alya,from back home after your graduation.
You sighed and then continued your way to practice ,making sure that it was a normal ,civil, and calm day ,avoiding anyone and everyone who tried to mention that rumours about your transfer .
Until patri came up to you in the middle of practice and started interrogating you about the post , which led pina to start questioning you too while the while team listened in ,especially two girls who were hoping that the rumours were not true.
"For the last time, Claudia, I'm not telling you anything right now ." You rolled your eyes at the girl for what felt like the 100th time today and walked away .
You marched into the locker room with full intention of packing your bag and rescheduling your meeting until a certain blonde walked in with an unrecognisable look on her face.
"Why are you leaving ?" The captain asks .
"None of your business, alexia." You snapped at her .
"I know something is wrong." You went quiet ."You can talk to me, nena."
You let out a loud scoff ," I clearly can't," you said while rolling your eyes at the captain as you got up to storm away .
"Come o-" you immediately cut her off with a yell ."Just stop ,alexia! I heard what you said at the team bonding night ,so you can stop pretending and say what you have to say to my face instead of talking ahit behind my back!" You borderline yelled at your captain and stormed out of the room with your training bag in hand.
Later that evening, a knock sounded at your door ,you swung the door open with annoyance painted on your face only to be met with the only two people you didn't want to talk to at all.
You rolled your eyes at them before trying to close the door only to be stopped by the one and only ingrid engen who shoved her foot between them and the door.
"We need to talk." Maria said as she walked into your apartment. "Please don't leave ,cari"
"Oh ,I think we're done talking." You exclaimed."I think the way you laughed at me when alexia was joking was enough talk for me."
"Wait ,wha-"
"You can save it .you know, I actually thought that you guys liked me . It was so obvious that I had the biggest crush on you guys ,and you were always - what I thought was - flirting with me .and I really liked you guys up until I heard you guys laughing at some cruel joke about me." Tears were starting to prick up in your eyes as they stinger them, but you kept calm and carried the weight of the rift.
Mapi eventually stopped your rant ."Look,cari, what you walked in on was not what you think it was . It's actually a really fucked up miscommunication about a really embarrassing conversation. We were talking about football .we were talking about the double tackle we did on Monday, and it turned into sex talk about tops and bottoms, and alexia was claiming that ..."
"Claiming what?"
"She was claiming that we would top you..." ingrid said in a hushed whishper as embarrassment flooded her body.
A moment of silence passes .it was a minute ,then two ,and then your laughter filled the air .
You were full on crying of laughter as mapi and ingrid just stared at you in confusion .
"What the fuck" you said in between breaths while still wheezing from laughter ."God, this is so ridiculous. "
"Are you still going to leave Barcelona?" Mapi asked.
"Ugh,I don't know .I've been in contact with a few teams, but I can pull out of it anytime before next week.".
"Can we get you not to leave?" Ingrid questioned
"I would take a lot of stuff for me not to go." You said truthfully .
"Stuff like this..?" You looked at the raven haired girl confused until she pulled you in and planted her lips on yours .
The kiss was electric , passionate, and perfect. Her soft lips moved against yours in the most glamorous way ever ,like you guys were meant to be.
It's only when you hear mapi whine that you moved back away from ingrid and then pulled into another kiss from Maria.
Her lips were like candy on yours as you easily melted into a rhythm with her .She moved her lips just right and snuck her tongue into your mouth while pulling you over her lap .
You pulled away for a breath of air but then got quickly pulled back in as ingrid started gently kissing your neck.
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Sorry that this one is a bit of a short one ! Next chapter will be about 5k words of just fluff and smut ;)
Tags :@marvelwomen-simp , @iamagoddess1
#womens football#woso soccer#woso x reader#barca femeni#woso fanfics#woso imagine#spain wnt#woso community#mapi leon#mapi leon imagine#mapi leon x reader#ingrid engen x reader#ingrid engen
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Tips and ideas for how to respond when someone is being rude to you
For personal reasons I won't get into, I have a history of just freezing when some is rude / hostile / aggressive / condescending / patronizing / etc. It's obviously not something I'm happy about at all, most people who freeze or fawn aren't happy about it and would change it if they could.
One day I confided in my co-worker, a middle aged woman in her 50's, that this is something I struggle with. Considering how confident and assertive she always struck me as, I was shocked when she told me this is also something she's struggled with.
The advice she gave me is to just memorize and practice a few broad statements or reactions that you can pull out of your pocket so to speak when someone is being rude or disrespectful to you. It's not easy if you're someone who's been conditioned to freeze or fawn, but practice helps. Practice saying these things when you're alone. Put up a sticky note next to your bed or on your bathroom mirror with these phrases and practice them when you see them. Practice saying these with a partner or trusted friend, role-play scenarios where you might need to use these phrases.
Here's a few phrases that have worked for me. The nice thing about them is that they tend to shut down the situation rather than escalating, while still letting the aggressor know that you don't find their behavior acceptable.
"Are you okay?"
This works well in professional settings, because it's not like your work place's residential bully can run to HR about you asking if they're okay (but they might if you try to retaliate and give them a taste of their own medicine). However, it still effectively sends the message "I think there's something wrong with your behavior and don't accept it". It's also not likely the response they're expecting, so it'll likely throw them off and prevent further verbal aggression.
"Could you repeat that for me? I didn't catch what you said."
This one is most effective for people you believe to actually have a conscious and might regret what they said if they actually thought about it a little more. I find that often when I do this one, when people repeat the rude/snippy/patronizing/etc thing they either shamefully stumble over their words and show some remorse, or they change altogether what they say. In the off chance they don't regret what they said and end up repeating exactly what they said, this at least buys you some time to think of a better reaction since you're no longer caught off guard by a sudden rude and snippy remark.
"Can you explain what you mean by that?"
Similar logic to the last one. Often when people are being rude/snippy/patronizing/etc they're caught up in their own emotions in that moment and didn't think it through. This is a polite and civil way of putting their rude behavior in the spotlight and making them reconsider what they said. The other advantage to this one is that in case you did misread their intentions and they meant no harm by what they said or did, this gives them an opportunity to clarify that, instead of you just feeling bad over a statement or actions they actually had no ill intentions with.
If anyone has any further examples of reactions / responses / statements that have worked for them, I'd love to hear about them. I'm new to studying the art of how to civilly yet effectively shut down bad behavior from others, so I'm always open to hearing more suggestions.
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The Price of the Podium
Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader
Summary: In the relentless pursuit of racing glory, Max faces the emotional fallout of missing an important weekend in his relationship, leaving your future uncertain.
1.5k words / Masterlist
Max's heart raced as the engine of his RedBull roared beneath him. The familiar hum had become a source of comfort, a steady rhythm that guided him through countless laps and countless victories. But today it felt different—a harbinger of an approaching storm that threatened to dismantle everything he held dear.
The season had been merciless. Each race had been a relentless pursuit of perfection, each lap a battle against time and competitors. Max understood that this world demanded sacrifices but lately the weight of those sacrifices had become different.
When Max glanced at his phone during a fleeting moment of respite his stomach dropped as a surge of guilt swept over him. A string of missed calls and urgent messages from you filled the screen, each one more desperate than the last.
Hey, can you please call me when you get a chance? I need to talk to you.
Max, you’re really starting to worry me. I don’t understand what's going on?
It’s been three days since we spoke properly. Can you at least let me know you’re okay?
Max’s gaze fell on the calendar, he had promised again to visit your extended family this weekend a significant step for you both that had been previously filled with excitement and anticipation. Your family were eager to meet him, and Max had been looking forward to it as well. But now, with the punishing schedule of the season, he was struggling to find even a moment to breathe, let alone make the trip.
He knew he was being a coward, but it was easier to avoid the situation than confront it directly and risk letting down the person who mattered most.
As Max approached the racetrack for another testing session, the weight of his choices hit him like a sledgehammer. He was about to miss an important milestone in your life together and he didn't think you'd be so forgiving this time.
His mind was full of conflicting emotions. He wanted to be there for you, to prove to your family that he was serious about your relationship. But the world of racing had a way of consuming everything in its path leaving no room for personal commitments.
The testing session was a blur. Max’s driving was flawless, but his thoughts were elsewhere. The track blurred into an endless ribbon of asphalt. He pushed himself to the limit, hoping that the adrenaline would drown out the guilt gnawing at his conscience.
Finally, the session ended. Max’s team were in high spirits celebrating the improved performance. He barely registered their enthusiasm, his mind was occupied with the image of you waiting for him in a small town, wondering why he had not shown up. He could picture you there, waiting for him, checking the clock, wondering if he’d even bothered to leave. And it wasn’t just about this weekend—it was about every missed call, every text he hadn’t answered, every promise he’d let slide.
The moment Max stepped out of the car he took a deep breath and pulled out his phone. He dialed your number hoping against hope that you would answer. After a few rings your voice came through the line tinged with weariness and frustration.
“Max?”
“Hey, I’m so sorry. I know I’ve been out of touch.”
“Out of touch? You’ve been completely absent! I was supposed to introduce you to my family this weekend. It was important to me.”
“I know. I wanted to be there, but things just got out of hand here. I’ve been trying to make time, but…”
“But what Max? You keep saying you’re trying, but you’re never here. There's always an excuse.”
“I’m really sorry, I’ve been working so hard this season...I thought I could make it work, I just…”
“You know what? I don’t want to hear more excuses right now. You’ve missed something important to me again, and it hurts. I needed you here, and you weren’t.”
The silence on the other end of the line was heavy, almost unbearable. Max could feel the pain that you were struggling to mask, like a knife twisting in his gut. It cut him deeper than any criticism he’d ever faced on the track.
“Please. I know I messed up, I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”
“Make it up to me? I don’t even know if that’s possible anymore. This wasn’t like the other times when you just forgot or lost track of time; you made the choice not to come. I’ve tried to be understanding—I know how hard this season has been, and I know how much time and dedication it takes. I never wanted to undermine that. But I don’t know how much longer we can do this. I get it, you have to make tough choices sometimes, and I’ve done my best to support you, to step back and let you focus on your goals. But it’s happening too often now, and it feels like every time, you’re choosing this..this life over us. Over me. Every single time.”
Max’s throat tightened. He wanted to argue, to explain more, but he also knew that he couldn't keep making excuse for his absence, and he couldn’t bear to hurt you anymore. He’d run out of explanations, out of promises he knew he couldn’t keep. He wanted to say something, anything to fix it, but he could hear the finality in your voice. You’d reached a breaking point, one he’d seen coming but had been too afraid to acknowledge.
“I don’t know what to say,” he finally whispered, the words feeling hollow even as he spoke them.
The silence stretched on.
“I understand if you need space.” he murmured, barely able to get the words out, blinking back tears.
Your voice was barely a whisper throat locking up, it felt like he was giving up. Was this even worth fighting for if he wasn't?
Then, in a voice so small it broke his heart all over again, you whispered,“You’re right. Maybe space is what we need right now.'
The line went dead, leaving Max alone in the garage. The celebration of the session’s success felt hollow. The echoes of the track still rang in his ears mingling with the ache of your absence.
In the days that followed Max tried to bury himself in the upcoming races, hoping that the endless rush would drown out the regret gnawing at him. He avoided reaching out to you honouring your request for space. Each day felt like an endless rotation of driving, media commitments, and sleepless nights. The thrill of racing was overshadowed by the growing distance between you and him.
You had always been patient and understanding of the demands of Max’s career. You had supported him through the highs and lows, celebrating his victories and comforting him through the losses, but it hadn’t been enough. Each missed call and unanswered message chipped away at your resolve. You couldn’t keep repeating the same cycles and expecting a different result. The weekend you had planned for Max to meet your family was meant to be a milestone, a step toward a future together. Instead, it felt like a crushing disappointment.
You replayed the conversations you had with Max in your mind, trying to reconcile the man you loved with the absence he had become. You had pictured this weekend as a chance for Max to understand the importance of your family, to see the life you had outside of his world. The hurt and frustration you felt were compounded by a growing sense of doubt—doubt that maybe this life of constant motion had created a rift too wide to bridge.
You needed time to process the hurt, to focus on yourself and figure out where to go from here. The support you had hoped for seemed distant and unreliable, and the future you had envisioned together felt uncertain.
Loving him had been a beautiful dream, but you knew it was time, you hesitated just a moment before hitting send.
Max,
I need you to know that I’m not angry anymore. I’m just… tired. I need to focus on myself right now.
You
Max read the message over and over, his hands trembling. The message was brief and seemingly final. The reality of your words sank in, there was no dramatic declarations, no harsh accusations, just a simple statement of exhaustion, a quiet resignation that tore through him. He wanted to call, to beg you to come back, but he knew it was too late.
As the season drew to a close, Max stood on the podium, the roar of the crowd a distant echo, his gaze searching as if somehow he’d see you there. The trophy was in his hands, but it didn't feel like he had expected. He looked out over the crowd searching for a sense of fulfilment that seemed to elude him, it all felt like ashes without you beside him.
Max only thought of you as he stood amidst the celebrations, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that in the pursuit of his dreams he had sacrificed something far more precious, and wondered if there was a path back to what he had lost.
#max verstappen#max verstappen x reader#f1 x reader#f1#max verstappen fanfic#max verstappen imagine#max verstappen masterlist#max verstappen x you#f1 imagine#max verstappen one shot#max verstappen fic#max verstappen angst
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Okay here's my Lan Qiren apologist masterpost
"He had Lan Wangji whipped! He's an abuser!"
That was Lan Wangji's punishment for injuring 33 Lan elders while defending a demonic cultivator who caused innumerable deaths in the cultivation community. You need to remember the setting of this story: Madame Yu whipped Wei Ying half to death just because she went "you didn't do anything wrong, your general existence is just mildly annoying to me." Lan Qiren deciding Lan Wangji get one lash for every person he hurt is NOTHING in comparison to the punishment he would have gotten if anyone else was in charge and it was the only way to clear his name.
2. "The Lan sect rules he enforces are too strict."
First of all, Lan Qiren is an old Asian person. I feel like that would be enough to make my point, but I will continue regardless.
The Lans have so many rules because they have extreme self-regulation issues when it comes to their emotions. We've seen Lan Wangji's dad ruin his life by trying to atticwife his lover, but Lan Wangji wasn't any better. If you've read the incense burner extra you know he got his first crush at 15 and his brain immediately went to fantasizing about violently assaulting Wei Ying in the library. Their hundreds of rules are stifling because they're supposed to be. If the Lans don't try to contain themselves they will ruin their lives and the lives of people they care about.
Is "don't talk while you're eating" even that extreme of a household rule? Like every family has some variation of "don't do ____ at the dinner table" and the Lans having their own version is not that insane.
3. "He was against Lan Wangji loving Wei Wuxian."
I need you to spend like. 2 minutes putting yourself in Lan Qiren's shoes.
Imagine you are Lan Qiren. Imagine you find out your brother broke his family apart by forcing his wife to stay with him. Lan Qiren was just a man who was thrust into not only taking care of the Lan clan, one of the biggest cultivation sects you can think of, but also his two traumatized nephews. Imagine cleaning up the mess your brother left you while having to raise two children that aren't yours.
Then you see your nephew, who you have raised like your own son, helplessly pining after the infamous demonic cultivator who has rejected him and teased him. You watch him turn against and injure his own family members to protect a literal criminal.
Then he comes home holding the child of the man he loves and you let him keep that baby and raise him. Because you see yourself in him. You see someone who just lost a loved one who was not a good person but someone you loved regardless. How many times do you think he saw Lan Wangji raising Lan Yuan and remembered himself raising someone else's children because their father was no longer there?
And then after all that Lan Qiren had been through, he didn't even try to keep Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian apart once he found out the truth. When Wei Ying explained how he'd been set up, he was one of the first elders in the cultivation community to give him a chance to explain himself. And after that even if he was cold to Wei Ying, he didn't say shit about the two of them having nasty loud gay sex in gusu every night.
I don't care. Lan Qiren hate will always be forced to me, he did literally nothing wrong and if I was in his shoes I would not have been able to handle it
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𝜗𝜚 ࣪˖ ִ𐙚 ────୨ৎ──── INTRODUCING ACTRESS!READER
ACTRESS!READER is currently starring on the biggest show in the world, game of thrones, where she plays the lead visenya targaryen. she has been praised worldwide for her talent and the emotion she brings to her performance, capturing the hearts of everyone. she is set to star in upcoming a24 films as well.
ACTRESS!READER is effortlessly cool. renowned for her style, her outfits feature in the pinterest boards of many. she comes off as quiet or mysterious to those who don't know her. but she is a complete extrovert with her best friend, a fellow actress she met on the set of game of thrones. but if you want her to loosen up just give her a shot.
ACTRESS!READER is horrible with technology and barely uses social media, but her best friend ropes her into making tiktoks together every once in a while. posting basically her photoshoots only. but once in a while, she'll post a photo dump if she feels like it and her fans eat it up.
ACTRESS!READER is the most beautiful woman you have ever seen, her eyes and saccharine smile are so captivating. her gaze makes it look like she is in love with you when she gives you her attention and the thing is, she knows the effect she has on people, but never lets her fame or materialistic things get to her head. humble and grounded, she always has time for her fans. but don't think this means that she is a pushover. she's not. she will put people in their place if necessary. she has a deep hatred for the paparazzi and is loyal to a fault.
ACTRESS!READER is often quiet in interviews preferring to let her castmates soak up the attention, never one to interrupt. she has many songs been written about her and whenever asked about it she simply blushes and says that she "is honoured."
ACTRESS!READER keeps her circle small, and her secrets close to her heart, afraid of being hurt. she is often guarded when she meets people for the first time, making it difficult to get close to her. oh, and yes she is a scorpio.
𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𐙚 ࣪ ⭒ fics
alright, guys here it is. what do you think? let me know.
#drew starkey x reader#drew starkey smut#drew starkey#drew starkey fanfiction#drew starkey imagine#obx#rafe outer banks#outer banks#rafe cameron#drew starkey x you#rafe fanfiction#actress!reader#drew starkey fluff#drew starkey x actress!reader#rafe cameron smut#rafe obx#rafe smut#rafe x you#rafe x reader#outerbanks rafe#rafe imagine#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe fic
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I remember getting into a heated argument with him over this issue, actually. (Adding a cut because this went on longer than I intended)
I was struggling with a very condescending and belittling client for about five or so months and eventually what he (client) said got to me more than usual. I don't remember the exact comment, but it was something along the lines of "you force yourself to be perfect and yet you're never good enough." Needless to say, I was pretty devastated.
So anyway, I went to Lambad's, probably gave myself liver problems during the... four hours I was there, I think? Per usual, Lambad had to call Alhaitham to come pick me up because according to him I had drank so much I was talking to the chair across from me thinking it was Cyno. Why him, I don't know. Maybe because it was around that time that he was, contrary to popular belief, the first person in our friend group to figure out that I had a massive crush on him (I hate using such childish terms, though.)
I woke up the next afternoon with a searing hangover, and if anyone knows me, they know I get really, really cranky when I'm like that. I walked over to my desk and... this is embarrassing, but I threw everything off the desk in a fit of rage directed at the client, my inability to please clients, and myself. Haitham walked in thinking I had fallen out of bed and instead saw me breaking down. The conversation went something like this:
Him, standing in the doorway: "So, are you still drunk, or are you just unable to control your emotions even when sober?"
Me, sitting at the now-empty desk with head in hands: "Shut up. What does it matter to you, anyway?"
🌱: "Because one, you interrupted my downtime. Two, I heard your tantrum through my soundproof earpieces. And three, I had to see if I needed to have you pay for damages to the house."
🏛️: "Oh, boohoo. All you ever have to worry about is money this, annoyance that." (Why did I ever say that?)
🌱: "As if your career isn't drawing boxes and lines. You're the most famous architect in Sumeru yet you don't own your own home. How sad."
Then, for some stupid reason, I threw a pen at him and yelled, "You have no idea how hard I work every single day and every single night just trying to make the clients happy. But no, they go and tell me no matter how hard I work, I'll never be good enough! Then there's you, who makes a huge salary without ever hardly moving from your desk! So of course I'm angry. Of course I'm going to let it slip!"
🌱: "Well, do you believe them?"
🏛️: "What do you think?!"
I don't remember what he said after that, I just slammed the door and left. Then it started raining hard and he pretty much dragged me home. I asked why he even cared, and he said to use my brain. ("...or are you that dense?") Those were pretty much the conclusions I came to, except for the one about my father. @ags-haitham You did what?! /lh
He probably meant what he said in the best way, though. Either way, I'd rather have petty arguments like this than be without him at all.
"but what does he REALLY want with me?" my brooo, kaveh, Alhaitham does care about you just trust me, i'm the bedside lamp 😭
inspired by daikyto9
#i cancelled the commission after he said that#but kept the money#investments and advance payments and whatnot#it would have been a hassle to go through refunding him#and i deserved that much at least i think
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LAST DECEMBER MORNING — SATORU GOJO
pairing — satoru gojo x sorcerer!reader
summary — on a frost-bitten december morning, you watch satoru gojo prepare for his fated battle with sukuna with infuriating calm, like he isn't planning to sacrifice himself for the greater good. you've spent years being his secret, clearing battlefields for him and stealing kisses between missions, but now you're faced with the most brutal truth. that sometimes the cruelest curse isn't the one that kills you — it's loving someone who belongs to the world before they belong to you.
word count — 5.4 k
warnings — heavy angst, hurt/no comfort, mentions of blood and violence, implied death, unhealthy relationship, sad ending
author's note — this has been rotting in my drafts since the final jjk chapter dropped, and i finally dragged it out into the light bc i'm procrastinating uni. fair warning, this is pure angst with zero comfort, just two people breaking each other's hearts because sometimes love isn't enough. anywayys, happy reading <3
masterlist
Winter had never felt so much like an ending.
You watched frost creep across the windows of your shared apartment, each crystalline pattern forming like cracks in glass, spreading slowly but inevitably.
Outside, the world lay hushed under winter's blanket, everything soft and serene. Birds traced lazy patterns against a sky so blue it hurt to look at, and fresh snow made everything clean and new.
It was the kind of morning that belonged in fairy tales, the kind poets write about when they want to capture peace in words. Strange, how you'd never imagined death would choose such a beautiful day.
You watched Satoru move through his routine, each gesture precise and unhurried. White hair caught the pale sunlight as he smoothed it back, his reflection in the mirror handsome as ever before he adjusted his clothes, and put on his blindfold.
You'd watched him prepare for countless missions before, but this felt different. This felt final.
The normality of it all was almost cruel — how he could stand there, getting ready like this was just another day, just another fight. Like the sun wasn't rising on what could be your last morning together.
The clock on the wall ticked steadily forward, each second falling like a stone into still water. Time felt strange, both rushing too fast and moving too slow. You wanted to grab the clock's hands, force them to stop, to give you just a few more moments in this morning that felt like borrowed time.
"You're staring," he said without turning around, a slight smile playing at his lips.
"Can you blame me?" You were curled up in the window seat, tea growing cold in your hands. "It's not every day your— whatever we are goes to fight the King of Curses."
He turned then, and even through the blindfold, you could feel the weight of his gaze. "Whatever we are?" There was amusement in his tone. "After all this time, you still don't know what we are?"
"Well, we're not exactly big on labels," you pointed out, trying to keep your voice light despite the heaviness in your chest. "Secret relationship and all that."
"Ah, but that's what makes it fun, isn't it?" He crossed the room to where you sat, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from your face. "The sneaking around, the secret meetings—"
"Satoru." You caught his hand. "How are you so calm about this?"
He tilted his head, considering. "Would you prefer if I was panicking?"
"I'd prefer if you showed any emotion at all about the fact that you're about to fight Sukuna." You stood up, setting your tea aside. "You've been acting like this is just another day, just another fight, but it's not. You know it's not."
"I think I've shown plenty of emotion," he said, pulling you closer with a playful smile. "Just last night, if I recall—"
"Don't." You pressed a hand against his chest, keeping him at arm's length. "Don't deflect. Not today."
The smile faded from his face, replaced by something more serious. "What do you want me to say?"
"I want you to tell me why you're so calm. I want you to tell me why you're not worried." Your voice cracked slightly, but you pushed on. "I want you to tell me why it feels like you're saying goodbye."
He was quiet for a long moment, his thumb tracing patterns on your wrist where he still held it. Finally, he spoke, his voice softer than before. "The world needs to move forward. It needs to find someone stronger."
"What are you talking about?" You pulled back slightly. "You're the strongest there is."
"Am I?" His smile was gentle, almost sad. "Or is that just what everyone needs to believe?"
"Satoru—"
"The world has relied on me for too long," he continued. "They've made me their symbol, their savior, their stupid hero. But what happens when I'm gone? Who protects them then?"
"You're not going anywhere," you said. "You're going to win. You always win."
He cupped your face in his hands, thumbs brushing your cheekbones. "Sometimes winning isn't about surviving. Sometimes it's about making sure what comes after is better than what came before."
"That's not funny."
"I'm not trying to be funny." He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against yours. "I'm trying to tell you that whatever happens today, the world will keep turning. It will find new leaders, new protectors. Maybe even better ones."
"I don't want new protectors," you whispered. "I want you."
"Ah, but you've always had me," he said softly. "Ever since that first mission together, when you told me my head was too big to fit through doorways. Do you remember?"
You huffed. "You were showing off, making everything more complicated than it needed to be."
"I was trying to impress you."
"You're always trying to impress me."
"But it's working, right?"
You pressed closer to him, breathing in his familiar scent. "You know it is, you idiot."
He wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight against his chest. For a moment, you both stood there in silence, listening to each other's heartbeats. The familiar rhythm brought back memories of how this all began, of the first time you'd been close enough to hear his heart race.
For loving Satoru Gojo had always been the most beautiful and dangerous thing in your world.
It started in blood, as most things in your world did. A mission gone wrong, cursed spirits thick in the air, the metallic taste of death sharp on your tongue. You’d seen him fight before—who hadn’t?
But that night was different. That night, you saw him bleed.
A special-grade curse caught you both off guard. One moment, he fought three curses at once like some untouchable god, and the next, he was crashing through three buildings, blood gushing from his mouth.
Something in your chest cracked at the sight — not from the impact of being thrown back yourself, but from seeing him, the strongest sorcerer alive, look so terrifyingly human.
You remembered how his blindfold had been torn, those devastating blue eyes meeting yours across the wreckage. Blood trickled down his chin, his usually perfect hair matted with debris, and yet he smiled. That damn smile that made your heart stutter even as cursed spirits attacked you from all sides.
“Trying to steal my spotlight?” he’d joked, wiping blood from his lips as he stood. “I’m the only one allowed to look cool here.”
You wanted to strangle him. You wanted to kiss him. You wanted to scream at him for making jokes when he could have died. You did none of those things. Instead, you cleared the area, giving him the perfect opening he needed to obliterate the special grade.
Later, after the dust had settled and the reports had been filed, he cornered you in the darkened hallway of Jujutsu High.
“You’re angry,” he said, not a question but a statement.
“I’m not angry.” You were furious. “I’m just wondering how someone who’s supposed to be the strongest can be so fucking reckless.”
He stepped closer, backing you against the wall. “Worried about me?”
“You wish.” But your voice shook, betraying you. Because you had been worried. Terrified, actually. The image of him lying in that wreckage, blood staining his white hair red, had burned itself into your mind.
“Liar,” he whispered, and then his lips were on yours.
Everything they said about Satoru Gojo was true — he was overwhelming, all-consuming, impossible to resist. Kissing him felt like being struck by lightning, like being unmade and remade in the space between heartbeats. You broke apart, both breathing hard, and reality came crashing back.
“Fuck,” you summarized eloquently.
He laughed, the sound low and rich. “That could be arranged.”
“Satoru.” You pressed a hand against his chest, feeling his heart race under your palm. “We can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re you. Because I’m me. Because there are a thousand reasons why this is a terrible idea.”
“I’m only hearing excuses.” He caught your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. “Not actual reasons.”
And that was how it started — with blood and curses and kisses in dark hallways. With terrible ideas that felt too good to resist.
Keeping it secret was both easier and harder than you expected. Easier because everyone already knew how Satoru was — flirtatious, tactile, always pushing boundaries. No one questioned when he draped himself over your desk during meetings or appeared uninvited in your office and stayed for hours.
Harder because every moment felt like a lie of omission. Harder because you had to watch him walk into danger again and again, had to maintain professional distance when all you wanted was to grab him and never let go.
You stole moments where you could find them. Quick kisses in empty classrooms, heated encounters between missions, quiet nights in your apartment when the world thought he was somewhere else entirely.
It ate at you sometimes. Not because you wanted to announce it to the world, but because each moment felt borrowed, stolen from a future you might never have.
Every time he left for a mission, every time he faced another curse, you wondered if this would be it. If this would be the time your last memory of him would be a secret smile across a meeting room, a cryptic message that no one else understood. But then he’d come back, always with that insufferable smile, usually with some ridiculous story about how amazing he’d been.
He’d find ways to touch you in public that looked casual — a hand at the small of your back during briefings, fingers brushing as he passed you documents, his body angled toward yours in crowded rooms like a sunflower seeking light.
And the worst part? The absolute worst part was how good he was at pretending. How easily he maintained his public persona — the untouchable, unbeatable Satoru Gojo, who flirted with everyone and meant it with no one.
Sometimes you’d catch him looking at you in meetings with the same expression he gave everyone else, and for a moment, you’d wonder if you’d imagined everything between you.
But then night would fall, and he’d show up at your door with takeout and that soft smile he saved just for you. He’d kiss you like he was trying to apologize for every moment he had to pretend you were nothing special, like he was trying to prove that this, the two of you, was the only real thing in his world.
You never talked about the future. How could you? In your line of work, tomorrow was never guaranteed. Each mission could be your last, each kiss could be your goodbye. The closest you ever came to acknowledging it was in the desperate way he’d hold you after a close call, in the way you’d trace his features in the dark like you were trying to memorize them by touch.
Some nights, when sleep eluded you both, he’d tell you about the weight of being the strongest, about the exhaustion of being everyone’s last hope.
He’d whisper his fears into your skin — not of death or defeat, but of failing those who believed in him. Those were the moments when the great Satoru Gojo disappeared, leaving just Satoru, just a man who carried the world on his shoulders and made it look easy.
You lived for those moments. The quiet ones, the real ones, the ones where he wasn’t the strongest sorcerer alive but just yours. Just as you were his.
You carved out your own little infinity in the spaces between battles and duties. A secret world where his laugh wasn’t for show, where your touch wasn’t professional, where you could just be the two of you without the weight of expectations and reputations.
But infinity, as it turned out, had limits. Even his.
Looking at him now, preparing to face Sukuna with that same causality he brought to everything, you wondered if this was how your story was always meant to end. If all those stolen moments were just preparing you for this — one last morning, one last smile, one last chance to pretend tomorrow might come.
The world needed someone stronger, he said. But you needed him. And maybe that was the cruelest curse of all — loving someone the world needed more than you did.
"Promise me something," you said then.
"Hmm?"
"Promise me you won't just give up. Promise me you'll fight to come back."
He pulled back slightly, reaching up to remove his blindfold. His striking blue eyes met yours, intense and clear.
"I promise," he said, "that everything I do today will be for a better tomorrow."
"That's not what I asked."
"It's the only promise I can make."
"Stop." Your voice turned sharp, anger finally breaking through. "Stop talking about tomorrow. Stop talking about the future and the next generation and whatever noble sacrifice you think you need to make. I don't care about any of that."
"Don't you?"
"No, I don't." You grabbed his jacket, fingers twisting in the fabric. "I don't care if the world needs someone stronger. I don't care if the next generation needs to step up. I care about you, you impossible man. I want you here, alive, with me. Is that so wrong? Am I not allowed to be selfish when it comes to you?"
"Huh." He caught your hands in his, but didn't pull them away from his jacket. "And here I thought you understood me better than anyone."
"Don't." You tried to pull away, but he held firm. "Don't you dare try to make this about understanding. I understand perfectly. But you're wrong. You don't have to do this."
His smile faltered slightly. "It's not that simple."
"It is that simple!" Your voice cracked. "You're choosing to make it complicated. You're choosing to walk away, to... to what? Make some grand statement about the future? Prove that the world can survive without the great Satoru Gojo?"
"Someone has to."
"But why does it have to be you?" The words burst out of you, raw and desperate. "Why do you have to be the one to show them? Why can't you just fight to win, to live, to come back to—" You cut yourself off, biting back the words that wanted to follow.
"To you?" he finished softly.
"Yes," you said, dropping your forehead against his chest. "To me. Call me selfish, call me short-sighted, I don't care. I want more mornings like this. More everything. More of you, being insufferably calm and making terrible jokes and acting like the world isn't ending when we both know it might be."
He was quiet for a moment, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head. When he spoke, his voice was gentler than before.
"I can't promise to come back." He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "But know this, every moment with you has been worth fighting for. Worth living for."
You pulled back enough to look at him, really look at him. "Then fight for more moments. Fight to make more memories. Fight to come back to me, not for some greater purpose or stupid sacrifice, but because you want to."
"And if I told you that wanting isn't enough?"
"Then I'd call you a liar." Your voice turned cold. "Because you're Satoru fucking Gojo. When has anything ever been impossible for you? When have you ever let anyone tell you what you can't do?"
"This is different—"
"How? How is this different? Because it's Sukuna? Because it's the fate of jujutsu society? Or because you've already decided how this story ends?"
His hands tightened on you, and for a moment, just a moment, you saw something flicker behind those blue eyes — doubt, fear, longing, you couldn't tell. But then it was gone, replaced by that same calm certainty that made you want to scream.
"Because I can't protect everyone—can't protect you if I allow myself to believe in a tomorrow," he whispered.
The gentleness in his voice, the soft way he delivered words meant to cut, made you want to tear the world apart. It was so perfectly Satoru — to break your heart like he was doing you a favor, to wound you with a tenderness that felt more cruel than any violence could be.
"I never asked you to protect me," you said finally. "I asked you to stay. There's a difference."
"Is there?" His hand came up to cup your face, shaking ever so slightly, betraying the calm he fought so hard to maintain. "Because every time I look at you, all I can think about is how many people would use you to get to me. How many would hurt you just to prove they could touch something I care about."
"So your solution is to what? Die nobly? Make sure there's nothing left for them to use against you?"
"My solution is to make sure the world doesn't need me anymore." His thumb brushed across your cheek, catching a tear you hadn't realized had fallen. "To make sure you don't need me anymore."
"That's not your choice to make. You don't get to decide what I need. You don't get to martyr yourself for some greater good and pretend it's for my protection."
"Then what would you have me do?" For the first time, there was a hint of frustration in his voice. "Ignore my responsibilities? Pretend I'm not who I am?"
"I would have you fight like you want to come back!" The words ripped from your throat. "Fight like there's someone waiting for you after. Fight like you love me as much as I love you!"
The confession rang out between you, and the moment it left your lips, you realized you'd never said it before. Through all the stolen moments, all the secret touches, all the nights you'd spent memorizing each other's bodies — you'd never actually spoken those words aloud.
You'd both danced around it, implied it in every action, every look, every unfinished sentence, but neither of you had ever dared to make it real with words.
Until now. Until you were angry enough, desperate enough, terrified enough to let it slip from your heart straight past your defenses.
"Love?" His voice was barely a whisper.
"Of course I love you, you idiot." Your voice equally quiet. "Why else would I be standing here, begging the strongest sorcerer alive to be selfish just once?”
He made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sigh, maybe a sob, his fingers tightening on you. "Don't," he whispered, and for the first time that morning, his voice was shaking. "Don't make this harder than it already is. Don't say things that make me want to—" He cut himself off, jaw clenching. "That make me want impossible things."
"Impossible? Since when does Satoru Gojo believe in impossible?"
"Since I realized being with you means putting you at risk." His thumb brushed your cheek, the gesture achingly gentle. "Since I understood that staying alive isn't the same as keeping you safe."
"I hate this." You shook your head. "I hate how calmly you can stand here and talk about sacrifice like it's inevitable. Like there's no other way."
"Would you prefer if I fell apart?" His smile turned sad. "If I raged and cried and promised things I might not be able to keep?"
"Yes," you admitted, your hands coming up to cover his where they still held your face. "Because at least then I'd know you want to stay as much as I want you to."
"Oh, my love." The endearment fell from his lips like a confession. "Wanting to stay has never been the question. The question is whether I can live with myself if I do."
"And what about whether I can live with myself if you don't?" Your voice broke. "What about whether I can forgive myself for not fighting harder to make you stay?"
"This isn't your fight."
"Like hell it isn't." You pulled back. "You think I spent months learning to clear battlefields just so you could take center stage? You think I perfected my technique to complement your infinity because I had nothing better to do?" You dug your nails into your palms, throat tight with fury. "I've been fighting alongside you since before you ever kissed me in that hallway. Before you ever decided I was worth protecting. Don't you dare tell me this isn't my fight when I've spent years making sure you had the space you needed to be great."
He was quiet for a long moment, studying you. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, almost reverent. "And that's exactly why I need to go. The world doesn't need more people making space for me. It needs people who'll fill that space themselves."
You recoiled like he'd slapped you, hurt burning in your chest. "Is that what you think I've been doing? Making myself smaller for you? Made space for you because I was afraid to reach higher?" You stepped closer, deadly calm now. "I made space for you because that's what you do when you love someone."
His lips twitched into a smile. "So you do understand me."
"Don't pretend those are the same thing."
He was quiet for a moment. Then, instead of answering, he pulled you into a kiss that tasted like goodbye. Like all the tomorrows you'd never have, all the moments you'd never share, all the promises neither of you could keep. You kissed him back with everything you had — all your fury and fear and love condensed into this one perfect, terrible moment.
His hands tangled in your hair like he was trying to memorize the feeling, yours gripping his jacket as if you could keep him here through sheer force of will. When you finally broke apart, hearts pounding, foreheads pressed together in the space between one heartbeat and the next.
"I'll hate you," you whispered against his lips. "If you don't come back, I'll hate you for the rest of my life."
He pulled back just enough to look at you, and for once, his smile held an edge of something raw, something that looked almost like pain. "No, you won't."
"I will." Your fingers tightened in his jacket. "I'll hate you for making me fall in love with someone who was always planning to leave. I'll hate you for every morning I wake up alone, for every mission briefing where someone else stands in your place, for every year I have to leave flowers on your grave."
"You'll move on. You'll find someone—"
"Fuck you," you cut him off, the words sharp enough to draw blood. "Don't you dare tell me how I'll feel. Don't you dare stand here and plan out my future without you in it."
"I'm just trying to—"
"To what? Prepare me? Make it easier? There's nothing easy about loving you, Satoru Gojo. There never has been. But I chose it anyway. Every day, knowing this moment would come."
"What do you want me to do? Do you want me to say goodbye? Make it messy and painful and real?"
"I want you to stop pretending this is just another mission and show me something that tells me this is killing you like it's killing me."
The silence stretched between you like a chasm. For just a moment, beneath his careful composure, you caught a glimpse of the man behind the name — vulnerable, conflicted, maybe even afraid. But he buried it quickly, like he buried everything that might make him waver from his chosen path.
You'd always known this about him, hadn't you? Known it from that first bloody mission, from every fight where he'd put himself between the world and destruction.
Satoru Gojo was a man built for sacrifice, shaped by duty and power into something that could never truly belong to just one person. You'd fallen in love with him anyway, foolishly hoping that maybe love could be enough to make him choose differently.
But watching him now, seeing the gentle finality in every movement, you understood with crushing clarity that this was always how it would end. No amount of pleading or anger or love could change what he'd already decided.
He'd made his choice long before this morning, probably before he'd ever kissed you in that darkened hallway.
"Keep the tea warm for me," he said finally, stepping back. The words were casual, almost playful — exactly the kind of thing he'd say on any other morning. But that's what made it cruel. Even now, he was trying to soften the blow, pretending this was just another goodbye, just another mission.
You didn't say anything as he walked to the door. Didn't wish him luck or tell him to be safe. The time for those platitudes had passed.
Instead, you watched him pause in the doorway, his hand resting on the frame. For a moment, you thought he might turn around, might drop the act and let you see something real. One last true moment before the end.
He didn't fully turn, but his voice carried back to you, soft and achingly sincere. "I love you. More than anything." A pause. "That's why I have to go."
The words hit you like a physical blow, knocking the air from your lungs. You'd never expected them, had made peace with the silence between heartbeats where those words should have lived.
You'd imagined them differently, in all the quiet moments you'd shared — whispered against your skin in the dark, laughed into your mouth between kisses, murmured sleepily on lazy mornings. Not like this. Never like this.
How cruel, that he would finally say them now, when they felt more like a funeral rite than a confession. A parting gift from a man walking towards his own chosen end, making what should have been beautiful feel like another wound. The words you'd never dared hope for now hurt more than a lifetime of silence ever could.
Your throat burned with all the things you wanted to scream at him — about how love should mean staying, about how he was breaking your heart while trying to save it, about how dare he make those words sound like goodbye when they should have been a beginning.
"I hate you," you whispered.
He made a sound that might have been a laugh or might have been something more broken. "No, you don't." The certainty in his voice felt like another wound. "You love me. You said so yourself."
"I'll hate you." Your voice hardened with each word. "I'll hate you so much it'll make you wish you'd stayed."
His hand tightened on the doorframe, knuckles white with tension. For a heartbeat, you thought you'd finally cracked his composure. That he might turn around and choose you over duty, love over destiny.
He didn't.
The door closed behind him with a soft click that sounded like an ending.
"But I'll wait for you anyway," you whispered to the empty room, hating yourself for the truth in those words.
The truth was, you'd always known it would end like this, known that loving Satoru Gojo meant loving someone who belonged to the world before he belonged to you.
But you'd been naive enough to hope. Foolish enough to think that maybe, just maybe, love could be enough to make him choose differently. That your selfish desire to keep him alive and whole could outweigh his selfless need to reshape the world.
The morning light cut across the empty room, highlighting the space where he'd stood moments before, and you wondered about the cruelty of it all.
Was it wrong to want to keep him here? To ask the strongest sorcerer alive to choose personal happiness over humanity's future? How many would suffer because you'd asked him to be selfish just this once?
But then again, how many had already been saved by him? How many times had he bled and broken and pieced himself back together for a world that only saw him as a shield, never as a man? Didn't he deserve the chance to live for himself, just once?
If love died today, buried six feet under noble intentions and greater goods, then maybe hate was all you had left. And wasn't there something pure in that? In hating him with the same intensity you'd loved him? In letting that hate fill the spaces he left behind, burning away the softness until all that remained was sharp edges and bitter truths?
The world needed Satoru Gojo the symbol, the untouchable god of jujutsu. But you'd needed Satoru, just Satoru, the man who brought you tea exactly how you liked it and kissed you like you were his everything. The man who was walking away, leaving you with nothing but memories and the taste of hate on your tongue.
Was it selfish to think your love was worth more than the world's need? Was it cruel to measure the weight of one heart against humanity's future?
Love and duty were never meant to be weighed against each other like this, weren't meant to be choices that tore a person in two. And perhaps that was the real tragedy — not that he was walking away, but that you'd let yourself believe he wouldn't.
You'd known how this story would end from that very first kiss. Had tasted it in every goodbye before a mission, felt it every time you waited anxiously for his return, seen it lurking behind every smile that never quite reached his eyes.
Loving Satoru Gojo meant loving someone who was always meant to be sacrificed. You'd just been naive enough to think sacrifice could look different, that it didn't have to end with you here, choking on love turned to ash in your mouth.
Your fingers traced your lips where those three words still lingered like a curse. The tea was getting cold on the windowsill. You should pour it out, make a fresh cup. Should start preparing for a world where Satoru Gojo was just a memory, a legend, a story of sacrifice and strength. Should learn how to breathe around the thorns growing in your chest where love used to live.
Instead, you stayed frozen, caught in the space between what was and what could have been. Because maybe he was wrong. Maybe the world didn't need someone stronger. Maybe it just needed him to come back. You certainly did.
But it was too late for maybes now. He was already gone, walking toward a destiny he'd chosen long before he'd chosen you. And you were left here, caught between hating him for leaving and loving him for exactly who he was — a man who would always choose the greater good, even when it shattered both your hearts.
But perhaps the cruelest irony was that in trying to protect humanity, he'd forgotten he was human too. That in becoming everyone's shield, he'd forgotten shields could break. That hearts could break. That yours was breaking.
The sun climbed higher in the sky, indifferent to your pain, indifferent to the way your world had just walked out the door with a smile and a promise he might not be able to keep.
You'd wait anyway. Even knowing how the story was meant to end, you'd wait. Because that's what love was — not just the beautiful parts, but the ugly parts too. The waiting. The hoping. The hating.
The choosing to love someone even when they choose something else. Even when that love turns to poison in your veins.
Even when they choose the world over you.
The tea had long gone cold when you finally moved, muscles stiff from standing still for so long. You'd sworn you wouldn't watch. Had promised yourself you wouldn't be there to see him die for his greater tomorrow.
But your hands were already reaching for your jacket.
Because that was the thing about loving Satoru Gojo — even when it turned to hate, even when it felt like acid in your throat, you couldn't look away. You'd watch him fight Sukuna. Watch him smile that infuriating smile as he chose the world one last time.
After all, you'd already promised to hate him if he didn't come back.
The least you could do was be there to keep that promise.
author's note — thank you for reading this little piece of heartbreak. i was very unsure if it will ever see the light of day but i finished it now bc i was in the mood for pain. if you enjoyed, i would greatly appreciate a reblog or comment. hope your heart isn't too broken <3
ps: if you want to get notifications for future updates, you can join my taglist here!
tags — @fayuki @starmapz @saurondriell @starlightanyaaa @sxnkuna
@cocomanga @nanamis-baker @rosso-seta @shervinss @chiyokoemilia
@janbannan @bloopsstuff
© lostfracturess. do not repost, translate, or copy my work.
#satoru gojo x reader#satoru gojo x y/n#satoru gojo x you#satoru gojo angst#jjk x reader#jjk x y/n#jjk x you#jjk angst#gojo x reader#gojo x y/n#gojo x you#gojo angst#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#jujustu kaisen x y/n#jujutsu kaisen angst
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To me, it's Noah's face that says it all. There's such a genuine care and attentiveness on it--like this is all relevant to him. And yeah he had just been talking, but remember that Noah's gay. And he found strength in himself and his identity through Will. This is that look of pride that just solidifies in me that the story doesn't end with just Will. He knows this journey Mike's going on not because he's working on the show, but because he's lived it
#like tell me I'm wrong#thinking about what this show has done for Noah makes me so emotional#and also just confirmed that what they're going to tell their openly gay actor playing their openly gay character#that he doesn't get a happy ending?#yeah right#byler#stranger things#will byers#mike wheeler#noah schnapp
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Manifesting and Why Feelings Don’t Matter. They Never Did.
Some of you care way too much about your feelings for me and honestly…. It’s annoying. Feelings got y’all in a chokehold yet they have nothing to do with you getting your desires. Your feelings didn’t stop your sp from coming back and treating how you wanted them to. Your feelings didn’t change the fact that you got the house/apartment you have always wanted. Your feelings didn’t change the fact that you still reconciled with an old friend from years ago who barely even remembers the disagreement. Whether positive or not, it’s all about the meaning you give them.
“I want to manifest sp back but I don’t feel like—.“
“I want to make money without working but I feel guilty and—.“
“I know I can manifest whatever I want but what if I feel uncomfort—.“
SHUT UP AND JUST KNOW YOU HAVE WHAT YOU WANT. KNOW IT NOW
No matter how you "feel", you are still the creator of your experience.
If you are feeling nervous about getting a certain desire, who cares? It’s yours anyways.
If you are feeling scared about something not happening, who cares? You got it and it happened anyways.
If you are feeling like you don’t know how to manifest and create your reality, who cares? You are still creating even if it’s something you don’t want. Just change your perspective.
Your feelings aren’t your enemies but they are also not your God. At all. You are and you can dictate whether or not the “feelings” you have matter. They don’t but you can also use them to your advantage. I’ve been angry about tons of things before and instead of focusing that anger on the situation at hand, I focused it towards what I wanted to happen instead.
“F*ck this! I’m literally getting what I want. I have that sh*it right now what am I even talking about “getting” for???? That sh*t is in my freakin face!!”
If you want to feel anything, feel peace. When I say feel, I don’t mean create or conjure up an emotion within yourself. By feeling, just still your thoughts and mind. There you will find peace— your true essence. Be comfortable there whether it’s for two seconds or two hours. From that peace is where all creation springs. Remind yourself of who you are and know it will never change. You are still in control.
What you say goes, not what you feel. You can experience all the human emotions —energies in motion— you want or don’t want but at the end of the day none of that matters. Why? Because you create. You choose. Not your feelings. Not your emotions. Even physical sensations don’t hold any power until you give them power. I’ve healed myself a number of times from different pains whether it was cramps, headaches, stomachaches or toothaches and even healing my second ACL faster than the first by thinking as the person who doesn’t feel pain anymore/is healed. It is truly easier said than done because it’s done and easy asf to say. Be so serious. Divorce your feelings, take your ring back and decide who you are in spite of them!
And don’t let me get started on y’all that let the 3d make you feel a certain way. You are allowing that the 3d to dictate how you feel and keeping yourself in a perpetual cycle you don’t want to be in. Stop it. Get help. Help yourself.
#itsrlymine#loa success#sucess story#law of assumption#manifest#manifesting#manifestation#loassumption#lawofassumption#void state#shifting#shiftblr#shifting community#shifting blog#imagination is reality#reality shift#success story#pure consciousness#i am awareness#shifters#loa blog#loa tumblr#instant manifestation#desired reality#living in the end
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You know what, yeah, that bell hooks quotation wasn't appropriate, it doesn't say what the person who added it think it says.
But I don't think it's fair to say that that man who everyone is pissing on somehow claimed we had to "hold his hand" or "coddle" him or whatever. Or even that women had to do it.
He never once even mentioned the word 'woman' in that post. I'm not excluding that that what he was implying - it's very possible! - but what he said was "the left", and let's be clear, this is his understanding of what the left is. I saw people saying that a "self-proclaimed leftist" should understand that his answer was still drenched in patriarchal thinking. But he never once proclaimed he was a leftist. Perhaps he thinks he is, but all he said was that he got "out" of the "alt-right". For all we know, that means he voted for the Democratic Party and we, who are on the left, all know that's not the fucking left.
The question that was posed was how do we keep young men from turning right wing, and he offered an explanation. An explanation! Not an excuse! Again something that a lot of people just assumed.
And yes, it was a flawed explanation, and yes he has some things to learn, and yes it was uncritical and terribly phrased.
But can we recognise that not everyone has the necessary critical thinking skills to completely dig their way out of the overarching ideology that fucking rules our lives? Critical thinking skills aren't something that we are born with. It's something that is learned, something that you have to train. It's a never-ending project. And from what I know of the educational system in the US? That's not where you get it.
Speaking of bell hooks, at least she understands this. In that book (The Will to Change) she writes that "most men never think about patriarchy - what it means, how it is created and sustained." She writes how the patriarchy sees men's violence and the one emotion they're allowed to have, anger, as "natural". Understanding the patriarchy is something that has to be learned, and you either figure it out yourself by reading, but most of us probably had someone in our lives who talked to us about it, taught us about it, and then we might have started reading more about it.
What if you don't have someone like that? What if all you hear is that the things feminists tell you is bad is what was imprinted on you as "natural" to you?
Here's bell hooks:
Yet no one talks about the role patriarchal notions of manhood play in teaching boys that it is their nature to kill, then teaching them that they can do nothing to change this nature—nothing, that is, that will leave their masculinity intact.
Here's what she says of her own brother:
As patriarchal thinking and action claimed him in adolescence, he learned to mask his loving feelings. He entered that space of alienation and antisocial behavior deemed “natural” for adolescent boys.
She clearly pinpoints the moment of these patriarchal ideas taking hold to be in adolescent, and the question that was posed was, what can we do to stop that from happening? I've seen people say that nothing can be done until we change the material conditions that make it so that men systematically have power over women. And yeah, undoubtedly that is a fight we need to have. But is that truly the only way we can keep (some) boys from falling into the grasp of the (alt-)right? Is there no hope in at least reaching them in the meantime?
I've seen a post saying, "omg of course he goes for misandry" and while misandry isn't real in that men are not systematically oppressed, that doesn't mean that there aren't some out there who express hatred or disgust of men. That's not what the left stands for, obviously, but it is not absent. Here are some comments from the notes on some of these reaction posts (and presumably these are all people who consider themselves leftists):
"you should be hunted for sport"
"makes me want to commit homocide"
"kys right now"
"'leftists constantly said i should die' yeah fucking right"
"we need to double male loneliness and I'm not even kidding"
"I HATE MEN AND THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH THAT. THEY HATE US MORE AND THEY HAVE ALL THE POWER TO DO ACTUAL HARM TO US. Misandry is NOT FUCKING REAL but I wish it was"
"we should kill people who don't get it"
Is that hatred of men (non-systematically)? Not all of it, but some of it definitely or possibly qualifies. And it sure does look like some people (who probably think themselves leftists) think this man (or men in general) are the "scum of the earth" and that they want him/them dead. How else do you interpret some of these phrases?
Now imagine that this is something that you encounter online, and with the help of the stranglehold of the patriarchy, whispers of right wing ideology, confirmation bias, and negativity bias? I can imagine you might end up concluding they "hate you for your immutable traits" (remember patriarchy teaches boys that violence and anger is natural to them) and that they "blame you for everything that's wrong in the world".
Is that the right conclusion? No. But as much as being able to use reason is part of being human, so is not being immune to ideology and propaganda. We wouldn't fucking be where we are right now if that wasn't the case.
How do we teach boys that anger and violence aren't "immutable traits"? How do we educate them about the power of the patriarchy? Well, where does it have to come from if not from the fucking left?
Does it have to be you? No. Does it have to be women? Also no. It's probably good if it's men, and especially men who themselves walked with the right at some point (if someone has already been pulled into the right, rather than catching them before).
It can be a woman though, if there's someone who wants to do it. I don't mind doing it if someone wants to talk about it. Will I be nice? No, I won't hold back and I will tell them if what they're saying is wrong. Will I coddle them? Fuck no. Will I keep trying if someone clearly isn't listening? No. Will I be compassionate? Yeah, I think I will.
Because compassion is really important when you're trying to keep people from falling into the far-right, or even if you're trying to get them out of it (which again, isn't what we were talking about in the first place).
Here's Pete Simi, professor of Sociology, talking about Life After Hate, an American non-profit that tries to help people leave the far-right:
The organization was started by former hate group members who have been doing a lot of outreach in terms of providing testimonials and trainings to schools and law enforcement and other community groups across the country. The focus of their message is the importance of using compassion to inform prevention and intervention efforts and aftercare for individuals who want to change their lives but may need various types of support. I think LAH is a very promising development and I hope it will continue to find the resources that it needs to expand the services it provides.
Being compassionate doesn't mean coddling. It doesn't mean holding their hands and it doesn't even mean being nice to them. It doesn't exclude holding people accountable for their views. It does require patience, though. And I understand that if someone is holding the belief that you are not allowed to exist, that isn't something you can do. And that's fine. It doesn't have to be you.
But somebody has to do it, and it has to be someone on the left.
Now none of that means that the suffering of men under patriarchy, and the fact that this has to be addressed loud and clear, are more important than the suffering that women, and especially women whose oppression intersects with other levels of oppression. I've seen some tags on reaction posts that stated "omg of course centring men in discussions of gender" - but the post was about men. That was the whole starting point!
Because men do suffer under the patriarchy. And it's pushing them to the right, towards misogyny and racism, unless they develop the necessary critical thinking skills to understand their own suffering. And you know who thinks so too? bell hooks.
Often men, to speak the pain, first turn to the women in their lives and are refused a hearing. In many ways women have bought into the patriarchal masculine mystique. Asked to witness a male expressing feelings, to listen to those feelings and respond, they may simply turn away.
Since men have yet to organize a feminist men’s movement that would proclaim the rights of men to emotional awareness and expression, we will not know how many men have indeed tried to express feelings, only to have the women in their lives tune out or be turned off.
It is a form of abuse that this culture continues to deny. Boys socialized to become patriarchs are being abused. As victims of child abuse via socialization in the direction of the patriarchal ideal, boys learn that they are unlovable.
The patriarchal model that tells men that they must be in control at all times is at odds with cultivating the capacity to be responsible, which requires knowing when to control and when to surrender and let go. Responsible men are capable of self-criticism. If more men were doing the work of self-critique, then they would not be wounded, hurt, or chagrined when critiqued by others, especially women with whom they are intimate. Engaging in self-critique empowers responsible males to admit mistakes. When they have wronged others, they are willing to acknowledge wrongdoing and make amends. When others have wronged them, they are able to forgive. The ability to be forgiving is part of letting go of perfectionism and accepting vulnerability. At the same time, constructive criticism works only when it is linked to a process of affirmation. Giving affirmation is an act of emotional care. Wounded men are not often able to say anything positive. They are the grump-and-groan guys; cloaked in cynicism, they stand at an emotional distance from themselves and others. Affirmation brings us closer together. It is the highest realization of compassion and empathy with others. One of the negative aspects of antimale feminist critiques of masculinity was the absence of any affirmation of that which is positive and potentially positive in male being. When individuals, including myself, wrote about the necessity of affirming men and identifying them as comrades in struggle, we were often labeled male-identified. The women who attacked us did not understand that it was possible to critique patriarchy without hating men. Indeed, recognizing all the ways that males have been victimized by patriarchy (even though they received rewards) was a way of including men in feminist movement, welcoming their presence and honoring their contribution.
“in order to create loving males we need to love males” means teach boys that they can be themselves without being less of a man. it means being encouraging and nurturing of their emotions so they don’t become cold and hateful. it means showing boys, early in their lives, that they have value outside of what our society deems proper masculinity. what it doesn’t mean is that it’s our job to handhold men who see women as walking sex toys through the concept of empathy, and maybe if we’re really really nice to them and don’t say things that hurt their feelings they’ll stop killing us for saying no
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One of the greatest gifts my 20s have brought me is the ability to exchange my confidence with others. I don’t mean hubris, I mean genuinely loving yourself in a strong yet relaxed manner. That secure tranquility radiates to others, especially when you make an effort to share it. Because confidence isn’t something that is felt only on an individual level, but a communal level as well. Think of how it feels to have an insecure teacher or parent. Those emotions always trickle down in one way or another.
Confidence isn’t something you simply give others, you model it too. It’s hard to feel secure in a relationship when you can feel the other person’s constant hesitation. I don’t mean this in a “insecure people can’t be in relationships” way, I just mean that confidence is felt both in a personal and collective scale. When you don’t have enough of your own, uplifting others can be draining, while secure confidence is only strengthened by watching others be infected by yours.
It’s also way more rewarding to uplift others when you have enough security in yourself. It’s a matter of applying to yourself the same things you believe about others. I would never think one of my friends is worthless, and so how does it make sense for me to be the one exception to this rule? It’s because I’m not. There was a time period where I could ignore this fallacy, but at one point I couldn’t outrun it any longer. My 20s so far have been all about truths catching up me.
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You believe in soulmates. Alhaitham does not. It’s not as though he loves you any less for his beliefs, but he certainly doesn’t entertain your baseless theories.
You’re determined to change his mind.
“What would you do if we never met?” You ask, staring up at him with your cheek pressed against his chest.
He glances down at you, sighing as he shakes his head. Here we go, he thinks silently. “I probably wouldn’t do anything, considering I wouldn’t know you existed.”
“You wouldn’t be sad?” You frown.
“How can I be sad about something that I don’t know exists?”
“Well, you could know of me,” you insist, “just because you don’t know me doesn’t mean you don’t know I exist.”
“In that case, I probably would not do anything,” he snorts. You don’t like that answer, glaring up at him as he adds, “I wouldn’t know what I’m missing if we never met.”
“You’re a real romantic, has anyone ever told you that?” You grumble. There’s a vibration of his chuckle through his chest, right under your cheek in a soft, rhythmic feeling that you’re so used to, you think it might be familiar from another life.
Over the course of the Akademiya’s years, there have been two prominent theories that have been debunked about soulmates:
1. The law of conservation of mass-energy states that matter and energy cannot be created or destroyed—but only transformed. When a person dies, their body decomposes, breaking down into atoms that return to the earth, air, and water. These atoms then get recycled by nature, eventually becoming part of other living organisms, thus reincarnating from their previous life forms. It is possible, then, that two individuals could fundamentally be linked to reincarnate together from the same set of atoms in every lifetime.
It was later debunked by a scholar named Lamiya. Atoms themselves don’t retain information about where they’ve been or what they’ve been part of. They are interchangeable at a fundamental level, which means there is no difference between an atom in a human and a rock.
2. The heart and brain generate electromagnetic fields that extend outward from the body, with the heart’s field reaching several feet. Studies suggest these fields may be sensed by others nearby, subtly shaping feelings of comfort, attraction, and connection. It is possible that certain individuals’ frequencies may naturally align, creating a sense of harmony between electromagnetic fields, thus indicating that two individuals are naturally connected and could be labeled soulmates.
This theory was later disproven by a scholar named Dharmakirti. While human bodies do generate electromagnetic fields, there is no evidence that these fields influence interpersonal attractions or emotional resonance. Fields produced by the heart and brain are exceptionally weak and rapidly diminish with distance, making it unlikely they could be sensed or create harmony between individuals in measurable ways.
They fascinate you enough that Alhaitham pulls strings to allow you access to the archived files, but it doesn’t go unnoticed by you how he scrunches his nose in distaste as he sifts through them himself.
Soulmates have no plausible evidence of existing, he argues.
Lots of things have no plausible evidence, yet they exist, you always argue back.
You like to think despite all the differences, you and Alhaitham are soulmates—that some form of you, outside of your physical bodies, exists for each other and each other alone.
You think it must be the case when your eyes seem to find his in a crowd without even trying. What are the odds that in a sea of people, they always happen to come across his by chance? And what other explanation would there be for the way he always seems to just know you’re staring at him while he sleeps every morning, waking up not too long after your eyes fall on his face in admiration? And how else would you rationalize the fact that you could tell his presence apart from anyone. You’re certain that if two bodies were standing behind you from a distance, your heart would know which one belonged to him.
Soulmates, you argue. That has to be the answer.
“I think we were always meant to meet,” you murmur quietly, tracing a finger along the pale skin of his chest. “Don’t you?”
“We’ve shared numerous classes together and have offices within within the same hall,” he states blandly, “I think the chances of not meeting would be rather improbable.”
“Or maybe,” you huff, “we were always meant to meet because we’re soulmates.”
“I think that theory has been sufficiently disproven—”
“You never know! We believe in the divine even if we’ve never seen them, haven’t we? Who’s to say Celestia aren’t fake—”
“The Archons have spoken of them multiple times, and The Gods, in fact, do exist for us to see, so I think we can trust—”
“Maybe Celestia decide soulmates,” you reason, raising a pointed brow at him, “how will you disprove that? There’s no evidence that they haven’t, and you can’t collect much evidence about them, so I think it’s safe to say that it’s possible.”
“But then it’s equally as safe to say it’s not possible by that logic, as well,” he says smugly.
“Fine,” you huff, glowering up at him through puffed cheeks, “I guess you’re just too stubborn to convince.”
“I’m not stubborn,” he argues (which he does quite stubbornly, you want to say), “I apply logic and reasoning to my theories. Which is why they are hardly disproven.”
“Do you at least think we’d be soulmates in another world if they did exist?” You ask hopefully.
He looks like he wants to argue about the likelihood of another world existing altogether—it irritates you enough that it pulls a frown on your face before you grumble a quiet forget it, shuffling out of his arms and turning away to face your back at him.
He chuckles, shaking his head. Something fond blooms in his chest, like a fresh padisarah in May.
“If,” he emphasizes as his arms wrap around you from behind, pulling you flush against his chest once more, “if in another world we existed where soulmates were real, then yes. I do think it would be you and I.”
“Really?” You ask quietly.
“Yes,” he whispers. Suddenly, he sounds rather sure about a theory he never even believed in the first place.
“I wonder what we’re doing in that other world,” you hum thoughtfully.
He sighs, bringing the blanket back up to cover both of your bodies and mumbles, “I would hope we’d be sleeping at a reasonable hour before a work day.”
—————
Stay tuned for them being soulmates after all in another world *wink wink* ;)
#writing tag#alhaitham x reader#alhaitham x you#alhaitham fluff#genshin x reader#genshin x you#genshin fluff#genshin impact x reader#genshin impact x you#genshin impact fluff#genshin fanfic#genshin imagines#genshin x y/n
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