#like if there was a picture to describe me this would probably be it

[rahuratna]

Court, firstly, let me say just how happy I am that you're finally taking your steps into writing. I just know that whatever you write, your creativity, scientific acumen and storytelling capability will take us on one hell of a journey. I'd love to take that journey with you as your reader.

This is such an explosive and imaginative beginning! The concept of the titular 'hollow angel' is such a fascinating one once you dive into the idea that she essentially is a curse driven by a never-ending emptiness, a literal black hole that requires constant feeding with the pain and loneliness of others. I also LOVE the visual aspect of her metal wings.

Going a little deeper with the wings, the visceral nature of their shape, the way they fuse with skin, their blade-edged surfaces, the fact that they can cause pain to both her and her opponent, is all so immaculately painted. The imagery of them was so vivid I could SMELL them, imagine that metallic taste in my mouth, hear the grating and screeching of their movement and clearly picture the pain they were capable of causing.

I also really appreciate Gojo's link to the past, your description of his thoughts and hers during their final battle. To him, she needs to be crushed completely, like all other curses he's faced, but at the same time, he also recognizes something other about her, something he probably refuses to acknowledge even to himself; that she has a very human way of thinking, expressing herself and feeling. To acknowledge such a thing in a curse would up-end the delicate balance between sorcerers and curses. Their world is a savage one, clearly demarcated, and to blur those lines is to lose your advantage.

There's also something so biting and raw in the way you describe her isolation, almost claustrophobic, but not, sort of like her entire existence is in a rapidly shrinking, mass-gaining sphere, the black hole that forms her technique, but also one that robs of sight, sound, sensation, and she lives like this, alongside the sorrow and pain she absorbs. It's like that ringing in the ears, that chemical taste when you're coming back to consciousness. I can recognise something in this, something familiar stalking me, the reader, in your descriptions, and its powerful.

I can tell, just from this first chapter, how much depth Satoru's character is going to have, how you're also going to explore his thoughts and perspective, and I honestly cannot wait for your take on that.

Bravo, Court. This is both gripping and beautifully conceived. 🧡🧡

hollowed angel

pairing: gojo satoru x reader synopsis: you, a former death angel curse, were exorcised by the hands of gojo satoru. but thousands of years later, you unexpectedly reincarnate into a mortal sorcerer's body. as you navigate your new life with your past executioner, you learn what it means to be both curse and human, and realize that perhaps the line between the two is not as clear as you once thought. tags: angst, fluff, romance, former curse! reader, high school! gojo satoru, canon-typical violence, depression and loneliness, black holes and physics, will update tags as chapters progress word count: 2.4k

masterlist

chapter 1: rebirth

The moonlight illuminated the full expanse of your wings, casting a gleam off their metallic surface. Blades were to be more precise, except they didn’t clang or scratch against each other when you walked. They moved together in one unit, fluid and seamless.

You were draped in a black silk tunic, the hem frayed to shredded ribbons as if caught and torn by your own wings. An opaque, black veil concealed your face, hiding features either too sacred or cursed to be seen. Above you, your halo hung, not golden or heavenly, but a black hole. Its event horizon glowed silver, encircling a pitch black singularity. 

A man with matted, dark hair and fatigued lines etched into his face lied before you, half conscious and half buried in pain. A victim, but not in a simple sense. “Victim” implied someone who was in need of saving, and yet there was an agency in his surrender. What did he need saving from? Himself? The burden of his failures, or the world’s? Or perhaps you, a hollow figure of salvation, ready to strip him bare of what little light he clung to.

Stranded in the vast ocean of his problems, he could not conceptualize making it back to shore when there was no clear direction forward. And when the tides finally pulled him under, he hadn't fought the current. Instead, he opened his lungs to the saltwater, letting it fill him until gravity overcame buoyancy, until he was thoroughly poisoned by hopelessness. 

But from beneath, he saw it. The silver light of her halo refracting and dispersing everywhere in the water. He saw hope. He saw her.

You knelt beside him. Dark, heavy fog crept in tendrils, not from the thick atmosphere of the forest, but from the body itself. Suffocating shrouds of cursed energy leaked steadily, like rain streaking through a dilapidated roof. A single talon traced the curvature of his forehead, the skin splitting and forming a thin line of blood. A halo of his own. The air around him rippled, cursed energy now seeping heavily from the wound. You drank deeply, drawing his pain into yourself. It was not just sustenance; it was essence. Pain marred so deeply into his soul that it had fused with his being. He had become his scars.

And when you drank his sorrow, you took a part of him that would never return. In his next life, he would be free from that pain, reborn anew, but incomplete. A blessing and a curse. But his pain was neither truly lost or destroyed. It simply transferred mediums, absorbed into your being and wove itself into the fabric of your existence. Every soul you consumed, no matter how disparate their pasts, shared a common thread: isolation. Their isolation became yours and had carved into you until you were no longer whole. You were never meant to be anything more than a hollowed angel, a vessel of pain, feeding but never filled.

The man stirred, a shallow groan escaping his cracked lips. His body convulsed, hacking violently until a single silver feather emerged from the pool of black bile spilling from his mouth. You picked it up and studied it briefly, before sliding it seamlessly into place in your wings. The remnant of a human turned hollow shell. Another piece added to your collection. 

──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────

It’s warm. The wordless thought drifted through you, your first in a millennium. Sunlight enveloped your body, coaxing you out of that suspended state of nothingness. Nothingness was not cold or numb; it was absence of being. You had stopped being. Consciousness and sensation vanished for an immeasurable amount of time. Now, the singular warmth that seeped into your nothingness became your everything. There was no struggle to catch it, to hold it close to your chest when being was the only thing you could manage to do. 

“She’s here! We found her!” Voices shouted from a distance but didn’t quite reach your newly formed consciousness. 

“She’s breathing. Her cursed energy is faint but it’s still there.” Too loud. You curled further into yourself, hoping you could return back to nothingness.

“Gojo was right. The energy’s coming off in circular wave patterns…” Gojo. The name rang like a bell snuffed short. A fleeting thought passed. I’m going to die again, aren’t I? It left as quickly as it came.

“Are you okay?” Now you could hear and think properly, senses returning slowly but surely. You can see me? The words died from your tongue. You stared up at the head looming over you. Bulky glasses didn’t quite fit his narrow, sharp face, but his eyes were earnest and concerned— a look you were unfamiliar with.

You wordlessly let yourself be guided to a… carriage? No, a car, some sort of vehicle you didn’t recognize, but your new body did. Stuffed inside with Glasses and a girl chewing the paper casing of a cigarette, you felt both cramped and overstimulated. You needed space to process the new world, people and technology. Not cages, cars, or anymore voices trying to dig out information that you didn’t have. 

Cursed energy, barely there, thrummed faintly, nowhere near the levels of your previous form. It should’ve been only a matter of time before your wings regenerated, but they didn’t. Soon enough, you thought to yourself. Soon enough, you could put the person who tried to reduce you into something weak and powerless into their place. Soon enough, you could summon your halo and become restored—

Except there was no halo.

It had always been connected to you, a branch extended from the trunk of your very being. But now, that connection was severed. Gone. No signal, no pulse, no light. A void in and of itself. 

This had to be some sort of mistake. You, a curse, trapped in some helpless, fragile human vessel? It was wrong, wrong, wrong. You didn’t belong in that other frivolous world of non-sorcerers. The whole notion was incompatible, an error of Mother Nature.  

A choked gasp left your throat as if you had finally re-emerged from years underwater. Hands clenching and unclenching, you fixated on the crescents caving into your very human flesh. The skin yielded too easily, hot blood rushing to the surface. There were no wings to break free from this prison, no halo to signal your divinity, no powers to bend the world to your will. This was a human body— fragile, mortal, and unbearably real.

Instinct— or was it panic?— finally, finally awakened, bubbling, overflowing, and drowning out any and all thought. Not yet, not again, you barely had a chance to relish the fleeting warmth before it was ripped away from these oh-so-’righteous’ sorcerers. But to you, there was nothing righteous about it. It was terribly, horribly wrong. Hands flew up to the handle, frantically twisting and tugging, but the lock held firm. They trapped you, were going to lock you up, and—

“Sorry, Miss! I locked it so you can’t leave. And it isn’t advisable to jump out of a moving vehicle.”

“I could heal her,” the girl chimed in, her voice light and almost teasing. “But it would be rather inconvenient.” She tilted her head, watching you curiously as if you were a puppy pawing at the latch of its crate.

“Don’t forget that the real reason you came with us was to heal in the scenario that she was actually injured, Shoko.”

‘Shoko’ tapped her chin thoughtfully and nodded her head. “Yeah, you’re right. It was quite concerning that her cursed energy output was very low, even lower than yours.” He flushed bright red and glared while Shoko lazily smiled. You wondered if you were really what they said you were.

──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────

As the car door swung open, sunlight flooded your retinas and made the dull ache in your head throb. 

“We can treat that for ya. After we talk to Yaga first,” Shoko offered, holding out her hand. 

Your nose scrunched in distaste, a small scowl tugging at your lips. Humans never offered anything without expecting something in return. It didn’t matter if they were sorcerer or non-sorcerer; they were all the same. They take and take, only to give as a means to take more. Nothing was ever free. There were always strings attached, invisible yet tying you to their expectations for repayment. 

“Ehhh? Don’t be like that now,” Shoko drawled, yet slightly amused. “Let’s go meet some new people who can help you… though you may not like them very much.”

Before you could protest, her hand clasped yours, and she pulled you up in one smooth motion. Your legs wobbled, threatening to give out beneath you. But Shoko steadied you, her grip firm and supportive. 

She walked you through the gates, her arm linked through yours so you wouldn’t fall. Someone was waiting, had been expecting your arrival.

“Huh. So you’re the little shit that blipped onto my radar.” Your head jerked backwards, the voice all too familiar. Bells rang, distance couldn’t snuff them out. Harsh sounds, memories, and feelings reverberated, stirring something deep inside you, a visceral urge to detonate. Black fumed the edges of your vision. Smoke from the fire he flamed. There he stood, hands planted firmly on angled hips with that cocky smirk you couldn’t wait to claw off his face. You ripped yourself free from Shoko’s hold and lunged. 

You were going to kill Gojo Satoru.

──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────

Wings slashed against the small infinity that divided you and Gojo Satoru, a ripple the only sign of impact. He sauntered closer and snatched the torn veil from your face. He dangled it above you with an amused smile and teleported back before you decided to vortex him into a black hole. 

“Not the best fashion statement, but it gets the job done blocking out the light.” He ripped the fabric in two and tossed it behind him carelessly as if it were a dirtied napkin. “You’re kinda cute behind all those layers… surprisingly.”

He liked to do that a lot, you noticed. Liked to provoke you, get some sort of reaction you were hiding behind that damn veil. The worst part was that it worked. Your nose scrunched cutely, to Gojo at least, and he could admire how your cheeks were flushed red because you couldn’t put a dent on him. 

Gojo hated how elusive you were, so unlike any other special grade curse he’s slaughtered before. He hated that instead of lashing out and destroying everything in your path, you pretended to be dignified when curses didn’t have dignity. He hated waiting for your next feeding cycle when you finally showed yourself after months of starvation since you knew he’d hunt you down. He’d relish tearing apart your ‘dignified’ front, cracking that flimsy shell and wrenching your soul out. 

You laughed, which clearly startled Gojo. He’d never imagined it to sound so hollow, he didn’t know what to expect in the first place. He thought you, your exterior to be precise, was flimsy and spineless! But he didn’t comprehend the magnitude of years and souls sacrificed that solidified your armor. You already knew what he wanted, his plans for you, and you weren’t going to let him have it. 

Sneering, you yanked razor-edged feathers from your mass, ignoring how they cut deep into your flesh. You closed the wound without a second thought, but even you weren’t resistant to your own lethality. 

“Cursed technique lapse: Bypass.” Feathers shot forward, penetrating only the first layer of his barrier. And that was enough. Force compounded against the rest of Infinity, and the barrier caved inwards. A single point of impact, the weight of Infinity crashing directly into Satoru himself, like gravity collapsing in on its own star. 

It was totally unfair how gracefully he tumbled down and quickly he picked himself up. 

As another barrage of blades came in an onslaught, his eyes immediately dimmed to a flat blue-grey, Limitless shutting off. He side-stepped casually. You flicked two fingers left, and the feathers followed suit, turning a sharp 90. But Gojo was quicker. He disappeared just as the blades plunged through where he was standing. 

You should’ve known it was coming, really. You just didn’t expect it to be so soon. 

Pain crackled along the limbs of your wings, nerves screaming in agony as they were uprooted into Blue. 

“Still think you can fight me with those?” Gojo teleported behind you. His fingers traced the scapula where skin was seamed with metal. You staggered backward, flinching as a chunk of metal clattered and disintegrated on the ground. The rest of your wings sizzled and eroded. 

“My wings—” 

“—are a liability,” he interrupted. “They make you an easy target. You can’t hide anymore.” 

Your wings were the reservoir of your power, the physical manifestation of the pain you had consumed. Your curse energy dwindled. You tried desperately to summon your halo, but there was nothing, the unyielding flow of energy now a stagnant void. 

“You’re still standing,” Gojo smiled widely, ecstatic. “I’d love to watch you fall for me.” He already decided your fate: he’d make you crumble with his own hands. 

A sickening snap. 

Brute force wrenched your wings upward, metallic blades screeching like nails on glass. Pain erupted down your spine as he twisted the wing further. His grip was immovable, and he drank in the sight of hot and thick blood dripping and pooling onto the ground. 

“You’re weaker than I thought,” he said calmly. He tore the wing free, sending shards of cursed metal scattering.

──────⊹⊱✫⊰⊹──────

A scream erupted from your lips.  

A single phantom wing unfurled behind you as you lunged. It doubled the length of your arm, grey, opaque, feathers lacking the metallic sheen of your former power. Branching from the wing’s carpal, jagged claws dripped with an inky, viscous substance. It dissipated before it could hit the ground. 

It went past Gojo’s Infinity, his entire body, without any resistance. There was no impact. Phantom. Then his chest caved under the force, muscles and bones cracking as the blow tore through him. His chest buckled and ribs splintered, as if his own body were being bent and broken from the inside. Phantom. There was no tangible entity that applied that brutal force. Your real wings were gone, demolished by the man standing tauntingly in front of you. But the invisible claws, dipped in cursed energy, had done the job. It was only a phantom. 

You didn’t last to see the strongest sorcerer brought to his knees. The world tilted and came crashing to the ground. Vision blurring and your consciousness fading, you became phantom. 

a/n: more character interactions coming in the future. planning to write a few chapters in advanced before posting. thanks for reading! @mysteria157 and @pmpmyread, now you have been tagged twice ;) taglist: @dreamingkitsunewrites @rahuratna @mysteria157 @pmpmyread @celestialceremonials @lov3vivian @lolitamermaid123 @fangirlingtod3ath

[bloopitynoot]

Reading TGCF: Prologue

For those who don't know, I am reading TGCF for the first time and sharing my thoughts!

If you have not read it, there will be spoilers! Consider this a warning.

Also- if you want to follow along, I am aiming to post updates daily. You can find all the posts in the tag Bloopitynoot reads TGCF. You can also check out the intro post for context on my read BUT if you followed along with my SVSSS read, the rules and vibe are the same.

Welcome welcome!

There is a method to my madness with the beginning half of this post on every chapter and the tea pics. I try my very best to make sure to minimize spoilers so the real content will be below this.

What I know (or don't) going into this series

Don't correct me, it's more fun if this all turns out to be wrong:

it is a love story across lifetimes

one of them wears disguises?

heavenly realms

it is painful AF

I am expecting many deaths to be honest

That's literally all I know, I didn't even really read the back cover until after I read the prologue (below) I am going in so blind.

With this all in mind; Let's gooooooooooooooooooooo:

Okay starting off strong with "the laughingstock of the Three Realms" p11

Oh god, "how to describe the prince...'unique'" p11

This man sounds so sweet "I want to help the common people" p11 but also him over here rescuing babies falling off the walls p13

Oh, I can see how the rich bitches with power would see this as problematic. The audacity of them trying to punish him for doing good. pp13-14

omg this guy, just casually meeting the Heavenly Emperor p16

this is a side note, I will say, though I have 0 experience reading actual heavenly realm lore, I feel well prepared for this due to the sheer amount of MXTX fanfics I have read that are probably crossovers with TGCF but I just didn't even know.

Good for him for ascending! Though if this is one of the protagonists of the story, I am worried for how naïve he seems p16

Well, the Rich Bitches were not wrong to fear the inauspicious start to the ceremony pre-ascension. 3 years later and ofc they are invaded AND the prince is not even there due to his ascension. p17

Poor buddy. I already know this series is going to hurt. He just wanted to help but made everything so much worse by getting involved in human things. p18

"to speak harshly, was he not just useless trash who could not do anything right?!?!" p18

What a tough blow. From god of protection and peace to God of misfortune. p19

AND banishment

Not the double ascension AND immediate banishment. p20 But i do want to know how he lasted like 30 minutes the second ascension. I'm just picturing him up there throwing hands for a hot second before being shunted back to earth double birds flying.

I also love that he's like a little weird. just a queer little man putting on street shows and acting odd as hell.

ooof. Bro. not only was he The Laughingstock for a minute, he also wasn't even memorable enough for people to recall him after a while. This story is going to ruin my life I know it. I already want to adopt this immortal man and wrap him in soft things. p21

A THIRD ASCENSION??????? p22

The canon has been FIRED

The way in which this story already started at 100. Blasted into the universe with this prologue, we had a weird little guy, he ascended descended too many times to be okay, and now we are shunted into chapter 1.

[icewindandboringhorror]

I know this is just a silly bad quality random screencap of a screencap that I found on facebook lol, BUT it's a succinct enough image to easily describe the concept in a quick/accessible way hopefully :

-

(and of course, feel free to elaborate in tags, etc.! (especially elaborating about other senses as well.. can you "hear" in your mind just as well as you can "see"? taste? etc.) It's an interesting topic to me, as someone who's like a 4.5 at MOST lol. I'm curious what option will be the most common :0c )

[moeblob]

it is almost midnight why am I still drawing art ...

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

Thank you, this covers several other things that I thought about that information! I was thinking about that page from the Daily Show book (a page I only know about because you took that picture and shared it some time ago) - the page that confirms that it is true that Ricky Gervais was involved in getting John Oliver the Daily Show job, though if I were John, these days I'd be backing Demetri Martin's claim that it was actually him who got John the job, even if there's no truth in it.

That page was the first time I learned that Andy Zaltzman was on The Daily's Show's radar at all, but as you say, there's nothing in that book that says Andy actually auditioned as well. I'd just been assuming they went to watch Zaltzman and Oliver perform as a double act, and of the two of them, John was the guy whom they decided to call in for an interview. Probably because... I know John Oliver isn't the most Hollywood-style/conventionally handsome man in the world, but he looks more telegenic than Zaltzman. Also, John Oliver's humour does tend to be a bit more grounded and accessible, while Zaltzman's the one doing the wildly convoluted flights of bullshit fancy. So I can see how TV people who watched them both perform would decide that John's the guy they want.

But the information that they both auditioned is new. I'm now seeing this through my lens as someone who was in highly competitive sport for many years - because I've already made it clear that I find it nearly impossible to describe the Zaltzman/Oliver dynamic without descending into sports metaphors. And it's because so much about how they work together reminds me of what I've seen from the very best teammates/training partners in sport, ones who bring out the best in each other and push each other to become better athletes. Ones who know each other's styles so well that each style have to evolve and adapt in order to respond to the other, their matches with each other reach deeper levels of the sport than anything else, just because they've learned how to get past each other's basic responses and they both end up finding new ideas.

In all my years as a competitive athlete and then as a coach to competitive athletes, one thing I learned is that when you have two teammates/training partners in a relationship like that, the worst thing that can happen is they get pitted against each other in a competitive situation. You want those people tearing each other to pieces in the practice room, but in a tournament, competing in different divisions so they can cheer each other on. If one beats the other when it actually matters, the friendship rarely survives, and the training relationship takes a big hit. They stop being able to work well together in practice, because they're trying to hurt each other instead of improve each other. And even if they try to go on as they did before, the bitterness comes out and messes with it.

...I am aware that Andy Zaltzman and John Oliver are not competitive athletes. But relationships like the ones I've just described are so common, and as a coach, trying to preserve relationships like that, even in the face of competition, is a big part of my job. Which may be part of why I find comedy dynamics like those described in article from the beginning of this post so interesting, the double act where both people make each other more than the sum of their parts, until it all implodes.

Point being, I already knew that the fact that the Zaltzman and Oliver working relationship lasted for so long despite the massive fame disparity means Andy Zaltzman is a saint who's largely resistant to the natural human bitterness response (not 100% immune to it, as evidenced when John Oliver finally left The Bugle, but Andy's good humour held on for a long time before that). But if they both auditioned together for a life-changing opportunity, and only of them got a callback? By rights, that working relationship should have imploded in 2006.

I realize that reading all this stuff into the situation between two people I've never met is incredibly parasocial of me, by the way. I don't have a good justification or mitigation for it, or anything. I just want to acknowledge that I know. Sorry. I would try to avoid getting too parasocial about Chocolate Milk Gang-era Zaltzman and Oliver, but I think that ship's sailed long ago, I'm leaning into it now.

Anyway, @lastweeksshirttonight, I also want to know whether they were auditioning to be the first double act on The Daily Show, or whether they knew they were both competing for a single spot. What a shame that I didn't come across this article until after it was too late to submit questions for the Zaltzman/Oliver 2024 Bulge Q&A. Which is coming out this weekend, and I'm sure we'll all be a normal and non-parasocial amount of excited about it.

I just came across the article today, and the whole thing is very interesting. I highly recommend reading it all, to anyone who's interested in the history of British comedy double acts. It's basic stories that I did already know - Cook and Moore, Lee and Herring, Newman and Baddiel, French and Saunders - but it juxtaposes them in a way that I quite enjoyed reading, and adds a number of details that I did not already know. I am interesting in double act dynamics, so this was a really cool article.

However, I am, of course, going to cut and paste on particular segment:

In 2006, Andy Zaltzman and John Oliver, who were at the time writing their third Edinburgh show together, travelled to London to audition for a role on Jon Stewart’s The Daily Show. Only Oliver, however, was called to a second audition. “When they offered him the job, unfathomably, John chose to go and work on the world’s leading satirical TV show rather than speak to 30 people in a tiny room in Edinburgh,” Zaltzman tells me over a Diet Pepsi in a London pub. After the swift departure of Oliver, who now presents HBO’s primetime political talkshow Last Week Tonight, Zaltzman was left to write and, two weeks later, perform the Edinburgh show alone. “It was difficult because I had nothing to replace this wonderful working relationship and friendship,” Zaltzman says. The year after Oliver left for America, Zaltzman “bumbled along” performing political standup. Then they were offered the opportunity to record a weekly topical podcast, the Bugle. Oliver agreed to rejoin the double act (albeit via a telephone line) as co-host. “It worked well straight away,” says Zaltzman. “There hadn’t been any great falling out, so in that sense it was easy for us to work together again.” The podcast, a satirical take on the week’s news, ran from 2007 to 2014 without a break. It then had a hiatus while Oliver focused on launching his new TV show; he soon found that the show was taking up too much of his time, and the Bugle came to an end in 2015. Then in 2016, Zaltzman relaunched it without Oliver, instead partnering with a roster of comedians including Nish Kumar and Hari Kondabolu. “To lose [Oliver] after having worked so closely for years left a void,” says Zaltzman. “But my frustration was not with his success. I like to think I haven’t become a bitter, twisted, resentment-fuelled showbiz cliche. But maybe there is a residual awkwardness about the different paths we’ve taken.”

Sorry, what the fuck? Did anyone else know about this? That apparently Andy Zaltzman also auditioned for The Daily Show, at the same time as John? I know a hell of a lot about the Zaltzman and Oliver history, and I never knew that. Which means Zaltzman's kept it quiet, in the all the times he's told stories in interviews about the paths their double acts took in those years.

I'd heard all that other stuff before. There's a Bugle quote (from 2018, the same year this article came out, so I guess Andy was into that phrasing at the time), in which Andy refers to: "June 2006, when [John Oliver] told me he wanted to do the Daily Show job instead of coming with me to Edinburgh to talk to 25 people a day in a darkened room." And of course I've heard Andy talk about how he felt like he was "bumbling" in the year between John going to America (June 2006) and The Bugle starting (Oct 2007), as he tried to get by without the double act. I'm convinced that the difficulty he had during that year is why he waited so long to pull the plug on The Bugle in 2015, when John had clearly checked out, and yet Andy kept doing filler episodes in which he'd tell us they're going to get this going with John again soon, like a mother telling the children that their dad has just gone out for cigarettes and will be back. Of all the double act stories in that article, Zaltzman and Oliver has to be one where one member tried the hardest to claw on after the other was out, not wanting to let go of it. And I include Lee and Herring, when I say Zaltzman and Oliver did that more than any others.

Anyway, the information that Andy Zaltzman had also auditioned for The Daily Show is a massive fact for this article to just casually drop. That recontextualizes a lot of stuff from around that time, and makes a lot of sense. @lastweeksshirttonight, @bimwi - as the other people here who know a lot about that history, am I the only one who didn't know that? Was anyone else aware of this?

[jelly-of-many-ships]

I genuinely hope I never learn about stuff like sherlock holmes & oscar wilde in english class cuz like there’s absolutely no way I would be even somewhat normal about it and I really don’t need an entire class knowing how much of a fucking nerd I am lmao

[selfcarecap]

Omg can people please stop describing the reader’s outfits in fics in so much detail 😭😭 babe why am i wearing a grandma fit 💀

[withthewindinherfootsteps]

pov you’ve just reread the yi city arc… except that clearly wasn’t ENOUGH because of course your analysis brain had to take over and search for parallels, so you have to go and reread and save the most depressing WWX scenes right after…

i’m fine :))

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

one odd thing about going deeper is that I'm no longer satisfied with shallower. and that's, weirdly enough, a net positive. I've self harmed - eh, twice? in the last month. both were well into the criteria that should have got sutures and ignored it; suspect I hit a vein once and was extremely close to muscle, which feels kind of odd. yeah, it's ramped up; yeah, there's a lot of blood and all that kind of stuff. very high risk of infection, potential nerve damage and all that kind of stuff (though I have not got either of them; I scared off an infection that wanted to hang round by chucking quantities of alcohol on it). but at the same time. that's only twice. that's a lot better than previously.

[ripcarrotchan]

taro buys jiro a weird-looking kitty plushie

(this is a scene from my fic about taro and jiro going to the park and jiro getting a plushie! ;;w;;)

[sunnys-sonnets]

Is there any outfit you like Atreus to be drawn in and or how you mostly imagine him in your fics, what clothes and what attire?

Not the question you asked but I think I do actually like his canon start clothing the best. While the metal armor is practical and elegant in its own way, I like softer vibes. The gentle colors on him and how the fabrics look worn and loved and stitched over and over are so nice. As for what I like seeing Atreus drawn in? I don't know. Maybe nothing 😂 Maybe seeing him in his canon-type clothing more often would be cool- but then I think of all the cute ideas we keep seeing like Modern AU stuff like fun, colorful sweaters and shorts. Even if I don't particularly lean towards Modern AU stuff, it's always nice to see the variety. Or loose fabrics that he's been draped in are so nice and it's fun to see his freckles 🤭

Depends on the fics. Mischief and Foresight has him in his canon gear for the most part. A Hint of Magic is very much up to the imagination because of the vague descriptions given, though his newer outfits do come from the cloths Heimdall gives him. Any fics that take place in the canon universe I picture him in canon gear. In Your Toy, the Modern AU, I imagine colorful big sweaters in the cooler weather to show off his fun and more childish side, and regular jean-like shorts(blue or green) and still colorful baggy shirts slightly tucked in to whatever shorts or pants he's wearing. And maybe stuff he'd borrow from friends or Heimdall to play with.

[nomaishuttle]

one thing sbout me is that im cursed eith rly wanting to be an artist while not having the capacity to envision pictures in my head and not having a ton of artistic skill and just not being a very creative person. but i really really want to be is the thing i want 2 be able to be creative and be able to create More than anything butterlass.

[71kedi-yip]

I did something

i find the dischotomy between the batfam's potential to kill vs their real-world willingness to kill very interesting! so I made a graph because I'm a nerd

[rindreamery]

out of breath, got me going like...

some of the attractive things that the blue lock men do. featuring: itoshi rin, itoshi sae, nagi seishiro, michael kaiser, oliver aiku, yukimiya kenyu 𝜗𝜚 content: fluff, suggestive

note. yukki debut on my acc ??? do we fw the casual, less poetic writing cuz there was really no way to make this poetic 👩‍🦯 just astronomically down bad writing all around

itoshi rin sends you gym pics without you having to ask.

it initially took a lot of convincing, at first, to get rin to send you a picture. in his eyes, it was embarrassing— the idea of pulling his phone out mid-workout, taking a picture, sending it to you, and then going back to whatever he was doing. his mind would drift off to the weird stares he would probably get from others, and the fact that he also wasn’t exactly known for knowing how to pose to begin with. as much as he loved making you happy, there were just some things he was not willing to do.

it took a lot of begging, and for the first few months, the answer was always, “no.”

the first picture came unexpectedly. your phone was thrown off to the side of the bed, not really anticipating any texts from rin for the next hour or so, given the fact that he was at the gym. so you were surprised when you heard a familiar tune come from your phone— one specifically assigned to his contact. you had no idea why he would be texting you. 

you’re absolutely floored at what you see; jaw left hanging and eyes practically bulging out of their sockets, almost dropping the phone.

it's a gym picture. he's doing a normal pose, nothing too special. he’s standing in front of the mirror, one hand shoved into the pocket of his shorts, and the other holding onto his phone. his face was partly covered by his phone, but you could see the blush spread across his cheeks and the tips of his ears. but it wasn’t that that got your attention— no, it was something entirely different.

he was wearing a sleeveless compression shirt, giving you a full view of his arms. they were glistening in sweat and perfectly toned. the arm that was propping his phone up was slightly flexed, from the position it was in, adding to the bulk and definition in his biceps. and you could see the veins traveling up the arm of his hand, the one that was shoved into his pocket, crawling up from the back of his hand to his forearm. the bright overhead lighting, with a combination of the dim background lighting, served to emphasize every line and crevice of his exposed skin. 

“this what you wanted?” came a message right after, “i know you’re reading this right now, respond.” you felt weak. he definitely researched how to do this.

words couldn't describe how you felt. so, your immediate response was to send him a flurry of incoherent texts; a mixture of randomly pressed keys and crying emojis. but that’s what feeds his ego— your reactions are what makes smile smugly to himself, covering his lips with his hands as he reads your texts over. he starts to send you gym pictures more consistently after that, patiently waiting for your response after each one. at this point, it’s become a part of his gym routine.

itoshi sae drapes his arm over the back of your seat while reversing.

driving with sae was a true test of control— specifically, yours. it had become increasingly hard to focus whenever he was driving, with every little motion of his body seeming to pull your attention away from the road. he was just so distracting, to the point that you had started offering to drive instead. yet to no avail, because he always insisted on being the driver, furthering your silent suffering in the passenger's seat. but, there was nothing more testing than whenever he was reversing the car.

it’s an internal battle; it takes everything in you not to ogle him so openly. and somehow, you’re losing a battle to yourself.

it’s as if your eyes instantly become magnetized to sae— the way he moves when he rests his arm so casually, yet so securely, on the back of your headrest’s frame. and it doesn’t help that this position gives such a perfect view of him. the way the muscles in his arm ripple and flex ever so slightly, but visibly, under his loose dress shirt. the way his folded sleeves ride up every time, and the exposed part of his forearm constantly taunts you to take a peek. you hate that you suddenly become hyperaware of everything he does in that moment. especially his fingers, and the way they tickle the back of your neck, almost touching you but not quite there.

you have to hold back the subtle shudder that sweeps over your body.

it feels like he’s taking up so much space, demanding you to notice him. the way the scent of his cologne wafts over to you, the bergamot and sandalwood notes of it slowly overwhelming your senses. the faint shift in his posture, emphasizing the subtle stretch of his neck, giving you a view of his collarbones and necklace. and the way his lips curve ever so slightly when he speaks, his voice in a low tone, with his eyes flitting over to you momentarily before they’re back on the road.

it has to be intentional, he has to be aware of what he’s doing. “you’re doing this on purpose,” you mutter under your breath, willing yourself to turn away and look out the window.

“doing what on purpose?” he asks, but the mirth in his tone is evident— you can practically hear the tiny smirk that’s splayed on his lips. you’ve concluded that he’s sick in the head, that he’s playing with you right in your face. “i’m just making sure we don’t get into a crash, you baby.” and you willingly fall for it, every time.

nagi seishiro becomes clingy when it's just the two of you.

laying in your lap, while you’re absorbed in your own hobby, is one of nagi’s favorite pastimes. it keeps him close to you, but allows you both to do your own thing. sometimes, he’d take a nap while you work, one hand loosely holding onto yours in his sleep. other times, he’d play video games on his phone, making sure his volume is turned all the way down to not distract you. but most of the time, he likes to just lay there and admire you, with a barely noticeable smile on his lips.

but he becomes somewhat miffed whenever your hair falls in front of your face, blocking his (initially) flawless view of you. and it annoys him more whenever you don’t push it out of the way.

so, he decided to take it upon himself to move it for you, arm lazily stretched up to reach for you. you barely noticed it at first, so absorbed in the book that you were reading. the sensation of his fingers ghosting over your cheeks doesn’t register in your mind, and his touch is barely there. and then you feel it. his fingers are in your hair, gathering the strands on the back of his hand before he’s brushing it out of the way. it’s so gentle, the way he locks your hair behind your ear, and the way his hand lingers a little longer on your skin after. his fingers then travel from your ear to your jawline, finger lightly tracing the side of your jaw, and it makes you curl in on yourself at the feeling. (it tickles, but also oddly comforting.) and then, he’s pulling his arm back down to reach for your wrist instead, fingers wrapping around it.

your skin is tingling, and the surface of your skin feels warm— taken aback by the sudden act of affection. you glance down at him with a curious look, only to see that he’s already staring attentively at you, and you feel his hold on you tighten. “you know,” you begin, “you could’ve just asked me to do it for you.”

"you always get so lost in whatever you're doing," he mumbles slowly, his voice sounding almost whiney at the fact. his hand, the one firmly holding onto your wrist, is traveling up until it’s wiggling the book out of your hand. (you don’t miss the small furrow of his brows when you jokingly grip onto the book, before giving in and letting it fall to the side.) he takes this chance to intertwine your fingers, his larger hands completely enveloping yours. "i don't mind it, but i hate when i can’t see you."

michael kaiser holds intense eye contact with you when you're talking.

at times, you found it hard to talk to kaiser. he's constantly exuding such an intense confidence, one that's often present in his gaze, that you could never truly hold face-to-face conversations with him. you're always shying away from it, crumbling under the intensity, and he finds twisted pleasure in how flustered it makes you. the way the words always die on the tip of your tongue whenever your eyes meet, when you see that his focus is locked on you

it makes you look away, because it's the only thing you can do to escape it. but kaiser doesn't like it when you're looking away from him— he wants your attention. he wants to see you when you talk excitedly about your day.

he’ll get that attention however way he can. from where you're seated on the couch gives him quick access to you. you can feel his tattooed hand crawling up the skin of your thighs, sliding up slowly, leaving a trail of goosebumps as he goes. he stops short of the hem of your shorts, planting his hand firmly on the spot. he gives it a firm squeeze, fingers digging into the plush of your thighs— trying to get you to cave into him. “why won’t you look at me when you talk?” he’s leaning into you, invading your personal space despite the spacious couch. you can feel his breath on the shell of your ear with each word, “mein liebling, i want to see you when you talk. look at me.”

“you can listen to me talk without needing me to look at you,” you swallow, and his grip tightens ever so slightly at your words.

you're shifting awkwardly, trying to ignore the way your heart beats a little faster at the proximity, at the fact that his voice has started to sound almost pleading. almost— because he would never admit to something as desperate as pleading. it’s hard to focus when he’s this close, when he’s right there. his fingers remain on your thigh, tracing deliberate lines over your skin, and despite the way you're trying to resist, you can feel your resolve crumbling.

it’s not every day that you see someone like kaiser be on the precipice of begging for your attention. 

“i promise, i’ll stop teasing you. look—” his other hand is hooking under your chin, coaxing you to look at him. and you do— his eyes, once intense and teasing, now holds a softer and almost guilty looking gaze. “keep talking, yeah?”

oliver aiku likes to loosen his necktie with one hand after a formal event.

neckties are the worst, an opinion oliver will stand by ‘til the end of time. he absolutely despises having to put one on for formal events, and he’ll do his best to charm his way out of having to wear one. it never works, so the second he puts it on, he’s already thinking of the moment he gets to pull it off of himself. he doesn’t think much of it when he does it— one finger looping in the space between his neck and necktie, and he’s pulling at it without care.

but recently, he’s started to notice how intently you’d been staring each time he did it.

oliver’s got a keen-eye; not even the smallest thing can get past him. he drinks in the sight of you when he does it, eyes fixed on you, and taking joy in the fact that you don’t even seem to notice. you’re too busy being fixated on his hand, and the way the vein on his hand becomes prominent when he flexes it to pull, or the way his fingers seem to play around with the fabric. your eyes are so sharp, but somehow so unfocused, all at the same time. he loves how it gets you worked up.

it’s entertaining, so he takes it up a notch.

he drags his fingers, slowly, down to the first button of his shirt. and then he’s unbuttoning it with one hand, putting in extra effort in exposing his collarbones. he can’t fight the grin that makes its way to his lips, at your reaction— your eyes are widening, and he can visibly see you gulp at the sight. and then your eyes are shooting up to meet his, and his grin becomes impossibly wider.

“like what you see?” the teasing and flirtatious lilt in his voice is unmistakable, and you can’t help but draw your eyes back down to where his hand is twirling the tie around his fingers. he makes you tick, but he’s also so attractive, and you hate that he can easily make you blush with his words.

“you wish.” you choose to look away with a scoff, crossing your arms over your chest. “it’s gonna take more than that.” that makes him oddly excited, brows raising in mild surprise, and you honestly should’ve known better. it’s like you’re offering up a new challenge to him, and he gladly accepts.

oliver still hates neckties; that’s an opinion that will never change. he still looks forward to the second he gets to pull it off. except now, he gets to play a little game with you while he does it.

yukimiya kenyu keeps a hand on your back at all times, in public.

it’s a habit formed purely from the fact that the streets of shibuya have the tendency to become really crowded, and yukimiya hates it when you get separated from him in such a crowd. he likes it when you’re right by his side— he can keep a close eye on you at all times and protect you from getting pushed around. and originally, it started off with holding your hands. it was fine during the colder seasons, providing the two of you with extra warmth. but you had both quickly realized that it could become quite uncomfortable during summer, making your hands all sweaty and sticky.

so he experimented. he let his arm drop from your shoulders to the small of your back, his palm hovering over your skin, initially unsure of how you would react.

“is this okay?” he would lean down to whisper in your ear, and his voice was so gentle and so concerned about you. even when he was the one getting shoved around by the crowd, with people constantly running into the sides of his shoulders, he was still only thinking about you. you and your comfort. “tell me if this is uncomfortable, and i’ll figure something else out. okay?”

it made you shiver— you felt a heat crawl up your spine, and your stomach was immediately fluttering with butterflies.

you nod, “no, this is okay.” more than okay, actually, but you keep that to yourself. “thank you for asking.” he flashes you one of his pretty smiles, and he leans up to look straight ahead in the crowd again. but this time, his touch is more present— his palm is now firmly planted onto your skin, and he’s actively weaving you through the crowded streets.

whenever someone would get too close to you, or if he anticipates that someone is about to crash into you, his hand would travel to the side of your waist. and yukimiya grips on it, pulling your body flush against his side, effectively pulling you out of the way. “sorry,” he’ll whisper an apology, not having intended to hold you so tightly. his hands will go right back to where they initially were, not without trailing his fingers on the way back, leaving sparks tingling across your skin where he touched. “did i hurt you?”

“no, i’m fine,” you can keep your hand there, you almost tell him. it drives you insane that everything he does is unintentional— but maybe, one day, you'll be able to tell him exactly what you’re thinking.

© rindreamery, 2024

tags. @choccorin @mininji

[dollfacefantasy]

clark kent x fem!reader cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, car sex, mating press a/n: ummm yeah i need him so bad it makes me ill <3

for as long as you'd known clark, you'd never known him to lose his temper. he was forever-patient, your boyfriend. understanding to almost a frustrating degree. especially with you, his little love.

he was already pretty easy to get along with, but on the rare occasion you did have issues, clark seemed to have a natural instinct for deescalating you. he never raised his voice, never spoke an unkind word about you, never gave you a look harsher than what could be described as stern.

all it took to calm you down was a glimpse of his natural puppy-dog eyes and pretty plush lips. his thick arms would circle around you and hold you to his chest. he'd sway back and forth with you a little, a small smile on his face as you melted into the embrace. whatever semblance of tension or irritation that had been bubbling up easily dissolved into a puddle between the two of your bodies.

so, all that to say, you didn't really believe clark possessed any kind of rough edge or combative instinct. despite his large stature, you couldn't really picture him ever being rough.

that was until tonight.

you and clark had planned to drop by some event at the talon, but your sweet boyfriend had warned you earlier that he found out there'd probably be some trouble there later. some potentially dangerous situation that he wanted you avoiding at all costs. it was for your safety. he just wanted you to stay home where he wouldn't be worried while him and chloe investigated.

but did you listen to him? of course not. you went anyways, not in the mood to listen to his vague explanations as to how he even discovered this information in the first place. you put on a cute little dress with some new shoes you bought specifically for the night and took off.

unfortunately for you, clark had turned out to be right. not even thirty minutes after you arrived, chaos broke out. people flew through walls and glass shattered everywhere, all because of some guy who looked like his body could stretch and bend like a rubberband. it totally sucked. but none of that was even the worst part. you survived the craziness of whatever that person's problem was. the real danger came when the dust settled and you saw clark across the room staring at you.

he looked pissed.

he was at your side in an instant, but closing the distance didn't soften him any. it kind of did the opposite since up close he could see a bloody scrape stretching across your cheekbone.

you could see he was worried first and foremost, but behind that concerned top coat a fire burned. as soon as your small wound had been tended to, his long fingers clasped around your bicep. he pulled you to your feet and all but dragged you out of the coffee shop.

"clark i-" you started in an attempt to explain yourself.

"save it," he said, voice as cold as you'd ever heard it, "i asked you for one thing. that's it. stay home for your own good. don't come out here and pointlessly risk your life."

"it wasn't that bad," you defend weakly.

"but why even take the chance?" he asked with true exasperation, "i shouldn't need to convince you that your safety is more important than whatever they had going on tonight."

he didn't continue the lecture beyond that. just walked with a clenched jaw and motivated stare in the direction of his truck. like always, he opened the door for you when you got there. though this time, he practically scooped you up and dumped you into the car.

he was silent as he drove, fingers tight around the steering wheel. you could practically feel the frustration rolling off of him. the urge to lash out for once was near spilling over. he pulled the car over, and you figured you were really in for it. in a way you were right, just not how you thought.

clark didn't bother yelling, didn't try to start a fight. he glared at you for a few silent seconds before leaning across the seats and crashing his lips against yours. he kissed you like he wanted to steal the breath from your lungs.

after a blur of clothing being shifted around and positioning body parts awkwardly in the confined space, you found yourself in the meanest mating press of your life.

you were folded in half beneath all of clark's weight. the points of your new heels scraped up the truck's ceiling while your knees squished against your chest. little squeaks and whines slipped their way out of you as his tip battered against your cervix. he was so deep you swore you could feel your insides rearranging to make room for him.

"clarkkkk," you mewled before biting your lip, desperately searching for some way to ground yourself. one set of your fingers gripped strands of his dark hair while the other held a fist of his flannel.

"what, baby?" he panted. for once, clark wasn't fawning over you between thrusts. he wasn't cooing or praising you for taking him so well. instead, he had his face against your neck and his hands wrapped around your waist, bucking into your dripping heat with enough force to rock the car.

you tried to force out words to convey what you were thinking. too big. too much. so deep. harder. faster. none of those made it though. only choked moans and then a sharp squeal when he rolled his hips and struck that extra-sensitive sweet spot inside you.

"someone's gonna see if they drive by," you whimpered, squirming underneath him.

"maybe you should hold still then and let me finish, huh?" he grunted, "no one's gonna see. everyone's in town dealing with the mess from tonight. the one i told you was gonna happen."

"i didn't think-"

"i know you didn't," he interrupted, "didn't use that pretty little head at all, did you?"

words of defense eluded you right now, his nonstop thrusts keeping your mind cloudy. instead you chose to whine, your lip quivering he rolled his hips deeper yet again.

"oh yeah?" he asked, as if you'd said something coherent.

you opened your mouth again to speak, to really argue back this time, but you were cut off by your own desperate cry when his hands tugged you closer and speared you even further on his cock. you could feel him grinning against your neck at the noise.

"i know, baby. i know you're sorry. you don't have to explain. thinking's too hard for you right now, yeah?" he cooed, his tone bordering on mocking.

your pout got more severe but so did the needy sounds escaping your mouth. you felt those long fangs of his scrape against your throat. his tongue then glided across the area, making you shudder.

"clark-" you tried to say something else, but he cut you off. he raised his head up and kissed you deep again, swallowing the words right from your mouth. when he pulled back for air, he rested his sweaty forehead against yours.

"you can be such a brat," he breathed, "so much whining even though i know you love this."

the truck creaked as his movements continued to jostle it. you felt his breath fanning across your face and watched as his eyes fluttered shut. you knew he was getting close, but so were you. your cunt squeezed around him rhythmically, coaxing him too the edge along with you.

"you gonna cum, baby?" he finally muttered against your lips.

you nodded eagerly, more than ready to release. it only took a few more hard thrusts to get you there, and clark followed along no problem. in the afterglow, he laid on top of you for a minute or so, trapping you in a cage of searing body heat.

when he finally did sit up, the two of you fixed your clothes and stretched your limbs. he looked over at you with more tenderness. your boyfriend's gentle temperament had seemingly returned with the relief his peak brought.

he cupped your jaw with his fingers, looking over that cut on your face. leaning in, he gave it a small kiss before starting up the car again.

"i'm just trying to look out for you, you know? just... please listen next time. i don't know what i'd do if you got hurt. you had me worried sick."

"i will. i'm sorry i scared you," you replied softly. your eyes studied the loving look in his eyes and the way his features seemed so at peace now that all his adrenaline was out of his system.

you grabbed his hand across the seats and traced little patterns on his knuckles for the drive home. he let you play with his fingers but shot you a glance.

"i'm serious. next time you get involved with something like that i won't let you off so easy," he teased.

you smiled and nodded, wanting to put his mind at ease. though in the back of your mind, a small part of you considered trying again some time, just to see what "not so easy" looked like to him.

[waestlandbaby]

Something that stood out to me in my aftg reread was how unhinged the upperclassmen actually are.

Matt fucking Boyd and his willingness to absolutely go at anyone, anywhere, any time. There's a scene where Kevin tells him to foul another player on the opposing team and Neil specifically points out the unrepentant grin he has on his face as he waltzes off court after it happens. He also is described as the best player on the foxes line up multiple times by Neil and his play style is aggressive, he uses his height and build to his advantage and he doesn't hold back.

Allison and Andrew have the exact same style of serving cunt, in that if you don't interest them they will not even acknowledge your existence. A player from another team attempted to score on the goal and both Allison and Andrew stood still and watched them miss with such bitchy indifference it probably gave that player ptsd. They also both have a habit of cutting through bullshit and demanding truth ESPECIALLY regarding topics other people would shy away from. Badass blonde bombshells.

Dan Wilds is just as rabid about Exy as Kevin and her every first thought goes to the game first just like Kevin. She's just better at making her second thought go to something else. She literally knew the second Seth was out of the picture that there was an opportunity there and she didn't even really hesitate to talk to Matt about it. She looked at Neil and whatever fucked up little thing he had going on with Andrew (as it would have looked to an outsider, let's remember that they all knew Andrew took him to Columbia and drugged him) and was like, how can we use this to make the team stronger. Like Nicky used Neil to manipulate Andrew but Dan did it better and with much more calculation.

Renee I don't even really need to talk about because Neil was always wary of her but there is one scene where Neil let's slip about his father's penchant for knives and Renee's reaction and understanding gave me chills. Renee uses that part of her to protect and that's really great because she would be terrifying otherwise.