#my past self knew things i do not know now

[sneepity-snoop-snorpity-sneep]

I'ma be real with y'all, I don't think America's massive size and the financial costs of travel are the biggest contributors to the attitudes we have here that make other countries go like

the provincial thing is honestly a fair statement, in the same vein as holding americans who voted for trump accountable - there are bigger reasons for both, but that doesn't minimize how much a lot of americans cultivate and maintain their ignorance to feel more comfortable.

I'd say more legitimate things to mention when talking about american's very self-centric attitudes towards global happenings are things like: the US media deliberately keeps up the image of the United States as a strong, independent world power who don't need no allies, aka the fact that when other countries send us aid in natural disasters or other Big Uh-Ohs, it generally isn't reported by large news outlets. I never knew for years that multiple people, both individuals and organized efforts by various other countries, would send aid to the US when we'd be hit by big hurricanes, fires, and other bad shit

the other day a coworker and I were talking about the recent swan-dive of relations between america and canada and they scoffed at the notion that canada has a military too, and that they also participated in conflicts like the mess in the middle east after 9/11 - But I can't disdain my coworker that much, cuz I didn't know this either until very recently. I'll bet you most americans don't know about the Article 5 collective defense clause NATO has, which was only ever invoked once, on America's behalf after the 9/11 attack, and had multiple countries sending troops to Afghanistan alongside US forces. Canada specifically sent out over 40 thousand. the US as an entity does nOT like to acknowledge when foreign aid has been helpful, and just that kind of 'we pretend we do not see it' attitude does a lot of quiet heavy lifting to influence american attitudes towards the international community.

Additionally, although its more common now than it has been in the past for americans to watch movies and tv from overseas, I'd guess most americans still mostly only watch media centered around american culture, or at least western, english-speaking media (Harry Potter and the Sherlock series are two non-american examples). Now, that's a little weird, considering how much of our media is marketed and consumed around the globe. the US has a LOT of soft power, but we don't import fiction from other places at nearly the same rate. So you end up with this weird correlation between a lot of folks overseas having some idea of american culture while the americans in question have very little exposure or knowledge of anybody else's culture

i mean I've come across quite a few pointed threads or comments online from people overseas about how entitled and aggravating american tourists can be, and I think this is part of why: americans are deliberately presented with a POV that centers them, while not addressing the interconnectedness of modern life in a first world country, and a lot of folks just don't have the curiosity or feel a need to investigate that. add to that the fact that america doesn't really push learning second languages in schools, and many americans won't ever travel overseas, AND that we only share borders with 2 other nations so we don't get a lot of land-based travel from other countries like you see in europe, and its not really all that shocking that the american people don't really grasp how the US fits in to international politics and going-ons

none of this is an excuse. honestly I think the best you can hope for from some americans if you call us out for this is a "well I never actually thought about it all", which is a pretty lackluster defense (i mean, all the moments for me personally where I went "what was i thinkin- oh wait I didn't think" have NOT been my finest), and unfortunately for a fair portion of people, there's a dependence on this worldview and a resulting emotional backlash when its challenged. Basically when a population is propagandized as much as the US is, realistically you don't get a bunch of doe-eyed innocents who mean well but don't know any better, you get a population with a high percentage of people who hold onto said propagandized image as part of their identity and act like ASSHOLES to any info that doesn't fit what they've already been told

its not that the americans you think of when you imagine the ignorant, entitled americans couldn't do/be better - its that people WON'T try to be doing better than they currently are if they believe 'better' is what's in front of them right now so there's no need to improve it

[goldenjj]

You’re Beautiful, The Mirror Is Lying

Pairing: JJ Maybank & female!reader

Genre: comfort, fluff

Synopsis: JJ comforting his girlfriend who is unhappy with how she looks after staring in a mirror too long.

CW: body image struggles

One of those days where you just felt the sadness taking over—you didn’t know why but there you were, standing in front of the mirror. Tears running down your face at the sight of yourself. You didn’t like it. This didn’t happen often but you just suddenly found yourself staring at the reflection too long.

Analyzing your own body, every part you found imperfect from your head to your toes. The mirror liked play tricks on you though, distorting, the more you focused on it.

You were dressed in your pajama set, shorts and a tank top due it being summer. The heat had been scorching lately so you had no choice. You usually preferred covering up more because, while you didn’t always do this—stare and tear up, you still weren’t the most confident of people.

But there was someone who constantly tried to ease those worries. A sweet and charming blond haired boy with pretty blue eyes named JJ Maybank—he was your boyfriend for the past six months and when he realized you were somewhat shy and self-conscious, he always tried to shower you with affection.

You sometimes couldn’t help but wonder why JJ picked you because he was hot, to say the least. He could have anyone he wanted but he picked you.

It was heartbreaking how you didn’t see your own beauty and let your mind mess with you.

Taken out of your teary trance, the bedroom door opened wide; as if sensing something off, there he was.

He thought you were taking too long, longer than usual, to get ready and come down.

“Baby, what’s—” He paused at the sight of your tears. At first, it didn’t click until you quickly turned from the mirror (and from him, your back facing his view) and started wiping them away, trying to act fine because you felt so silly for it.

“S—sorry, I just…” You trailed off, quickly trying to search your brain for an excuse but he knew now.

In an instant after you let out those shaky words, you felt strong arms wrap around your waist from behind—his chin resting on your shoulder, “you’re beautiful.”

You froze a little, feeling your heartbeat go a little crazy at that—but you also gulped, letting out a soft sigh after. Wondering if maybe he was just saying that because you felt like a baby now.

Again, JJ might not always have been the best at these things or the most witty with words per se but he already knew you pretty well. He just wants to comfort his pretty girlfriend who’s too blind to see it and is letting everything confuse her. She needed reassurance and he was fine in doing that with her. She was different from the type of girls he was used to, the ones more confident and loud—for that reason, he found himself quickly protective over her.

Even if he had to fight her own brain.

“The mirror is lyin’ to ya, darlin’. You better listen to your boyfriend, who knows better.”

She listened to him and he lifted his head off, slowing letting go slightly but only to turn her around to face him. He took a hand to brush away any remaining tears or wetness in general, drying her up—making sure his calloused and roughened hand treated her as if she were glass. He could be rugged but he made sure to be gentle with her.

“It’s always lyin’, damn bastard. Should punch that dang mirror, huh? Making my pretty ass girlfriend sad, tch.”

That cracked a small smile on your face which made his blue eyes light up in glee. He was funny and had a cute side to him, despite being one of the hottest looking guys around who got into fights, being a loose cannon. He had a golden heart reserved just for you and you were glad you got to see it.

“Yeah, there’s my pretty smile.” A grin forming as he leaned in, giving light pecks to your face; making you let out giggles. All your previous feelings about your body vanishing like the wind.

“Pretty soundin’ laugh too,” He mumbled, lips pressed against your cheek.

“JJ… thank you.”

“Nah, don’ thank me for tellin’ the truth… you’re fuckin’ stunnin’ and I dunno how I landed you but shit, am I lucky…” Murmuring with that Southern accent, while still putting kisses all over your face—he was attacking you with affection. You were still a little giggly but his words hit you hard.

“I’m lucky… for having you in my life, JJ.”

Everything he thought about you, you thought about him. He had flaws but such beauty to him, more depth than anyone ever bothered to realize. Someone who didn’t always know how to handle his own feelings but tried, for you. Seeing as you were his safe space and someone he wanted to cherish—he was able to open up his heart, surprising himself at how he gave it to you. No regrets however.

A secret just for the two of you—he couldn’t have his street rep ruined, of course.

“I dunno about that,” His low tone still mumbling out words as he decided to press a light kiss to your lips.

“Just happy you’re mine. Gonna keep remindin’ you how beautiful you are until one day, you see exactly what my eyes are seeing.”

His hands moved, trailing down your body as if they were worshipping every single inch which made you blush so much. He started trailing down kisses from your neck, collarbone to the arms then going down, tender love boy kisses on your thighs.

“Beautiful… everywhere… and all mine.”

If you weren’t blushing like a tomato, having your heart pump out of its chest and feeling all giddy—you might have teared up again but happily.

“And don’ think you’re a burden, aight? We’re gon’ build that confidence together, sweetheart.”

He really knew how to make these days better. Those hands and lips, still worshipping you like you were a Goddess. Moving back up, cupping your face in his hands now as the kisses ceased. Staring at you like all his prayers were heard, even though he never prayed in his life.

You pressed your lips against his, a bit shyly but sweetly. A wide smile tugging at his lips when he felt it; your way of showing him you appreciate him. But when you gave an inch? He took a mile and you loved that about him too because soon, his lips were hungrily chasing after yours. Arms wrapping around you as he tapped your thigh, indicating you to jump so he can lift you. You hesitated so he tapped again, firmer.

You listened to him and he lifted you up—your legs wrapping around his waist as he continued passionately kissing you like you were the air he needed to breathe.

All the love was bursting through, no insecurities in that moment there. Just you and JJ, loving each other.

[halotica]

hi everyone, i wrote this short essay about time and the self that means a lot to me, if anyone here wants to read it :)

I went to an arcade today. a "retrocade", filled with 30% beaten up machines and the rest innumerously similar to one another. it was interesting, modern yet not. i saw games i've only heard spoken of or seen in youtube videos, games that i forgot, games that had been desecrated and left as cardboard husks, no screen, empty gun slots, abandoned because the parts weren't worth the cost. the guy at the entrance, the owner i believe, wouldn't stop talking about how there were no modern games, no 2000's "junk" just the 90's 80's and 70's. wouldn't stop making cocaine jokes either. he was a chill guy, but his reality felt trapped- joyously transfixed in one time, one space, pulling others into his truth.

i almost threw up at the end. it felt like a hotbox of flesh and subsuming meatwarmth.

i called my girlfriend, speaking for the first time in almost a year. she asked "who are you" when i messaged, and i had to agonizingly explain the multiple ego deaths and almost-real deaths that led to such a change in existence and expression. i couldn't believe she still loves me, it was like talking to a portal through time. like i was looking through a rift, back into the pov of that scared girl exploring the rotting parts of toronto, loving every terrified second of it. and the rift only let me look at the girl who dragged me along through it all. i wouldn't have gotten here without her, for better or (and, really) for worse. she gave me our memories back, filled me with a past. like there was a bottle of lightning in my heart, carrying thousands of volts of lives that could've been, and a single crack let it seep out. my body didn't stop shaking for an hour. all i could think of was everything she went through, how i could've been there, how i could've held her into the stability she now has. but then again, she recognized the utter dissonance between the me now and the girl then, she spoke of us with the same fondness while her voice twinged with, either curiosity or confusion im not sure. she told me she never stopped missing me. i told her the same. i left that reality to crumble because i thought i was already dead once i left it, but now i am alive, and i know otherwise. pulling bits and pieces that i desire, leaving the rest where they should lie.

no matter what she said about the past about the new about how things have become, you can't reach your hand through the rift. if i go back to toronto, which i am considering more by the day, it will never be the same. and i'm glad for that. "the ___ you knew is not the same ___" i know, sister, neither are any of us. you will never be the exact same girl that taught me how to two-step, how to love fully, how to make a mark. but if i can i'll come back and i'll hold you as new, and we'll exist for what we are now, no melancholic hesitation, no dreamy life huddled together in that streetcar headed towards the end of the bay, the end of what may be everything. this life will be this life until we die and then there's another. if there's anything i've learned through rebirth, it's that you can't escape time, but time is not an antagonist. time coddles you, time begs you to understand, even though you can't. time is always there, leading you to something, anything. you can do anything inside of time, it's a comforting blanket when you can feel the veil. when you know that time will always be there, until the end, you know that you must respect it, and do what you can with time as your eternal company, until it shows itself, and sits with you until the moribund rot sets in.

if my girlfriend messages me tomorrow as we said, i'll be overjoyed. if she doesn't, i'll still be Halo, i'll still be Trance, and the memories of her and the girl she knew, fighting in the back of the Cruel Intent pit where only the merch guys and the band members could see us, will still be here. and the memories will never be lost, or take over, memories are time, showing us its face. it wants us to see, that it has been here, and still is, it wants us to look it in the eyes and make new memories with it. memories are the only true motivational tales.

5 years ago today, i was three lives separated from now. even the twinges of feminization had barely reached me. the memories then are desaturated and cold. time has decided to relieve me of them, until i need them to see that it won't leave.

2 years ago, i was closest to a self than ever before. i cut my hair for the first time since COVID, i lived on my own for the first time ever, i was medicated for the first time, and had estrogen for a few months. it felt like life. and it fell as quickly as it came. time followed along, it kept those memories so i'll always know the catalyst of all catalysts, and know that they keep coming. life is a never-ending crux point, a point of damnating decisions. many think they come and go, but events are put in amber as they happen, dragged along like a rock. but i don't have to be the one to carry that rock, to let it chain me. you can let time carry it, it wants to be your pack mule, so you can carry yourself without the need for assistance. though you will need assistance, even time misunderstands. it will warp your memories to suit your needs, but isn't that so much better than living in pocket realities of space and time. i enjoy travelling through the pockets i'm given, knowing more realities will show themselves to me, will fade into this one until the previous is gone like the wind, dissipated until it can only be felt in the changing air, the heat transferring into me, being held on by my pores. another to be carried by my forever confidant.

now, in the hardest place i've been in in my life, i know it simultaneously is not that. there is no point of rock bottom or a peak of all peaks. this pocket, like every, expands with each second, entropy will find its victim, and i will be shot into a new continuum. dead and yet alive.

so it goes.

by the time that things are noticeably different, they will be entirely familiar. dozens of generations of cockroaches have died since i was a scared 15 year old, in my second-to-last year of high school, asking the lesbian from my therapy group if i was "allowed" to be transgender. they have all experienced time in its entirety, is that not a wondrous release, even for a creature as miniscule as such? they live, they go from house to house, or food source to food source. do you think they see the change from feasting on a rotten apple under the fridge for a month into feasting on the remains of chinese food on a fetid living room table, as a change of utter truth, a life-changing dissonance of realities? we are all in our own, and yet we can fill each other's with air, increase the space, further the movement of entropy, further the cause into the effect, take and give until the bubble pops, and the next one comes to subsume us.

i feel like i should've used up my 90 minutes ive given myself to write this by now. i guess time still wants me to keep going. i could talk to you forever, black text background plastered over the neonic glitch-effected image of some random anime girl. this feels like a reality in its own. for tomorrow will be another drop, as always, leading into a rise. like a roller-coaster, we are at the pinnacle, the daily crux, the climactic orgasmic influx of thought into the idea of the heart that is held inside the mind, and we drop, into the reality of screaming fear. maybe it will lead into a slow plateau for a while, maybe it will rise, maybe it will loopdeeloop and we'll have the most fun we've had in our lives. maybe i can have it all. scratch that, i will have it all. and if time can't stop me—which i know it would never—then nothing can. even as the feelings of that teenage boy from that bubble of time tries to mix into mine, i will take it and i will feel it and will touch her growing hair and i will braid it for the first time and i will tell her it will be okay. things will get so much worse, and things will get so much better, and you will find a self through any of it, you will never be the nothing you think you are, you will not only become so much, you will become so many. you will experience the lives of a girl, a woman, the boy you never got to be, a bug, a dog, a specter and a willing participant both. you will cry and you will cum and you will scream and you will fight and you will die and you will punch and kick and live even when you die. time is here, i am here, that ‘boy’ is here alongside me, and i will never be her again, but maybe i will be a different her in a year, or a month, or even years, but no matter what, i will *be*.

in 2 years i hope to have novels out. i hope to have started a foray into much more than this, games, films, mixed media of all i've learned. but if i haven't, then that is simply another reality that will crawl alongside me, like lines ever-so-slightly unparalleled, waiting to meet and dissolve into each other’s being. anything can happen. everything will happen. even doing nothing but waiting is a deeply consequential decision, one of the most. doing nothing when you are at the crux is no more than another plateau on the roller coaster. you are going to fall, whether you cover your eyes or not. and then the rise will come again, and so will the loops. and don't you want to have your eyes open for that? you will experience a thousand drops, and a thousand climbs, and none will be less vital than the last. you need to keep your eyes open throughout the wind. don't you wanna look at all the faces you made on the camera at the end? at every differing face you wore? a collage of every death and every life and every half-hearted dissociative fugue and every piece you created while crying and screaming is waiting for you to see, you won't be able to be the creator forever. i have been given the power of a god. to create as much as i can until the light fizzles, and then to create even more in the dark, until my hands grow weary and my fingers give in, bursting with caustic fluid and and leaving my reality. and then, i can hold them all. i will have everything.

time is my right-hand man, my little eunuch advisor, whether scheming or telling truths, i love her. and i'm going to drag her around on a leash until we reach the volcano, then i'm gonna throw every twink i could've been inside it, then i'm gonna watch, and i'm gonna turn to time, and i'll say "pretty funny, right?" and we'll laugh. and we'll sit by the heat with no suits, letting it peel away every layer. the girls and boys in my head who have told every me many things, who have driven me to this point, will wither as i huff the caustic fluids seeping from time's wounds, and i'll feel every reality that once existed within and without me, with each of their deaths, and i'll say "pretty funny, right?" and i will take one last drop into the final, into the last face of my realities. and time won't be there to hold me anymore. i will.

and i will know, i have had everything.

[outrunningthedark]

And this is why I lost respect for Tim and Oliver. They both knew Ryan didn't want to do the Buddie storyline, and seemingly neither does the network, but they kept stringing people along.

Kept giving, well, you never know where the story might lead. Now people are pissed at Ryan, because he's the only one that was honest. Buddie was never gonna happen.

Never let an Oliver Stark Apologist try to convince you he's shut down Buddie in the same way as Ryan when these words came out of his mouth in November: "Listen, people are going to interpret characters, and they should, however they want to. I have no doubt that some people will interpret him saying that he’s straight as him hiding his true self. I don’t know where the story’s going to go. Maybe that is the case." [via TVLine]

That, my friends, is a liar who is lying. He knew. And you know when he knew? When he got offered the coming out story line because Ryan didn't see it for Eddie. He knew (and knows) every time Ryan talked about allowing two men to have a close bond without making it about sexuality and attraction. But he left that door open! Just a crack! Because if HE'S not the one saying "Sorry, guys, I don't think it's happening" HE'S not the one getting the backlash. As for Timothy? We're nearly a year past the realization that Queer Eddie was considered - and denied - and Tim has still been doing his damnedest to bait the Buddie shippers by writing things like karaoke scene (that the editors had to remove) and Abby references to "parallel" Eddie leaving (that the network wanted no part of). It's...interesting to see people say he loves Ryan (I do think he's weird about him, and his looks) because would a show runner who loves and respects an actor continuously put said actor in a position where he has been the only one - until very recently, and we'll see if it continues - to tell it like it is and not lead the fandom on? 🤔

[athenaeum-of-the-herald]

Addressing the Drama Against my Will (Old)

Note: I no longer associate myself with the people involved nor feel comfortable discussing them or the drama. This post will be deleted at my discretion.

Oh, how I'm so sick of my name coming up in call-out posts on this app it's actually so weird to me.

I don't like talking about drama on my blog because I literally just wanna talk about helpol stuff. I have ONE post talking about ONE drama about my old server on my page despite the (for some reason???) dozen of posts these people have on me. I've avoided doing so because regardless of my emotional state, I didn't feel right naming names because it didn't feel good having mine said over and over again. But at this point, I'm a bit tired of it all. So I'll respond to this once and then ask that they genuinely leave me alone and keep my name off of their blog.

Hi, I'm Lottie! I used to go by Poppy but changed my name partially due to a shift in my gender identity, but also because the name "Poppy" was tied to a lot of these posts and a not so great past. I'm the ex owner of the Acropolises, a helpol discord server. As a few people know, the Acropolises was deleted which I talked a little bit about in this post. Funny enough, I've been a bit inactive both on discord and tumblr due to the emotional stress and toll this took on me. My mental health has been discussed quite a bit between these people so I'll talk about it myself. I have diagnosed depression, ADHD, and anxiety. I've had to take frequent breaks offline due to this, and sometimes talking to people is difficult. I'm genuinely not sure what this "online breakdown" is coming from when I haven't really been...online? But that's a little weird to me. Truly, you have no reason to discuss my mental health, or even me when I haven't been in communication with ANY of you since the server was deleted. I can only imagine it's because a discord status I posted today made you a little upset. We'll get to that in a bit.

• 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬 •

I'll admit, I was in over my head when I made The Acropolises. It grew really big really fast and I definitely wasn't prepared for what that entailed. I made an attempt to appease everyone and when it hindered the validity of the server with all growth of misinformation and cliques, it became something too deep rooted for me to handle.

The Acropolises was deleted when a close friend of mine joined the server of wingsofaphrodite. I didn't join the server myself, even though they were someone I considered like a younger siblings, because I had just come out of a spat with one of our former mutual friends altis-of-olympia (another thing I will touch on in a bit). I offered to stay out of the server to keep the peace and not make anyone uncomfortable, but out of support I recommended the server to several friends, one of which joined because of how highly I spoke of them. However, he came back to me with acreenshots of several of these "friends" of mine and a handful of my server members talking about me. Altis will claim that the screenshots were "taken out of context" but honestly, I don't know what kind of additional context I need for these.

If this isn't shit talking behind my back, I don't know what is. One of you outright said I worshipped an egregore (a priestess, mind you. Unbeknownst to them, apparently, that egregores aren't a thing in our religion). And while I knew that wasn't true, it threw me into a dizzy and nauseating state of self-doubt and hate. It took me turning to a well-known and trusted sorcerer of ancient greco-egyptian polytheism to confirm otherwise for me. THIS is why The Acropolises was deleted. I no longer felt safe in the space I created.

Now, it'll be heavily claimed that my staff team was steeped in favoritism. Which I will admit is partially true. However, that favoritism was heavily tied to Wings and Altis. As I started attempting to fix things in the server, cracks began forming in my staff team. Mainly due to me agreeing a lot with one of my admins who is also a close friend. This admin wasn't particularly liked by this group simply because they didn't agree with a lot of what they wanted and wanted to ensure that the server stayed on the path of reconstructionalist helpol. Which I agreed with. This was often seen as combative with no leeway for argument when looking back on it, it was simply them doing their job as an admin. However, I allowed (primarily) Altis to run amok in my server with little to no consequences simply I saw him as a friend and tend to have blinders on, thinking any issues can be resolved with a small discussion. This proved to not be the case.

• 𝐀𝐥𝐭𝐢𝐬 •

The night Altis and I stopped being friends came from when I felt called to do a reading about a member of my server. The reading itself initially confused me until I realized it was for Altis from King Zeus, in reference to his behavior in my server. When he asked me what behavior I had an issue with that prompted the reading, the following conversation ensued:

Altis had displayed a concerning amount of misinformation when it came to priesthood in my server, scaring several members, and when I confronted him about it, he became incredibly defensive and belittled my priestesshood. Never once did I claim King Zeus was angry at him. I actually directly said He wasn't.

It then came to my attention that several members of the server had complained about Altis and his friends to my admin, feeling belittled and snubbed by him constantly in the server to the point where many of them left or chose not to interact in the server anymore. And none of them felt comfortable coming to me as the server owner because I had allowed him to do so, and we were friends, which is completely understandable. I did nothing to fix this issue and when I did I had realized it was too late. I had allowed him on my staff team, despite the majority of them voting against it, because I felt personally responsible for their opinion of him. I had green lit many of his outburst and wanted to prove that he wasn't this egotistical know-it-all. Altis hated my staff team, yet wanted to be on it hard enough to fight for it and join it.

• 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐧 •

So what has brought us here, to this post? Well, a discord status. Particularly, this one.

I made this status today when I was told by ANOTHER friend that Altis was STILL talking about me. Which is weird. We haven't spoken since the whole fiasco happened. And I find it quite silly that when I make this status, suddenly he feels the need to post about me. So let's talk about this status, and altis of olympia.

Altis, as quite a few of you may know, is now a "graduated" priest of Zeus. This is something I have a few issues with. Mainly because, Altis is about as inexperienced in priesthood as one can be. Almost dangerously so. Altis's focus on priesthood under King Zeus as an oathkeeper has completely trumped and overshadowed the basics of priesthood. A part of priesthood is practice, and putting that practice into action. While my priesthood may involve me occasionally delivering messages from the gods (I'll talk about this in a bit), it is the smallest and most mental aspect of what I do. It is the aspect I talked about most often because my server enjoyed discussing readings and divination as a whole.

However, it is maybe 2% of my work as a priestess. I perform rituals and thuein according to the ancient rites (ethically). I have learned and done cledonomancy. I have created ceremony scripts, memorized hymns, and ancient Greek magic for Hermes. I have an upcoming festival in His honor.

These are SOME of the essential aspects of modern-day priesthood, and these are things I can't imagine Altis has learned or even was aware of, considering he doesn't even know how to perform a consecration ceremony (the illustrious "graduation").

Mind you, "graduation" and "tasks" are not official terms in priesthood. They're words I used simply because I have ADHD and couldn't think of what to call them in them moment, but continued to use for the sake of consistency and also they itched my ADHD brain nicely.

Altis also has a server dedicated to priesthood, which is incredibly interesting considering he's only been in training for 3 months, not nearly long enough to claim his level of expertise. This server itself lacks cited sources and resources, which is PIVOTAL if you intend to teach others. 3 months of "experience" for training under a god you RECENTLY started worshipping, makes no sense. You simply aren't qualified.

In this, I know my own short training will be brought up. My priestess training was completed within a month. However, my circumstances were very different.

I have been researching the Theoi since middle school. It was in my late middle school and high school years that I began actively worshipping the Theoi. And I worshipped them ALL, with a favor towards Hermes because He was a particular favorite. It was during my last year of high school that I realized worshipping all of the hellenic gods equally simply wasn't viable and I decided to dedicate more time to relearning all of my bad habits as a hellenic polytheist. At this time I stopped worshipping Hermes and instead after a year of exclusively researching without worship, I decided to worship Ares, Aphrodite, and Zeus.

It was in this time that I began properly learning divination centered around the gods. I learned how to invoke the gods I worshipped and communicate with Them and did so under King Zeus's guidance. I had always been good with divination as I frequently spoke with spirits, and learning different methods of divination under the guidance of Zeus taught me a lot. When I turned 21, I took my first visit to Greece to visit His temple and dedicated my life to Him and the Theoi.

I took some time to deconstruct my Christian upbringing and fully pledged myself to hellenic polytheism. In these 6 years as a hellenic polytheist, I repeatedly visited Greece, learned from many of my Greek helpol friends, and developed a solid foundation in my religion.

All of this backstory is important to make the point that I had established my foundation as a priestess over years of research. Even as I currently mentor under a priestess, it has all been refreshers and things I had learned myself over the years. And of course I've still learned a lot, but if anything, it has just confirmed the path I was already on. My training under Lord Hermes was brief because I had already learned the path and how to navigate it.

As far as I'm aware and have seen, Altis does not have this background. While he has 9 years of learning the religion, very little of it seems to be related to priesthood until very very recently (ie the past 3 months).

My server no longer exists, and I have barely been online. There is truly no reason why these people should still be talking about me.

Altis, however, has an actively misinformed server for young and aspiring priests. So fix your own issues before you attempt to correct mine.

Never once did I use my priestesshood as a tool for power, I ACTIVELY AND CONSTANTLY stated that the title held no power and could be taken away easily. To believe otherwise would be hubris. And to say I claimed to say who was and wasn't a priest when he actively had a "priestx confirmation spread" is genuinely wild. My "bingo card" was a clear joke. And he knows it was a joke.

• 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐈'𝐦 𝐎𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐭 •

Truthfully, I could go on. I could talk about how much of Altis's foundation for priesthood came from me and then for mindless with his ego. I could be petty and talk about how I supported him so openly that I bought him 2 oracle decks for King Zeus. I could talk about how he can't source why priests worked under one epithet at a time or how he allegedly claims that now multiple gods are giving him "tasks."

But I won't, because honestly, I hope he reflects and grows from this. I hope he reads this and Googles some of the priest duties I listed above to learn what they are and their importance and how to perform them. And I hope he checks his ego and learns how to take criticism. I don't intend to be friends with him again, I simply want him to never mention me again. I have a LONG list of asks talking about their experiences with him that I choose not to answer because I see no reason to. I ask for the same decency. Leave me alone.

And Marie/wayfind-er too. You've made like 90% of the posts on me. I directly went to you and asked you to stop because people were harassing me and my friends in my asks and how damaging it was fo my mental health. I BEGGED you to stop posting about me.

You told me block you if I didn't like it and you won't stop.

For that, you're weird. Don't preach xenia if you're actively choosing to be a bully.

Anyways, you're all blocked, and I have no interest in discussing this further. I've said all I needed to. And if you see typos, no, you didn't. This is too long to spell check ✋️😔

Khairete, and safe travels ♡

Small addition: Altis says no one should look up to me. I agree. I'm still learning just like everyone else. Hellenic polytheism is never-ending research. I'm still a student working towards my BA im ancient religion and history and working towards becoming an archivist. I have NO credentials. I simply love to research and share what I've learned

[deathssubstitute]

At his question, Ichigo would only smile. "It's the fact that when you react to me I dunno, it's kind of funny to me I guess. You seem kind of confused half the time by some of the things I say." Which was kind of fair considering he wasn't human and didn't exactly talk like one either. He was an arrancar and therefore was now learning those all too human ways through himself. A person who wasn't exactly all human himself but a casual mish mash of other things as well ontop of his reaper powers and such. "But it's fine because I'm sure eventually you'll be up to speed and probably know more human based lingo than even I do and be able to crack a response right back at me."

"I guess that's pretty understandable. But at least she heard you out." Ichigo knew that being apologized to over something like that would take some time to process. He knew that just standing beside Grimmjow like this now was something that his past self would have never believed. Them? friendly? A former enemy who had wanted to toss him all over the sand and honestly did. "It'll take some time I think for everyone post everything that's happened honestly. I'm still sometimes getting over all of it to be honest."

Ichigo was glad that hurdle was behind them as he moved on to talking about the foods in question. "Oh okay. I see you planning out the options very well then. I'd be fine with any of those honestly. We'll just have to see what they have the store, what's good or what might be on sale for us to get a good deal on. That's half the fun of going to the store anyway is getting some good deals." Or at least that's what his sisters told him anyway. And sometimes even his dad did too. "I'll pass them along to them too. I'm sure they wouldn't mind having some other options to eat too."

Ichigo would chuckle softly. "Sounds good then. Let her explain it to you. She's notorious for giving good hugs too herself. Though her grip on me could be a little bit---better when she hugs me." Nelliel had squeezed him pretty bad back then when she had found her adult form. His spine hadn't exactly recovered too well from all of that to be honest. "That's fair, honestly all of the politics stuff isn't for me either you know? I'd rather just go and show others I mean business in other ways. Plus I'm not exactly the best with my words at times honestly."

"Oh there're plenty who try to mouth off to me, 's quite fun to put them in their places with a bit of Reiatsu," Grimmjow would grin at that admission, though it likely came as literally no surprise that he'd find such a situation amusing. He'd always been a bit sadistic though he didn't like killing Hollows for disobeying but they didn't need them evolving into Arrancar in the future and deciding to be assholes to the others or trying to incite a rebellion of some sort. "What's so fun about teasin' me, Kurosaki?" He knew banter was common with friends but the back and forth teasing they were already doing was beyond that. It was doubtful either man realized that though.

He'd listen as Ichigo said that Rukia likely forgave him, he wasn't too sure, but he also didn't know the tiny Soul Reaper all that well. He'd apologized to her and essentially promptly left her alone afterward. The silence between them had made him feel awkward and he didn't like that feeling. It was strange. "I'll take yer word for it. I dunno her at all myself and the silence between us had made me feel really weird so I wound up leavin' after a few minutes of it." He had a feeling that was how any sane person would have reacted to a long silence after an apology but he wasn't really what anyone would consider sane.

He'd only heard that Ichigo had done something to defeat Aizen, though he wasn't aware the man was still alive, and that was probably a good thing. He had no good memories of working beneath that man, even as far as Hollows went what he'd gone through was severely fucked up. He'd likely never really talk about his time as an Espada though. He wouldn't want anyone to pity him. "Not sure what yer thankin' me for but yer welcome." He'd shrug momentarily the conversation was going smoothly all things considered, even if they were teasing one another at the most random times. He'd chuckle as Ichigo spoke of the processed salt and sugar content in whatever his father fed him as he was growing up. "Alright, I'll write a few different recipes down, some'll take rice noodles, others might take rice, or even potatoes, somethin' like that for diversity." He knew Japanese cuisine was typically heavy on the rice or rice noodles, but potatoes would probably work well with a few of the dishes he had in mind.

"We can figure out what protein we'd like to use for the dish, the one I'm thinkin' would work well with chicken or beef, but I can use somethin like tofu too." As long as it could hold or be coated in the sauce it'd work pretty well, so he supposed pork might work too if that's what Ichigo chose. He'd resume listening to the other speak, humming in recognition as necessary, though he'd also respond verbally whenever the other wasn't talking. Rather than talking over him or something along those lines. "I mean, affection... is kinda weird to me, but I think it'll be alright. If it gets to be too much I can tell ya." Being friends with Ichigo was going to be a ride and a half he could just see that now.

He'd loft a brow and cant his head to the side as Ichigo stammered again whilst speaking of hugging. He'd eventually furrow his brow due to slight confusion because the other wasn't making much sense. "I'm sure I'll learn what a hug is eventually, Kurosaki, I could always ask Nel but I dunno." He knew she was affectionate but so was Halibel, perhaps it was just in their natures to be that way due to what they represented. Hearing that him vouching meant plenty to Ichigo would cause an expression of mild shock to cross his features again though it was much shorter than before.

"'S alright, I mean, I'm the king of Hueco Mundo, I just don't rule cause politics ain't for me. Halibel and Nel are much better at handlin' any issues the other Arrancar talk about." Even if most of the time it involved sending him to deal with whatever the problem was. It didn't bother him. The Arrancar that were around knew that he was the King but Halibel and Nel were the ones leading because he didn't want to be bound to dealing with talking to the others. He liked to be alone, or mostly alone, all the time. His castle was pretty far away from Las Noches, too. It got noisy there sometimes and he didn't want to deal with that. "If anyone attacked ya for bein' in Hueco Mundo they'd have to answer to not only me, but Nel and Halibel too."

[katanasonata]

wait can i queue this post three years in advance? so 2023?

[shannonsketches]

lays on the floor do you guys ever think about how in ResF Bulma falls for Vegeta's fake-out with Freeza and both she and Yamcha are worried about Vegeta's villain fake-out strategy in Champa and Beerus' mini tournament and how it's only been a couple of years since the Buu saga and how Vegeta straight up stopped using that strategy after that tournament

[cosmogyros]

.

[positivelyqueer]

friend asked recently how I knew I was autistic (late self dx) and after a joking answer of ‘five autistic people told me unprompted in the span of about two weeks, I settled on: I don’t.

I don’t Know that I’m autistic. What I do know is that my life makes more sense, and is easier to navigate, when I view it through the lens of being autistic.

I learnt what masking was, and started to undo the damage of 20+ years of it. I let myself stim for the first time out of joy and it was incredible. I recognised it as a regulation skill and started using it for coping. I stopped being cruel to myself about making ‘weird’ noises, I let myself ask for tone clarification from friends. I stopped thinking I was being rude by mimicking others (echolalia). I started respecting my own communication needs and differences. I started being able to communicate these with friends and loved ones, and had the language to do so. I recognised my sensory needs and was better at reducing shutdowns and meltdowns (which is also been confused by and blamed myself for in the past). I also could better identify things that were genuinely impeding on my life and ways to work with myself around them. (Social situations are easier now that I know what information I need before hand, and can prepare. I know what the difficulty involved in switching tasks is and can work with myself on it.)

Mostly I stopped bullying myself the way I’d been bullied growing up for everything that has made me ‘weird’. I stopped policing everything I did the way my parents had in an effort to ‘help’ me blend in. (I don’t resent them for this- I understand that what they did to me is likely what was done to them and they didn’t (and don’t) recognise it.)

Not a weird or broken horse, but a regular zebra.

[tonycries]

The Way You Kiss Me - G.S.

Synopsis. The four times Satoru tries really hard not to kiss you - his best friend’s pretty younger sister. And the one time he doesn’t.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! Suguru’s sister! reader, childhood enemies to lovers, PINING Satoru, like really really disgustingly down bad, creampíe, oral (fem receiving), pússytalking, needy JEALOUS! Satoru, running away from it, spítting, punching is Suguru’s love language, mentions of aIcohol, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 7.4k (That’s wild)

A/N. BOO! Surprise upload. This was so fun to write omg.

“You sure this is how the grown-ups get married?”

“Duh, I know everything.”

“Nuh uh, Toru.”

“Yuh uh!”

The first time Gojo Satoru kissed you was underneath that dingy playground slide that the two of you always raced to after elementary school. 

Usually, your older brother, Suguru, would walk home alongside you two - but this time, he’d just so happened to have been held back for throwing paper planes at the teacher that day.

A sign from the universe, Satoru internally celebrated, something he’d learned from those sappy romance novels his mother left lying around the house. No matter that he was the one that made those planes.

You were six back then, standing in front of a determined Satoru - reaching up on his tip-toes, face pink, smelling of those cheap strawberry lollipops he’d sneak into class and taunt you with. At the much older and wiser age of seven, he’d insisted on being the first one to lean in.

Just barely even grazing your dramatically puckered lips before-

Satoru learned two things that fateful afternoon:

Even as a seven-year-old, Suguru’s punches really hurt. 

Never mess with you. Anyone but you. 

Life only seemed to go downhill from there - because that last lesson was proving to be hard along the years. Really. Fucking. Hard.

Little did Satoru know that this would be the start of some strange, unpredictable little dance of push and pull. No, you definitely weren’t his wife. Nor were you exactly best friends - not really, that spot was reserved for your brother. But you didn’t think you could ever be just that either.

And the punch that’d knocked his wobbly tooth out onto the playground floor that day was a painful reminder that whatever that was - whatever weird thoughts he had later in middle school about how you’d tasted like candy - didn’t matter. No matter how part some tucked-away little part of him wanted it to.

Hell, eleven years later and Satoru still can’t walk around that familiar block without feeling slightly queasy. Which is why, after that failed first kiss, he knew there wouldn’t be a second. 

Instead, he settles back to teasing your pouty self, pushing all your buttons, tugging on those cute dresses you wore. Face burning so strangely with- humiliation? when you bickered right back, calling his haircut a “tragic attempt at modern art.”

“So you’re saying I look like art?” A gangly, now-seventeen Satoru blocks the bustling high school hallway, ignoring the bell. Grin only growing at your frustrated huff, he half-jokes, “Aww, if you’re that soft on me, sweetheart, maybe we should go to prom tog-”

You slam your locker, effectively shutting both it and Satoru at the same time. “I’d rather go with Yaga.”

“...you would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would- Sugu–!”

And all Suguru can do is wrap two hands around his neck, mock-choking himself, wondering if it was really too late to embrace a quiet life as a monk. “You’ll both be MLA cited in my farewell note.”

He was used to it, though, forced to watch all this chaos since quickly mending his friendship with Satoru over ice cream the day after the punch. Convinced that this was some punishment for a past life’s misdeed.

With a squawk of protest, Satoru’s turning back to you, eyes crinkling with a hint of mischief you knew too well, “Would not.”

Your face burns, “Would to, Toru.”

You didn’t go with Yaga. but Satoru didn’t exactly count that as a win in his books, either, because you did show up that night hanging off the arm of some jerk from the football team. 

And there you were, all dolled up - which he very objectively noted - way too prettily for some bastard like him. Stars in your eyes, and everything he couldn’t have in that smile. 

Everything. 

Way too gorgeous, even when he finds you sitting outside the gymnasium later on in the night. Too busy bawling your mascara off to even throw out your usual greeting insult his way. Murmuring out wetly about “that asshole” and how he humiliated you by stranding you in the middle of the dance floor for someone else. 

“Well, he was a jerk anyway. Even Yaga would’ve been better, hell, I-” Satoru stops short to his horror at the way you only cry harder.

Way too irresistible, especially as his body moves before his mind - holding out an open hand before he knows it. “I’m a much better dancer than him and you.” And oh Satoru will forever remember the way his heart lurches as you blink your teary eyes up in confusion, “Well, aren’t ya gonna take up the challenge?”

Weirdly, it wasn’t weird at all. 

If anything, you had to hold back your laughter the entire time at the way the great “campus sweetheart” Gojo Satoru was so on edge.

Just a friend comforting a friend, right?

So why was he avoiding your gaze with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, summer blue eyes pointedly trained right over your head. That pretty pink blush dusting his cheeks reflecting the hands hovering in midair over your waist. So close - and yet, fear in each and every turn and swirl.

Yours were searing into his broad shoulders as you tried to guide him to the muffled music from inside. And shit.

That night ended with a second kiss. 

You don’t know who leaned in first, just that Satoru’s soft lips were just fleeting on your glossy ones - barely even a touch. And that shit shit shit- this was Satoru. This was you. 

Everything. 

But it seems that every time Satoru was about to kiss you dangerously close to the way some tiny, forbidden part of his heart wanted to - the universe throws an obstacle at him. An obstacle that was six feet and named “Suguru”, currently running at break-neck speed out of the gym.

“MOVE YOUR ASSES!” he cackles, “THE FOOTBALL TEAM ISN’T TOO HAPPY ABOUT ME BREAKING THEIR STAR PLAYER’S NOSE.”

And not a word is uttered about the kiss as the three of you speed out of the school parking lot in Suguru’s busted-up black hellcat, the wind mussing up the hairstyle that took Satoru over two hours to perfect. Sneaking in glances at the sight of you singing along at the top of your lungs to some overplayed pop song on the radio. 

He learns another two things that night:

Apparently, Suguru’s right hook still really fucking hurt. And thank god for tonight’s casualties of noses, because it was a wonder that he didn’t look too hard at how close Satoru was with you. 

He didn’t…dislike the feeling of your lips on his. And judging by the way you meet his eyes in the rearview mirror - you didn’t either.

It’s mainly that last one that makes him gulp.

Neither of you remember the third kiss - though, Satoru’s sure that at least 80% of Shoko’s instagram followers did.

According to a very hungover Shoko, and the many, many forms of documentation, it had happened on the New Year’s eve during your third year in university. In which you were much more used to the raging parties that would be hosted at Suguru’s apartment, and only slightly less intimidated by them.

“And you’re a lightweight too, dumbass. You were gone.” Shoko sighs from across the café table, eye bags deeper than the last time he’d seen her. “Like gone gone.”

God, what a way to start the year.

Satoru bites back a remark about how “gone” Shoko herself had been. Sitting up straight in his seat, regret immediately hitting his senses faster than the guilty throbbing at his temples. He winces, managing out a semi-disbelieving groan of, “Gone gone?”

And she’s only nodding wearily, subconsciously tapping out the rest of her cigarette ashes onto his untouched plate of sweet pastries. 

“I’m talking dancing on expensive coffee tables and fighting to stop you from giving everyone there a strip show.” She cracks a smirk through a waft of smoke, “Though, she would’ve loved that I’m sure.”

“Har har har, you’d make even Nanami laugh with that one.”

“Eugh, gross.” Shoko taps through her phone briefly, swirling it around to show Satoru a few pictures that definitely gave him a mini-heart attack at 8:57 in the morning. “You look like you’re about to pen really bad poetry.”

And perhaps this was Shoko’s plan all along - to shock Satoru to the core hard enough that she can note it down as one of her sketchy psychological experiments. 

But he knew. Could feel it in the hazy fragments of memories - or, at the very least, in that entire highlight that Nanamin had oh-so-conveniently put up on Instagram titled, “Blackmail.”

You knew. 

You’d kissed him back. 

“I don’t have a-.” you slur, stumbling ever-so-slightly as you try to meet Satoru’s glassy eyes. Because shit the years have had him shooting up faster than you could look up. “-a New Year’s kiss, y’know.”

You were older - more gorgeous, if that was even possible now. That tight dress hugging your body so unfairly in a way that had him forgetting you were his best friend’s sister. 

The one person in this whole world that he couldn’t have.

But Satoru leans in closer, more because he wants to than anything - he could pick out your voice anywhere let alone over the thumping music currently filling his crowded living room. Lips loose as he tries to play up the cool-guy facade he’s been dubbed with since freshman year, “Hah, loser. Because I do.”

“Where?”

At this, Satoru is stumped - damn, you were good. 

“Not- uh here?” If he was in any clearer state of mind, he’d have been embarrassed at the way his voice cracks so traitorously as your unsteady hands pull him in closer by his overpriced button-up. 

Your body was flush against his now, so addictive. Gaze half-lidded and flickering between the sliver of milky skin exposed on his chest - from that impromptu striptease he’d almost started earlier - and the blue eyes that were currently locked you. You whisper a strained, “Liar.”

Close - too close. So dangerously close.

He breathes out against your lips, the smell of booze and you so heady in his mind. And the heavy words falling from his lips sound like lies, even to him. “Not.”

“Toru?” you hum, a sound that has him gasping. “Shut up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And there went your New Year’s kisses. At exactly 11:37PM, if the photos were anything to go by. 

And holy shit were there many. All of which showed your arms looped around Satoru’s neck, crashing his lips to yours. His own, resting against your waist, a scandalously red blush - whether from the alcohol or you - adorning his cheeks. Looking more blissed out than he ever remembers feeling. 

“I’m a dead man, Shoko.” 

There’s a lengthy silence, leaving Satoru stewing in thoughts of how Suguru would react once he finds out. And whether or not he’d be able to rise from the dead just to see how pretty you’d look at his funeral.

Morbid thoughts broken only by Shoko’s cough, “Hey, can I keep your eyes for experimentation if he actually catches you?”

Subtly, he sends himself those photos from last night.  

Luckily for Satoru’s eyes, they never ended up being donated towards Shoko’s questionable contributions to the world of medicine. 

And by some grace of the gods above, Suguru never mentioned a word about the kiss that would’ve inevitably made its way to him. Or maybe it was because Satoru stole his phone until he managed to pester Nanami just enough to take down that highlight. But, semantics. 

His heart, however, might as well have been part of some experiment.

Because it’s been working overdrive since that night - mind reliving that moment over and over and over and- shit, he’s fucked. So, so fucked. 

Fucked enough that it took Satoru months just to muster up to even look in your pretty eyes once more, unless he wanted to get lost in them forever. Fucked enough that he dared to wonder again and again when there might be a fourth kiss - if there would be a fourth kiss. 

He just never thought it would happen the way it did - with you, standing outside his front door. 

“I’m sorry, Toru.” you mumble, “It’s just- I think we both need to grow up.”

You’ve freshly graduated now, looking more and more irresistible each time he sees you - even when you’re looking at him like that. 

Rolling his eyes, “Ha, is this another way of saying you want my secret to getting taller? Because the first thing is to-”

“I’m serious, Satoru.”

And oh how he wished you’d say something - anything - else right now. Call him anything but that. Maybe even throw an insult his way, tell him those new sunglasses look ugly, or about how you got that internship he would’ve died for. 

Satoru manages to choke out a heavy, “I don’t understand.” But that uncomfortable coil of something curling at the pit of his stomach said otherwise. And it causes him to finally breathe out a hesitant, “Maybe you’re right.”

As if that was all the answer you needed, you’re stepping out of the front door. Slow, and deliberate like you were giving him another chance - a thousand more. Sighing out a defeated, “It’s been years.” It has. “And we’re just running in circles.” You have. “I’m starting to think this is just some game to you.” It wasn’t.

“Wait!” he grasps your hand - soft. The look in your eyes even softer as you turn around to face his desperate face. “Please, sweetheart.”

Satoru doesn’t even know what words he wants to say - let alone whether they’d come out of his heavy mouth. 

So, instead, he’s crashing them into yours. 

Brief. Fleeting. Like each one before this. Too addictive, too short, that he thinks he’s almost imagining it as you pull away gently, until he sees that look in your eyes. 

“Toru, I have a date.”

The fourth kiss.

Satoru’s letting go of you like it burned - and, truly, it felt like some deep, dark part of him was burning down right now. “Great.” That should be hm that should be him that should be- “I’m…happy for you.”

And the last.

He fucked up.

He really, really fucked up.

That first date turned into a second. The second into a third. And unfortunately for Gojo, eventually, you were nearing your one-year anniversary with that asshat you’d met during the early days of your internship. 

He’d seen the man himself once, briefly at another one of Suguru’s famous parties. Ducking out of sight before he could be introduced, yet long enough to know that he wasn’t as tall, or as handsome, or as absolutely fucking hilarious. 

What did he have that Satoru didn’t? 

The answer to that, Satoru’s reminded of every time he’s causing ruckus over at Suguru’s apartment, and sees you walking out of your room, tittering on the phone to none other than your boyfriend. So gorgeous. So not his. 

You, that loser had you.

“If you sigh again I swear I’m shoving this popcorn up your a-”

“It’s a sad movie, Suguru!” he defends, draped across your couch at another one of those movie nights you loved to organize. As usual, there was the popcorn, the god-awful movie (if Satoru picks it), and the arguments. The only thing missing, however, was you. Ugh, something about an “anniversary” and a “seafood date”. Seriously, it’s not like you even enjoyed that new seafood restaurant in town, and he’s sure that bastard didn’t know-

“Satoru.” his best friend’s deadpan voice cuts through his little reverie. “We’re watching Mean Girls.”

And he’s barely even opening his mouth to snark back before-

SLAM!

Suguru pauses the movie almost immediately, turning to the direction of the front door. “Uh oh.” 

And lo and behold - there was you in all your pissed off, beautiful glory. Throwing your keys on the table, your fiery glare passes over the two men as you stomp to your bedroom. 

“Seafood wasn’t that good, sweetheart?” Satoru calls out behind you, eyes sweeping down your figure. Heart stuttering in his chest when you turn around with your fists clenched, lower lip wobbling in a way that Satoru would both kill whoever made you feel this way and die to be on the other side of those daggers in your eye. 

Sniffing out an icy, “Fuck off, loser and loserette.”

Then in a whirlwind of rage, you’re gone - your bedroom door slamming only slightly more gently than you’d done with the front door. Leaving a deafening silence, and Satoru whining, “Why am I the loserette?”

“Deserved.” Suguru shrugs. Warily eyeing your door, as if it was about to pounce at any given second, “Let her cool down before you give her an aneurysm at least.” Unpausing the television, propping his feet back up, “S’enough having to deal with you on top of a boyfriend like that.”

And that has Satoru perking up in interest - both figuratively, and literally as he snatches the remote and pauses the movie. “Wait wait wait what-” Holding it way out of Suguru’s reach, “What do you mean a ‘boyfriend like that’?”

Scoffing, “Funny. Now give me back the remote.”

A beat of silence passes. One. Two.

Only then does it dawn on Suguru that this might just not be some strange prank to stroke Satoru’s ego, and he was actually  more serious than he’d ever seen him. Damn. 

“Bro, have you really never met the guy or something? He’s a complete tool. I don’t know what happened, but this breakup was a long time coming.”

Satoru blinks, feeling a red hot surge of anger. “What? Seriously? Why didn’t you do anything about it?”

“You think I didn’t try?” he sighs, running a hand through his hair at the other’s uncharacteristic silence. “Hah, and just imagine, the man was talking about marriage, too. As if.”

And suddenly, Satoru’s hit with an image of you walking down the aisle. Not something he was a stranger to, but it still takes him aback. The sway of the fabric beneath his fingers, your lips against his. Hell, in that split-second he even dreams up how Nanamin would be crying very reluctant tears of joy. 

Everything. Everything that wasn’t his.

His fist tightens around the remote, until he could hear the cracking of plastic. Mind whirling with the thought of you and him and you. How he wished it was him and you. “I would’ve been better.”

Oh. 

Shit. 

“I- fuck this. Suguru, since elementary school I…”

And, well, Satoru’s so busy putting that extra physics seminar he took in university to work - trying to calculate the odds of surviving a jump out of this seven-storey window - that he almost misses Suguru’s low hum, a distant, almost barely-audible little interruption, “Well duh.”

“Hold on.” he’s snatching away the remote that had somehow slithered its way into the other’s hands once again. Ignoring his best friend’s croak of protests to pause in the middle of Regina George being hit by the bus - which, he felt was strangely enviable right now. “That was- what? YOU KNOW?”

“Huh? Even my parents know, the only one that doesn’t is her.”

“...”

Satoru didn’t know how Suguru seemed so calm, but he felt like he was about to spontaneously combust. Heart stuttering in his chest as he sideglances at your firmly shut door - like he was just waiting for you to jump out and tell him this was some elaborate prank. 

Begging for you to come - it would’ve hurt less.

But you don’t.

Fuck. 

And the only response he gets is a low whistle, before a phone is being shoved in his face - flashlight illuminating that crimson blush. “Damn, the great Gojo Satoru speechless? The groupchat is gonna love this, might even send it to my sister, y’know.” 

He didn’t care - didn’t give a shit if this video made rounds to Gakuganji himself. Only one thought racing through his mind right now. 

“But why aren’t you punching me like in elementary school?” 

And Satoru knows he’s smart - intelligent even. Hell, he was the valedictorian, the youngest employee to claw their way up to being on the board of directors. But he’s never felt more stupid when Suguru breathes out a bewildered, “Dude. That was for blaming me for the paper planes.” 

“Oh.”

Then the movie is unpaused. 

---

The last time you kissed Gojo Satoru was at the doorstep to that overpriced penthouse of his, exactly a year ago today. 

The last time you saw Gojo Satoru was just a few hours ago, lounging around your living room like he owned it. Honestly, he might as well have been part of the furniture at this point - like some expensive, fluffy couch. One that prattled on about your “dumbass boyfriend” and god-knows-what else to rile you up just for the fun of it.

Which is why it was odd to step out of your bedroom - eyes just a bit puffy, throat still tight - to a suspiciously quiet hallway. 

The lights were turned off, nothing but the pouring rain sounding from outside, television paused on some rerun of The Princess Diaries. Damn, you told those idiots not to start that one without you.

“Sugu?” you call, finding his bedroom empty. “Thought tonight was movie night?” Padding across the empty apartment, contemplating whether or not to get your phone and call him when-

Ding!

Ah, there. 

You roll your eyes as you head towards the front door, ready to give Suguru a piece of his mind for going out at this ungodly hour and forgetting his key. Seriously, what if you opened the door and he was hurt, or worse, or…

Satoru. 

Speaking a mile a minute.

Satoru.

“-florist was closed and the store clerk looked at me like I was crazy but I got this for-” he pauses abruptly, as if realizing something with a jolt. “-you.”

“You- what-” you don’t know where to look - at the drenched, disheveled Satoru filling your doorframe - rain in his hair, curtaining his frantic eyes, drenching his snug t-shirt. Or at the obscenely large bouquet of cheap strawberry lollipops being placed gently into your arms. 

What follows was an electric silence - and you have half the mind to tease Satoru for finally shutting the fuck up for once in his life. 

But, no. Instead, you eye the way he stands stubbornly at the doorway, fists clenched, blue eyes locked so intensely on yours that it was like they burned. 

Face flushed a familiar pretty pink that makes you realize that shit, he might be taller, voice deeper, broad shoulders tight against his t-shirt - but this was still the same boy that cried when you stole his favorite Digimon card in middle school. The same one that kissed you underneath a dingy slide, smelling of strawberry lollipops.

It’s the steady tap! tap! tap! of the water droplets from his hair that have you tearing your traitorous eyes from his see-through white t-shirt.

Guess you’ve both done some growing up since then.

“You loser.”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

The pink wrapping of the bouquet rustles as your grip tightens. “He proposed to me today, y’know.” and yet, your quiet, even voice was the only thing ringing in Satoru’s ears. He jolts, as if some visceral, primal part of himself had been poked awake. Breathing heavy, fists clenching until he could feel the neat indents of his fingernails on his palm. Of course. He’s late. He’s late he’s late he’s late-

That is, until you’re plowing on, “I said no.”

“Huh?”

You think back to the stuffy restaurant, the man sitting from across from you - how wrong it felt. And all it took were those four words for you to realize that. “I said no.” 

Satoru snaps his head up, stepping close - so close. Voice strained like he wasn’t asking - begging. Praying, “Why?”

“We…” you raise a brow at the way Satoru flinches as you trail off. So desperate. A smirk makes its way onto your face, “...we haven’t divorced yet, right?”

And then you’re kissing him - or maybe he’s kissing you. 

Fuck, you don’t know - nor do you really care right now. Not when Satoru’s got his lips crashing against yours for the fifth time in your life, kissing you like it would be the last. Big arms dipping down to your waist, pulling you so tight against his muscled frame that he had half the mind to wonder whether it hurt. 

“Love this. Love the way you kiss me- fuck-�� he’s spitting against your lips, kicking the door shut behind him. “Oh- would ya get mad if I-” he tries to get out through kisses. Only to suck on your pretty lips with a pained grunt. “If I-” Again and again, like it killed him to part. “-hah- celebrated right now?”

“Yes.” You’re letting the bouquet fall to the foor, white-knuckling that useless, drenched excuse of a shirt. “Now kiss me properly, Toru.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Such a sloppy mix of teeth and hands and him. Shoving a knee between your legs, making up for years and years of late nights with nothing but his fist and the pretty thought of you. 

“Yeah, that’s it, sweetheart.” Satoru breathes out, as your urgent fingers that dispose of his shirt, feeling the gorgeous dips and curves of years of hard work to impress you. “Suck on m’tongue pretty- fuck-” His own fisting your shirt, pulling. Ripping.

“Toru!”

“I want you.” He’s letting the poor, tattered pieces drop in a pile on the floor, trailing a hand between your damp thighs before he can stop himself. “Oh how I’ve wanted you. And I don’t care if I have to buy fifty new outfits to make up for it.”

And it’s the feeling of his long index stroking up your sopping slit through your shorts that has you pulling away with a gasp. Delicate little strings of saliva snapping from Satoru’s kiss-bitten lips. “If we continue like this…” your voice wavers as he presses hot kisses along your collarbone. “-my brother’s gonna walk in.”

“...wouldn’t wanna relive that playground kiss, huh?”

It’s all he says before picking you up so easily, hands resting on your ass. Giving a playful spank ass you wrap your legs around his toned waist. 

And it’s sloppy.

Both his lips still hotly on yours and the way he’s stumbling urgently to your room through pure muscle memory. Pulling away only when you’re all splayed out so prettily for him on your mattress.

“Blue?” he breathes, pulling your shorts off. And it comes out strained - like the very sight of your panties - all soaked and flimsy with your slick - has whatever’s remaining of Satoru’s sanity flying out the window. “Blue? Oh, you’ve gotta have planned this, you little minx.” his hot breath hits your cunt as he shifts down the bed, tongue drawing languid, wet little circles on your inner thigh. “Because don’t tell me this was all for him?”

It was coincidence - or maybe fate - but that doesn’t stop you from giving Satoru a slow, teasing nod. Muttering out, “So what if it was?”

The only answer you get is thumb hooked around your shorts, pulling it just enough so that your brother’s best friend can spy your pretty pussy.

“Well then.” he chuckles at the way you jump when his fingertip just barely grazes your clit. “Guess I jus’ hafta prove m’better.”

A low groan is falling from his lips as soon as they meet your puffy ones, giving your pretty clit a chaste peck. Lingering long enough that he’s sure your sweet sweet juices cover his mouth.

And oh Satoru’s sure he’ll never forget the way your jaw falls slack, glassy eyes following his every move as he runs his tongue along his glossy lips. Savoring your candied taste, “Never kissed you like this before, huh?” 

Fuck, you’re sweeter than he’s imagined.

You whine desperately, something that has him smirking smugly, “Hah, what? Cat got your tongue?”

“You’re better when you shut up.” It’s all you can do to buck your hips into Satoru’s pretty face - not that you had to, because one taste of your dripping cunt and he was addicted. Surging forwards until he was nose-deep, locking your ankles around his head with a firm yank.

And you can’t lie - maybe you’ve imagined this exact scene a few times before on those lonely nights. But you just never expected Satoru to be so depraved. Desperate.

“Ngh- fuck, Toru-” you reach a hand down to thread your fingers through his hair, tugging his face up. But Satoru doesn’t stop - not even for a second. Tongue still dipping to spread your swollen folds with his tongue, looking you right in the eyes as he murmurs a strangled, “Mhm?” 

“Thought you were gonna prove you’re better, hm?”

So goading. So like you. 

At this, Satoru pulls back ever-so-slightly to laugh - laugh. His plump, glistening lips curling into a humorless little grin, “Oh I will.” Thumb circling your throbbing clit. Just dragging your twitching body across the silky sheets close to his, one hand pinning your hips down. Hard. “I will.”

Loving his new favorite place between your legs one hand toys with your clit, quick, messy little patterns. Tongue even more so. 

“Not just better.” he grunts, “Gonna make you cum so much harder, too.” Having your thighs shake with each word hissed out into your cunt, each turn of his deft fingers. “Till I’m the only thing on your mind. Me.”

And it’s all you can do to let out choked up groans of his name, back arching off the plush mattress to let him make out with your cunt deeper. Sloppier. So, so starved with the way he’s speeding up, tongue dragging across your walls. In and out in and out in and-

“Fuck! Hngh-” you angle his head - and he lets you. “There- Toru-”

Honestly, you didn’t even have to tell Satoru - he could feel it. Could feel it in the way your plushy walls are squeezing his hot tongue so harsh, until it was almost difficult to fuck your pussy so sloppily. In the way you’re letting out such delicious whines each time he grazes against those sweet spots. 

“There? Hah- I know.” he pulls away to muse, and your cute, disappointed whine goes straight to his already rock-hard cock. “Did he?”

He didn’t. And you’re shaking your head so pathetically - in a way you’d be embarrassed about usually. 

But that’s the last thing you’re thinking bout because you feel it - the cold, sinful feeling of Satoru spitting on your filthy cunt. Once. Twice. Blue eyes widening in delight at the way the mess of spit and slick drip down your slit. 

“Cute.” his tongue smoothes over the slutty pool, and the only thing your delirious brain can make out now is a low moan of, “So? Who’s better?”

It’s all you can do to choke out a broken little, “T-T-” Face burning at the way he was so clearly enjoying your struggle. And, well, no matter painfully hard it made his dick - he had to go just a bit easy on his girl, right?

“Shhhh, s’alright.” you flinch as he shoves two absolutely drenched fingers into your mouth, making so much more of a mess of it than necessary. Drinking in your cute gags, “I was asking her.” He’s making your head spin with the way he’s speeding up. “N’ she’s hah- very talkative.” Words muffled, and slurring together - like he was drunk off of you and your cunt. “Let’s hear what she has to ngh- say, huh?”

And with that, he’s alternating between lapping at your clit and squeezing into your sloppy entrance - like he couldn’t - didn’t - want to make up his mind. Oh, with your teary mewls strangled, the sound of Satoru making out with cunt is so loud. The squelches so obscene. 

“Fuuuuck.” he drawls. “Louder than I thought. I think she says I’m better, don’t you think?” 

You angle your head just right to catch the way his jaw grinds deeper into you, eating you out like his last meal. Your slick drooling down his chin so sinfully. 

“Ngh- fuck fuck fuck- ngh-” your yelps are dreamy, feeling like you were losing your mind with the way he was stretching you out. 

Like you were about to snap. Any second now. 

But Satoru’s only increasing his movements, drawing out your little moans. “And I think she’s saying…”  Getting sloppier. More erratic - and it didn’t matter if his fingers were cramping up now, cock aching with the need to be inside you. “-that she’s about to cum.”

You do - so hard and loud - both you and your cunt. 

You’re shaking, all but gushing all over Satoru’s mouth, tight pussy squeezing his tongue so hard. Barely even realizing the searing grip you’ve got on his hair as you drag your sloppy pussy all over his mouth.

But Satoru doesn’t mind - he gladly welcomes it, in fact. Tonguefucking your snug cunt senselessly, letting you chase your high as roughly as you wanted. Over and over.

Even when you’re vision isn’t as spotty as before, even when nothing’s coming out of your mouth but little whimpers. Your breathing dying down until all that rings in your barely-lucid mind were those obscene noises of Satoru’s lips all on yours. 

“T-Toru-” you whine, big fat tears pricking at your hazy eyes. “M’so sensitive.”

And of course this is Satoru, the same boy who’s been pushing your buttons for years just to giggle at your adorable reactions. Which is why he grins against your twitching cunt, “So?”

It takes everything in you to raise your head off the pillow that just seemed to be swallowing you whole, and even more to shoot Satoru a half-hearted glare. “So m’gonna ngh- assume you’re jus’ a pussy with a s-smaller dick than-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence - he doesn’t let you. Because Satoru’s fumbling with his belt, peeling off those still-drenched pants just enough for you to admire his clothed erection. 

And, shit, admittedly you expected him to have a big dick - having been subjected to way too much locker room talk with your brother - but this was ridiculous. 

“What? Too big?” He flashes you that infuriating grin. Palming his rock-hard cock through his boxers at the way your beautiful eyes trace the outline of his cock, all swollen and big. So intimidatingly big. “Damn, sweetheart, if I knew that this was how I’d get that feisty lil’ mouth of yours to shut up then I’d have done it a lot sooner.” 

And you don’t even know if you’re breathing, the pads of your fingers dancing along his bulge. Tracing those prominent veins. Thumbing that little damp spot at his fat head. “You wouldn’t have.” 

He hisses as your soft hands dip into the hem of his underwear. Voice cracking slightly, “I wouldn’t.”

Then you’re gasping - in sync with Satoru’s low moan - as you finally let him spring free. Thick cock hitting his sculpted abs, red tip smearing precum in a lewd little pool. Weeping and so so angry at the sight of you.

At the heavenly feeling of your thumb teasing under his sensitive slit, “Oh, shit.” 

He’s throwing his head back when you give an experimental pump, all the way from his pretty tip to the tufts fo white at his hilt. Fist gliding all over the thumping veins. Bucking his hips up like such a slut into your touch. 

“O-oh fuck.” he cracks an eye open at the way your hand looked so small compared to his dick, how well you were taking care of him. “Been ngh- dreaming of this since I learned what handjobs were, y’know? Hah- shit- ya gotta stop before I fuckin’ pass out.”

And Satoru thinks he could cum right then and there at the way you’re bringing your soaked index up to your mouth. Batting your lashes as you suck on them with a lewd pop! “From jus’ that?”

“You have no idea.”

That’s all it takes for Satoru to throw your still-quivering thighs over his shoulders, effectively shutting up whatever tease is on the tip of your sharp tongue by kissing your swollen folds with his fat head. Giving it one, long drag. 

Your mouth is sagging open at the slow, torturous teasing. The sheer anticipation that had your mouth running, “S-so much for ah- jus’ being ‘friends’, huh?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” And you’re flinching from Satoru’s deep, dark tone. The way he’s bracing his fingers so bruisingly on your hips, reeling all the way back till his tip was just kissing your hole. “We stopped being friends the day you married me on that playground.” 

And then he’s slamming in - pushing past that first, feeble ring of resistance, gummy walls stretching out so perfectly for him. As if he fit right in - and he tells you that. Pants it into your open mouth a little over fifteen times, in fact. 

“Shiiiit, look at you.” he can’t tear his eyes away from the side of your lips stretching so wide to try and milk him. Sloppy entrance stretching out like magic. “S’like you’re made for me, huh? This pussy is made f’me?”

“Ngh- fuck, Toru! S’too big-” you keen, feet flattening on the mattress. As if to escape. To maybe fucking breathe.  

Not even half-way in yet, but aleady torn between pushing away and sinking yourself down on his swollen cock for more more more-

“Don’t you dare run away.” he warns, looking up at you through his long lashes. “I’ve waited too long for this. N’ you’re not taking this pretty pussy away any time soon.” Inch by fucking inch. Grinding in short, sharps jabs - no rhythm of rhyme, like they were genuinely out of control. “Way too f-fuckin’-” All the way until your puffy folds was meeting his hilt. Finally. All the way in. “-long.”

And once Satoru had you split apart on his dick - had those tears rolling down your cheeks, cunt swallowing him so sluttily - it’s like something snaps. 

Because he doesn’t waste a second - he’s already wasted almost two decades, anyway - filling you up with his mean hips. Not fucking easing you into it because you always did bring out that part of him, the part that him looping two strong arms around your waist. Pulling. 

“Oh- f-fuck c’mere.” Satoru gasps, pressing your body so crushingly against his. Kissing your shaky shoulers, your sweaty forehead, the gentleness so contrasting to his hips.“God I’ve missed out- fuck fuck fuck-” 

You’ve never seen the great Gojo Satoru - campus sex symbol - so uncomposed. Eyes half-lidded, just boring into yours, mouth slack in a soft oh! as he drags his cock all over inside your gummy walls. And the sight is so heavenly that you make the mistake the mistake of cracking a minute smile.

Just barely curling your lips before - “Don’t smile at me like that.” He’s dipping down a hand to roll your ravaged clit between two bullying fingers. “Fuck, she’s gonna be the death of me. Right?”

You keen at the- stimulation? The strech? The sheer embarrassment as you realize that Satou’s still talking to your sloppy pussy? Nodding so mockingly up at you as he plows on, “Mhm, she says you needa be ngh- knocked down a god, you’re tight- peg or two. So- get- ready-” 

He’s using this as an excuse to sit up on his knees, dragging you onto his lap so easily like some ragdoll. 

“That’s more like it.”

You’re sliding deeper down his painfully hard cock - all the way till his heavy balls rest beneath your ass, clit rubbing against his pelvis every time he bounces you like some slut.  

Deep. Ruthless.

“Keep your eyes open, sweetheart.” He chuckles, and you’re screwing open your eyes that you don’t even remember shutting. Trying so hard to stop crying out at the feeling of the curve of his dick massaging your walls. “Ya gotta hngh- see the o-only one who’d fuckin’ you properly, right?”

You squeal when he’s taking your clit captive once more. Finger quick, deft. “Y-yes.”

But that wasn’t enough for Satoru - it might as well never be. Because he’s only ramming his hips up further. Like he’s pushing into your stomach, your lungs, all the way into your cockdrunk brain. Fat head alternating between kissing your poor, abused cervix and all those sweet spots he’d mapped out with his tongue.

“Sounded unsure to me.” he’s pouty against your hardened nipples bouncing enticingly in his face. Fingers quirking faster on your clit, “Maybe I should ngh- stop then?”

“No!” Your hips stutter against Satoru’s. Nails clawing down the sculpted panes of his shoulders, leaving red angry marks for him to take as a sign tomorrow morning that no, it wasn’t just one of his dreams this time. “No no no- m’sure. You’re the only one makin’ me feel this way.”

You can feel the way he’s twitching wildly at your words, dick thumping harder inside your sensitive cunt. 

He punctures each word with a heavy, calculated thrust. Hand stretching and squeezing open your cunt from behind to let him slide impossibly deeper. “Hmmm, I’m not convinced.” 

Your stupid mouth is only capable of letting out broken, choked-up little moans of his name, ankles locking around those dimples at the end of his spine. “S’you–”

“Still not convinced.”

But he’s still speeding up his movements, just dragging you up and down his cock. “Who else made you hah- feel this good?” Sure to claim you from the inside out - to leave marks everywhere. Heavy balls on your ass, weeping tip on your cervix, lips bruised as you whimper at his murmured, “That ex of yours?” Biting down your neck, “That barista that always flirts with you?” Pulling away only to breathe into your lips, “Who?”

“ I- fuck it’s only you, Toru.”

“Sound convincing to you?” Satoru hums down at your cunt, biting his lower lip at the way you were milking him so good. Your slick soaking him all the way down to his balls - so needy in a way he never thought he’d see. “Yeah-” be breathes, nosing at your neck. “She agrees- fuck does this tight lil’ pussy of yours agree.” A few tears, a few gorgeous marks down his back, and he was finally convinced. “You’re mine.”

You don’t even realize it when you’re cumming, and Satoru doesn’t either.

Both of you too caught up in each other to recognize that familiar, white-hot pleasure running down your spine - all the way down to where he was so mercilessly buried in your cunt.  

And you’re well into the blood roaring deafeningly in your ears, the sight of Satoru - all wrecked - blurring as he fucks his hips up. Harsh. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as he paints your quivering walls white. 

Cumming and cumming so hard that you can feel his seed dribbling down your thighs, making such a mess all over Satoru’s lap. Your poor, overfilled cunt soon bloated and unable to keep up with it.

“Toru–” you whine, like a prayer. Milking the fucking soul out of him while he gently paws at your messy hair.

“Shhh, I know I know, sweetheart.” Such a stark contrast to the way he was filling you up like his favorite sex toy. Not even bothering to move anymore, one hand on your hip, moving your limp body up and down his sensitive cock to fuck it deeper. The other still playing with your clit, “S’alright, my girl”

Satoru’s hands never leave you, and he prays that now that he got a taste - well, you better be alright with them not leaving you for as long as he lives.

“As long as you live, huh?” you chuckle groggily, a noise so dreamy that Satoru can’t even be mad that he said it out loud. “And all that riling me up these years. Do you have a degradation kink or something?”

“Well, only one way to find out~”

“Oh shut up you-”

SLAM!

“Yooo, I bought dinner from that- WHAT THE FUCK?”

There were only two more lessons to be learned:

Always lock the door. Always. And in case you don’t, a bouquet of lollipops will do the trick to a Suguru reeling from the newest addition to the family. 

Cheap takeout tastes better with an apologetic Suguru, and an ice pack to his cheek - and you to kiss it better.

A/N. Can you tell I kept listening to that one Artemas song while writing this?

Plagiarism not authorized.

[blackvahana]

Because you know. If Madness is my venom that decays the body and kills you I may as well kill you

[goose-books]

The Ghost of Christmas Past shows up and you’re like, “Ohhhhh for fuck’s sake,” but you’re in your childhood bedroom so it’s kind of on you. The ghost seems offended. She crosses her arms. She looks like you used to, with the pigtails.

“No way,” you say. “Don’t start.”

“I am the—”

“The Ghost of Christmas Past, I know, I know.” Because she looks like you, and it’s Christmas Eve, so what else. Your parents used to read you the story every year. Even when you were old enough to read on your own, it was better in your dad’s voice.

“You came home for your parents,” the ghost says, solemn. “It’s time to tell them.”

“No, like, ‘when you’re ready’?”

“You are ready,” she says, “or you wouldn’t have come back.”

Which is so stupid, because you weren’t on the moon, you were at college, and it’s only been two months of shots, you don’t even have a mustache. “Fucking leave me alone,” you say, so she does the ghost thing and takes you to a ten-years-ago Christmas. The living room. Your parents. Your fledgling self on the carpet with your stocking, the one you can’t look at anymore because when you were a baby your parents patiently hand-stitched the fucking name.

“Maybe they’ll make you a new one,” says the ghost.

“You don’t know that.” Bullshit ghost powers.

“You were happier back then. When they knew you.”

“Everyone was happier back then. It was, like, 2008.”

“There was a recession,” says the ghost.

“Shut up! Shut up!” You turn over in bed. For a second you expect to roll onto child-self-you curled up next to you. Probably crush the life out of her. You got good at that. It’s her bed, her room, pink covers, cat posters.

“This is so stupid, this Dickens thing,” you say. “I’m not even Christian anymore.”

“Tell your parents that second,” the ghost suggests.

“Oh my fucking God I’m not telling them anything can’t you go bother Jeff Bezos.”

“I’m just doing my job,” says the ghost, and vanishes.

#

The Ghost of Christmas Present has an acne problem. As soon as you open your eyes you say, “Oh my God,” and they say, “Hi,” and you say, “You better not be the fucking Ghost of Christmas Present,” and the Ghost of Christmas Present says, “I am.”

Which you knew.

“Why me?” you say, pink comforter bunched around your waist. “I didn’t do anything. Scrooge was mean to orphans.”

The Ghost of Christmas Present shrugs. “It’s the job.”

“Are you gonna show me my parents now?”

That makes them look kind of embarrassed.

“Well, don’t,” you say. If your parents are talking in the other room, huddled up conferencing with the lights off, you can’t hear it over the heater buzz. But you can guess what they’re saying: you went to school with a shitty pixie cut and worse eyeliner, and you came back with a real haircut and a permanent frown and a bunch of new friends you play sentence Twister to avoid pronouning. “I know they’re nice people, I got it. I’m just not ready.”

“It’s just—you’re kind of waiting for them to ask?” says the Ghost of Christmas Present. They scratch their face, where they have spectral sideburns coming in. “Your dad thinks you have a head cold. ‘Cause of your voice. But your mom’s starting to get it.”

You pull the covers over your head. “Cool, awesome, didn’t ask.”

“She isn’t going to ask,” the ghost says. “She wants you to tell her.”

You stick your middle finger out from underneath the covers. When you check, the room is empty again.

#

The Ghost of Christmas Future doesn’t say anything. Just looks at you. You look back. You probably have bedhead. You fixed your daytime wardrobe but your pajamas are still lacy and purple.

“How come you’re a man?” you say.

He says, “I think you know.”

“Fucking—go away.”

“I have something to show you first.”

“Are we going to the goddamn graveyard?”

He doesn’t say anything but then you’re in the goddamn graveyard. Together. Looking at your headstone. The dates are close enough together to make you kind of sick.

“They went with the full name,” you say.

The ghost nods.

“Not even the nickname. My nice gender neutral nickname.”

The ghost shrugs. You kind of want to throw something at him but you’re just looking at it now. Chiseled in marble. Immovable. What’s that thing bigots on the internet say, about someone digging up your jawbone two hundred years from now? You always wanted to think you wouldn’t care.

The Ghost of Christmas Future’s pretty quiet. This is the part where Scrooge goes full breakdown. Tears, begging, promises.

“I’m not gonna cry on you,” you say.

“Okay.”

So neutral. “Man, what do you want me to say?”

“Nothing,” says the ghost. “I think you’re there.”

You can’t stop looking at the headstone. “God fucking damnit shit. You promise they’ll be cool?”

“Nothing’s promised,” the ghost says. He gestures at the graveyard. “Except for this.”

“Awesome.” Cryptic cliche philosophical ghost bullshit. Yada yada. Death and taxes. Not with that name on your headstone, though. Not with that name on your tax forms, either.

You turn to tell him that and then you’re blinking in bed. There’s still one glow-in-the-dark star stuck to your ceiling where the glue never wore out. You put those up like ten years ago. Maybe longer. The light in the room says it’s morning. You swing your lacy-pajama legs over the side of the bed and go to ruin Christmas.

[rafes-slut]

Self control

Summary: rafe is bored and he wants to test eachoters self control by cockwarming you to see who can go longest without moving

Warnings: NSFW, cockwarming, sexual tension, teasing, dominance/submission themes, power play, heavy temptation, loss of control, season two Rafe energy, mutual torment.

----

The weekend had started off exciting, but by the time Sunday afternoon rolled around, boredom settled in like an unwanted guest. You and Rafe had spent the past few days holed up in his house, doing a whole lot of nothing—lounging, eating, watching random TV shows that neither of you really cared about. The rain outside made sure you were stuck inside with no distractions, no plans.

You were sprawled across the couch, scrolling through your phone, while Rafe lay beside you, lazily running a hand up and down your thigh. His touch was absentminded at first, but then it turned deliberate. Slow, teasing strokes that made you glance at him, catching the way his blue eyes darkened with something dangerous.

"Got an idea," he murmured, his fingers dipping under the hem of your shorts.

You raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

He smirked. "Mhm. Something to make things… interesting."

You could already tell by the way he was looking at you that whatever he was thinking had nothing to do with movies or playing cards. Rafe never handled boredom well. When he wanted something, he went after it with a single-minded determination, and right now, you had a feeling that you were his next source of entertainment.

When he leaned in, his breath warm against your ear, his voice dropped to a low rasp. "How much self-control do you think you have?"

You frowned slightly. "What do you mean?"

His hand on your thigh tightened. "I mean…" He kissed just below your ear, dragging his lips along your jaw before pulling back to look you in the eye. "Think you can handle sitting on my cock without moving?"

The bluntness of it sent a jolt of heat straight through you, making you tense.

"Rafe," you muttered, but the way he was looking at you made it impossible to say anything else.

He grinned, knowing damn well he already had you. "What? Scared you'll lose?"

That did it. You never liked backing down from a challenge, and Rafe knew it. Which was exactly why he said it.

"Fine," you said before you could second-guess yourself.

And that was how you ended up here—straddling him on the bed, completely bare, his cock buried deep inside you. The stretch was almost too much, your body clenched tight around him, but neither of you had moved.

You were supposed to be winning this, supposed to be showing him that you had all the restraint in the world. But the way he was looking at you—eyes dark, jaw clenched, his hands gripping your hips just to keep himself from fucking up into you—made it so hard to focus on anything but how badly you wanted to move.

Minutes passed. Maybe more.

You swallowed, feeling a bead of sweat roll down your spine.

Rafe smirked. "Starting to squirm, baby."

You narrowed your eyes, forcing yourself still. "Not even close."

"Liar." His hands slid up your sides, slow and deliberate, making goosebumps rise on your skin. He traced your waist, up to your ribs, his thumbs brushing just under your breasts. "I can feel how bad you want it."

You sucked in a breath, digging your nails into his shoulders.

His voice dropped lower. "Be honest. How bad do you wanna move right now?"

"Not at all," you lied, even though your body was screaming otherwise.

Rafe chuckled darkly. His grip on your hips tightened before he shifted the slightest bit underneath you, just enough for you to feel it.

Your breath hitched.

"Oops," he said, all fake innocence.

You clenched around him instinctively, and he sucked in a sharp breath through his nose, his fingers twitching against your skin.

The tension between you crackled like fire.

It was only a matter of time before one of you gave in.

Every passing second made it harder to breathe. Harder to think.

The ache between your legs was unbearable. Rafe filled you up completely, stretching you in a way that left you dizzy, and the worst part was that you couldn't do anything about it.

Your thighs burned from holding still. Your hands clenched at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin just to ground yourself. But the worst part? You could feel him. Every twitch, every subtle pulse of his cock inside you, making the heat between you even more unbearable.

Rafe wasn’t doing much better. His jaw was locked, his fingers flexing against your hips like he was moments away from snapping.

Still, you refused to give in first.

But God, it was so hard.

Your body was betraying you, your hips twitching the slightest bit no matter how hard you tried to stay still. The more you resisted, the more desperate you became. You could feel yourself soaking him, your arousal pooling between you, making it impossible to ignore just how much you needed him to move.

A whimper slipped from your lips before you could stop it.

Rafe let out a low groan, his hands tightening on your waist. "Fuck," he muttered, head falling back against the pillows.

You clenched around him at the sound, another soft, helpless noise escaping your throat.

His grip on you turned bruising. "You're making this real fuckin’ hard, baby," he rasped. His voice was deeper now, rough with restraint. His breathing was uneven, his chest rising and falling beneath you. "You're so wet—fuck."

You could barely form a sentence. "Rafe—"

Another needy sound tore from you as he twitched inside you again.

His hands flexed, and then his control snapped.

With a growl, he grabbed your hips and thrust up into you.

The sudden movement made you gasp, a jolt of pleasure shooting up your spine as your hands flew to his chest.

"Fuck, baby—"

He didn’t stop. His fingers dug into your skin as he fucked up into you, the slow, torturous game you’d been playing thrown out the window. He was done holding back.

"You wanted to play, huh?" His voice was breathless, low, dangerous. "Now you wanna get all fuckin’ whiny, like you're not the one who started this?"

Your head was spinning. All you could do was feel—feel the way he filled you, the way he hit deep, every movement sending sparks through your body.

He grabbed your jaw, forcing your gaze down to meet his. His eyes were dark, wild, hungry. "Look at me when you come," he ordered, thrusting up into you harder. "I want you to watch who won this fuckin’ game."

And just like that, you shattered.

[wonderthor]

your neighbor sukuna who lives in one of the apartments upstairs may be a rough and dangerous man, but he’s funny and nice to you, so you become friends anyway. you even develop a little crush on him, and when he calls you little pet names like sweetheart and doll, you start to think he might like you too. one night you decide to go out for drinks, and as he drinks more he lets out more about his past and you learn he is a little more dangerous than you thought. he talks about how he broke into people’s houses at night all the time to steal their things and when he finally did get caught and locked up, he had probably broke into over 200 people’s houses by then.

“that’s crazy, but you wouldn’t get that lucky with me though”

he sets his beer down, raising his eyebrow at you in question.

“what do you mean?”

“i mean that im a very light sleeper, always have been. and there’s no way you couldn’t break into my apartment without me knowing it.”

he picks his beer back up and takes a swig before looking back at you with a smirk.

“you sure about that?”

you confidentially smirk back at him.

“oh absolutely. i get woken up if the wind blows a little too hard against the window. i even woke up that one time i had a mouse in my apartment and i could hear it scurrying across the floor. i would definitely hear you open my door and walk around.”

sukuna taps his fingers against the bar counter with his head in his hands and his eyes still on you, thinking.

“how about we make a bet.”

“a bet? on what?”

“if i can get into your locked apartment and into your bedroom without waking you up, i win. if i do, you win.”

“and what do i get when i win?”

sukuna chuckles at that, almost like a villain’s laugh.

“i wouldn’t worry too much about that.”

you roll your eyes at him.

“oh please, you sound way to confident in your impossible chance at winning.”

he laughs at you again.

“i am. there’s a reason i was able to break in so many people’s houses while they were still in there without getting caught. it’s kind of my specialty.”

you take another sip of your drink and lean back.

“your specialty, huh? and you still haven’t mentioned what we get if we win.”

“what do you want?”

his tone caught you off guard for a second, getting deeper and more serious without you expecting it.

“u-um, i don’t know. you can pick.”

he smiles at you again, a devious smile this time as he leans in closer to you.

“if i win, i get to do whatever i want to you. if you win, you get to do whatever you want to me.”

time stops for a minute and you don’t realize that you’re just staring at him until after several seconds.

“what do you m-mean by that?”

he leans back to hold his beer and his playful demeanor is back.

“well according to you, you won’t have to worry about that, right?”

a couple of days went by and you were still on edge. you mentally slept with your eyes open and even kept your bedroom door cracked, just in case you really couldn’t hear him come in. even though you knew it was just a bet and a silly little game, you couldn’t stop your heart from pounding against your chest. maybe because you still didn’t really know what he said meant. and there was also the eerie feeling that you were essentially waiting for him to break into your apartment, like a real robber. like the robber he used to be. and even though you knew he wasn’t dangerous to you and wouldn’t hurt you, you were still admittedly a little scared. you truly didn’t know what to expect.

it had been a couple of weeks now and you were sure sukuna was fucking with you. whenever you saw him in passing, he was his normal playful and flirty self, and mentioning nothing of the bet. you were starting to think he was kidding, just making that up to scare you and mess with you. or you also thought he could have just forgotten, since he was drinking a little and couldn’t have forgotten all about it.

but little did you know that you were playing right into his hands. he was waiting on you to lose your edge, to slowly get comfortable enough again to slip into deep and dream-filled sleeps. that’s why you didn’t expect it, why you didn’t expect to lose.

when you woke up one night, you felt your heart fall out of your body and your eyes almost jump from their sockets. there he was, in your apartment, in your bedroom, on your bed, leaning over you on his hands and knees. when he saw that you were awake and too stunned to speak, he smirked and leaned in closer to you until his face was just inches from yours.

“guess i win, sweetheart.”

[ckret2]

So a while ago some friends were talking about fans who claim the Same Coin theory is canon. And I made the mistake of saying:

Do you know who also has tons in common with Bill? Mabel. Yet nobody claims Bill reincarnated as Mabel. …wait now I want a "same coin but it's Mabel" AU. Funniest Bill reincarnation option. The all-seeing arsonist is making macaroni glitter art. The omnipotent tyrant is crying because a unicorn called her a bad person.

And then I overthought it for two months.

So—AU where after death, Bill's soul shoots 13 years into the past and reincarnates as Mabel. I'll call it ✨ Sparkly Coin AU ✨

Don't leave yet. Lemme show you why it works. Behold the eerie amount of parallels in their personalities, dialogue, behavior, mannerisms, tastes...

I could have kept going but my attention span ran out. All right, we all on board now? Convinced we could segue from one personality into the other? Great. Now here's why you should be interested: the juicy post-Weirdmageddon angst potential.

As long as a small fringe of the fandom still thinks Weirdmageddon is Mabel's fault, why not amp that up x100 and have some fun with it?

Is everyone sold now? Great. Let's get into the details. I've got 8 more pieces of art under the read more.

So the AU starts the instant Bill dies. Thanks to invoking his deal with the Axolotl—one way to absolve his crime, a different form, a different time—the Axolotl gives him a new shape and shoots him thirteen years into the past. Apparently, the Axolotl thought it would be very funny to stick Bill in the family that defeated him.

Which probably made for a jarring transition.

(It's fine, she's like 10 minutes old, she probably can't even tell who she's looking at. Not being able to tell who she was looking at is what got her into this situation ayyyy)

When Dipper & Mabel come back from Gravity Falls complaining about this triangular jerk Bill, their parents mention that Dipper's name was nearly Bill. See, after they knew they were going to have a boy, one night their mom dreamed about a visitor—some kind of magic pink salamander??—calling her child "BILL." Then at the next sonogram they found out they were having twins, the girl must've been hidden at a weird angle the first time, and they wanted matching names, so they thought, Bill and Bell. But they didn't really like Bell; but eventually they stumbled on Mabel, so to keep the names matching they switched from Bill to Mason. Isn't that the darnedest thing?

(Of course, Mabel and Dipper assume Bill harassed their parents to try to trick them into naming a kid after him. To be a jerk.)

When Bill meets Mabel, he's unaware that she's his future self—Bill's notably bad at doing things like, say, double-checking to see whether he's going to die anytime soon—but like... he can tell something's up.

Naturally, before visiting Gravity Falls, there were echoes of who Mabel used to be—but nothing anyone would be able to identify without context. All her Bill-ish quirks either smoothed out with time (see: how between second grade and fourth grade Mabel went from being the "freak" to the popular girl in class), or else they were accepted by her family as Mabel-ish quirks.

After they meet (and kill) Bill, they have the context to understand some of Mabel's behaviors... and unfortunately, some of Mabel's latent Bill-ness starts surfacing after she's been directly exposed to her prior incarnation.

The part of the Pines family familiar with Bill thinks the worst case scenario is that maybe Bill's survived and is slowly possessing Mabel; but far more likely, they think this is just some weird way of trying to subconsciously process last summer. Mabel doesn't think she's being weird, you guys are being weird, stop giving her weird looks. They get attacked by one triangle and now she can't wear yellow or pick up macrame as a hobby??

(It's not all red flags and uncomfortable triangle imagery, though. When Stan asks her what she'd like as a gift for some important event, she shyly admits that she thinks she's starting to outgrow her plastic gem jewelry and maybe she's old enough to get her first piece of real gold jewelry, if that's not too expensive? And Stan's never been so proud of her. Thirteen years old and already thinking about buying gold!)

But of course, the real fun starts when Mabel finds out.

That's the face of a girl who's just discovered that she tortured her great uncle. Now imagine running into the brother she possessed.

But I've already spent a million words and thirteen images on this post. If enough folks are interested in the AU maybe I'll expand on it later. Let me know what y'all think.