#or at least extremely self-injurious

[zinziinziiin]

zin from a week ago here. venting in the tags. might not be relevant as it posts, but it might explain some things from the last little bit.

sensitive content ahead. don't feel like you have to read the whole thing.

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Doctor Doctor, Gimme The News | Part II

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Doctor!Reader

Summary: You receive a particularly difficult patient by the name of Bradshaw and you try your best to resist his charms.

CW: tall Bradley, Mavdad, it's still goofy XD

WC: 1800+

Part 1 | Masterlist

You’re sitting at the bar with a drink in your hand, waiting for your friend to finish flirting with the bartender so you can pay your tab, when you hear a familiar voice from behind.

“Almost didn’t recognized you without the stethoscope.”

You glance over your shoulder wearily, instantly recognizing the tall aviator you met at the clinic earlier in the week. Bradshaw, was it? “Yeah, I get that a lot,” you say, giving him a polite smile before turning away.

Bradley doesn’t take the hint and plants himself on the barstool next to you. “So, are you gonna tell me your name? Or am I just gonna have to keep calling you Doc? Might get a bit awkward in bed.”

You snort into your drink as you’re taking a sip. Bradley grins, clearly pleased that he’s made you laugh. His slightly narrowed eyes sweep over your face with a quiet confidence, and you find yourself rather enjoying his attention. “Well, for the sake of making things less awkward,” you respond with a small smile, and then tell him your name.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he says, and then leans forward slightly to add, “again.”

You bite into your lip to suppress your widening grin.

“I was hoping I’d run into you, actually,” he comments, turning away to flag down the otherwise occupied bartender.

“Oh yeah?” you ask, feigning surprise.

“Yeah,” Bradley responds, tapping on his beer bottle and nodding at the bartender. He turns back to you and shrugs. “Saves me from having to fake an illness to come see you.”

You eye him somewhat reproachfully. “That would be extremely inappropriate.”

Bradley laughs. “If you think that’s inappropriate, I’m not gonna tell you what I planned on doing once I got there.”

Your eyes widen at the insinuation. “Lieutenant!” you exclaim.

Bradley continues chuckling. “Don’t worry, you’d have liked it.” He winks and then nods at the bartender who’s brought him his beer.

You stare at him because his boldness is mindboggling. “You shouldn’t be drinking with a head injury,” you point out.

He looks at you with amusement. “What head injury?”

“The one that brought you to my office?”

“You know what brought me to your office?” he says, and then points a thumb over his shoulder at a crowded table near the back of the bar. “Captain Maverick Mitchell. My self-appointed father figure,” he says in a tone that’s half-grudging, half-affectionate. “And possibly fate,” he adds as an afterthought.

You blink at him skeptically when he glances back at you. “Wow,” you say. “Pulling out the big guns.”

Bradley laughs again. “I have quite the arsenal.”

“Oh, I bet,” you say with a chuckle. “Aviator, right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bradley responds proudly. Then he nods at the glass you bring to your lips. ���Looks like you need a refill.”

You shake your head. “I was about to head out actually.”

Bradley purses his lips and narrows his eyes. “But then I arrived and changed your mind, right?”

You laugh slightly. “Not quite, Lieutenant,” you respond, rising from your stool and waving at the bartender. “I’ve got an early morning.”

Bradley gets out of his seat and pulls out his wallet. “Allow me, please,” he says.

“That’s not necessary,” you reply uncomfortably. You don’t like feeling indebted to anyone.

Bradley gives you a more serious look. “It’s the least I could do for nagging you this evening.”

You can’t help the smile that spreads of its own accord. You find Bradley reasonably attractive, sure. But it’s the way he carries himself that’s really got you hooked. You can hardly pull your gaze away. “Don’t forget about the part where you were the most obnoxious patient.”

Bradley lets out a hearty laugh. “That deserves a whole pint, Doc.”

You give him a smile. “Maybe another time,” you say politely. Despite his persistence, you can’t jeopardize your position at the clinic by consorting with a patient.

But before you turn to leave, Captain Mitchell approaches the bar and, upon perceiving you, he exclaims, “Oh! It’s the doctor!” He gestures in your direction while looking at Bradley.

Bradley gives him a flat look. “No shit,” he says.

Maverick glances between the two of you and then nods in realization. “You’ve spotted her already.”

You press your lips together to conceal a smile as Bradley brings a hand to his face like he’s thoroughly embarrassed by his ‘self-appointed father figure’. “Hello again,” you say to the captain, extending your hand.

“Good to see you, Doctor,” Maverick replies with a knowing grin, shaking your hand. “Almost didn’t recognized you without the stethoscope.”

“Oh god,” Bradley groans. “That's embarrassing.”

Maverick looks over at him with a confused expression while you giggle. “I was actually planning on scheduling him in for a follow-up,” Maverick says. “Noticed some concerning behaviors.”

You raise your eyebrows while Bradley watches Maverick’s profile incredulously.

“New behaviors?” you ask, glancing back at Bradley.

“No, no.” Maverick waves a hand nonchalantly as he settles onto a barstool. “Not new.”

Bradley shakes his head. “Why are you such a shit disturber?”

Maverick laughs and claps him on the back. “You buy the lady a drink yet?”

You drop your head slightly to hide your growing smile.

“I was trying to,” Bradley declares. “Before your ass showed up.”

You look up apologetically at the two men who are now watching you expectantly. “I’m not…thirsty.”

Maverick winces while Bradley’s shoulders visibly fall. “It’s his fault, isn’t it?” Bradley says, gesturing at Maverick with his thumb again.

“How is it my fault?” Maverick exclaims.

“It’s not his fault,” you attest, glancing at the captain.

“You should talk some more about my concerning behaviors,” Bradley retorts.

Maverick snorts. “I was kidding!” he says. “She knows!” he gestures at you. “You know, right?”

You glance between the two men patiently, wondering if they realize just how much they have in common. “Neither of you is driving tonight, right?” you ask, feeling, for some strange reason, a sense of responsibility for them.

Maverick turns to face you with a jolt. “I’m sober,” he asserts.

Bradley’s eyebrows converge in a dubious expression before he looks back at you. “He’s not driving,” he confirms.

“And you?”

“This is only my second beer!” he exclaims.

You meet his gaze with a smile because you don’t want him to feel attacked. “Okay,” you respond gently. “Drive safe.”

You start to walk away when you hear Bradley say, “Can I walk you to your car, Doc?”

You turn to face him again, about halfway to the door. “You know my name now,” you say, and he grins at you.

“I do,” he agrees. “That was for old times’ sake.”

You sigh. “Sure, Lieutenant. You can walk me to my car.”

…

Out in the parking lot, Bradley muses, “I’m thinking of maybe dislocating my shoulder next week. That’s an easy fix, right?”

You look over at him sharply. “That’s not funny.”

Bradley grins. “Not even a little?”

You roll your eyes at him and continue walking.

“Come on, Doc!” he calls after you. “My sense of humor is a good thing, remember?”

You smile to yourself and slow your pace to let him catch up. “There are other ways of getting my attention besides injuring yourself,” you remark as he falls back in step with you.

“Such as?” he asks.

You approach your car and unlock the door. “I can’t give away all the answers, can I?”

Bradley presses his lips together and grins. “Does that mean I have a shot?”

You lower your gaze coyly. “I don’t know, Lieutenant.”

“That’s not a ‘no’,” he points out.

You smile, glancing back up at him. “No,” you agree. “I suppose it’s not.”

Bradley’s eyes sparkle mischievously as he holds your gaze. “Can I take you to dinner?” he asks.

“No,” you reply almost immediately. Then, after a beat, you add, “Not yet.”

Bradley licks his lips, still grinning. “I’ll take it.”

You chuckle slightly, reaching for the door to your car.

“Can I stand here with you a little longer?” he asks, his voice a little more raspy when it isn’t bursting with confidence.

You pause, your hand still on the door, shocked at how desperately you want to oblige. How delightful it would be to just say yes on a whim. Without considering the repercussions or weighing the pros and cons. Without deliberation or apprehension. Impulsively. The word itself makes you flustered. “Okay,” you say, glancing up at him as he shifts a little closer.

Bradley smiles at you and leans his back to the car. He stands quietly for a few moments, just existing beside you, which you find both endearing and infuriating. You don’t have a lot of time on your hands and simply standing around is a colossal waste of it in your books. But something about the warm evening breeze paired with the smell of the ocean and Bradley’s crisp cologne makes the experience less harrowing, and maybe even possibly pleasant.

Still, you’re restless. “So, when you said you wanted to stand here, you actually meant stand here…” you comment.

Bradley glances down at you with an amused expression. “You got something else in mind, Doc?”

You half-snort, half-chuckle. “I just thought maybe you had something else to say. I didn’t realize we’d be standing in silence.”

Bradley grins at you. “It’s called being present.”

You study him with a slight grimace, genuinely trying to keep your cynicism at bay. Being present isn’t a kind of luxury you can often afford. Most days, you don’t even get a chance to eat sitting down. “What does that accomplish?” you ask.

Bradley, who’s still watching you with a smile, replies, “Does everything you do have a purpose?”

“Of course,” you say. “Why else would I do it?”

Bradley raises his eyebrows and puts his hands into his pockets. “That’s very practical of you.”

“It’s efficient,” you point out, trying to highlight the importance of productivity.

Bradley nods patiently. “Sounds like you need a night off, Doc.”

You laugh. “I just had a night off. But it had a purpose – my friend needed help wooing the bartender.”

Bradley chuckles. “Has the purpose ever been to just have a good time?”

You make a face and shrug. “That’s not really a priority of mine.”

“Wow, Doc, you’re a hoot,” Bradley replies facetiously.

“I warned you,” you remind him, opening your car door.

Bradley leans his arm over the frame of your car as you climb inside. “You know you leave me no choice, right?” he says, ducking his head slightly to peer into the vehicle.

“What are you talking about?” you ask, glancing up at him.

“We’re going to have to rearrange your list of priorities,” he says.

You watch him for a moment, marveling at his persistence. His gaze drops briefly to your lips before flitting back up to your eyes again, and you wonder what it might feel like to be kissed by a guy like Bradley. It would probably be sexy and spontaneous. It would probably catch you off guard and possibly even offend you a little. Then again, maybe you wouldn’t mind being mildly offended if it meant kissing Lieutenant Bradley Bradshaw. “I’m not sure that’s a realistic goal,” you say. Your tone might be sarcastic, but the statement is fairly accurate.

Bradley grins. “I don’t mind a challenge.”

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[cripplecharacters]

Does Your Scarred Character Have to Hate Themself?

[large text: Does Your Scarred Character Have to Hate Themself?]

(TLDR: no. literally no.)

A frequent topic that shows up around facial differences is the self-hatred, self-disgust, self-insert-negative-emotion that we must surely experience. I want to ask* writers without FDs - why? Why do you feel about us in such a way that that's the most common way of depicting us?

*- rhetorical question. I promise I know the answers, but I'm not sure if writers do.

It's frankly worrying to me. Is it really that common to assume that disabled people have this internal, never-ending hatred for themselves? The overwhelming majority of us don't. We hate inaccessibility, when people stare, or some symptoms when they get in the way, or how expensive being disabled is, but I find the concept of us being so completely disturbed by our own disabilities extremely strange. It’s “tragedy porn” intersecting “most basic ableism”.

“But trauma!”

[large text: “But trauma!”]

Trauma of what! People with facial differences don't have some sort of default trauma that we come with like it’s a factory setting. We are a group of people with tens of thousands of stories and experiences!

“Trauma of experiencing ableism/disfiguremisia” - that's better, at least this means something. If you're writing a story about this, please get a sensitivity reader with a facial difference. You can assume how we feel all you want, but in my experience these assumptions are often bizarre and unrealistic. Or just end up writing the same “disability so sad” sob story that everyone has seen a billion times. If you want to write about disfiguremisia, you need to understand the nuance and have more than just the basic level knowledge (which 99% of people don’t have either). If you can’t do that, don’t write about it. Simple as that.

“Trauma of the accident” - thankfully, the accident is an event and a facial difference is a disability. If you want to connect these two like they're one and the same, you're almost surely going to demonize disability. People with traumatic spinal cord injuries, acquired amputees, people with TBI, people with acquired facial differences - we participate in our communities, we have hobbies, we date, we play with our dogs. Disability isn't a death sentence. Media who make it feel like it is certainly don't help people who do suddenly become disabled, don't you think?

Here's a post by @blindbeta about blind characters becoming blind through trauma that’s better made than anything I could hope to write here. I heavily recommend giving it a read.

And, I can't stress this enough - most of us didn't have “the accident”, most of us are born like this! "Traumatic scars" isn't the only facial difference that exists, far from it, it's only one of thousands. It's 99% of our representation and "representation". If you want to make a character with FD - please consider that we aren't a monolith. Just like not all physical disabilities are "wheelchair user with paralysis", not all facial differences are "traumatic scar with somehow no nerve damage".

The overrepresentation of it is incredibly telling, and sometimes - or very frequently - feels like the writer doesn’t actually even want to deal with us. They want to use our disability as a way to cheap drama, moral metaphors, tragic backstories. Not to represent us as living people who are much more similar to you than you apparently think.

Now, I do have enough awareness to know that that's a big part of the appeal. “Horrific Thing #2456 happens” and boom, instant drama! Of course, it's a reasonable response that they would hide their disability for years, avoid talking about it in any way, and magically change their personality to be mean and reclusive, or at least be constantly soooo sad about how much it sucks to be disabled, right?

Do I really need to say that having your character becoming disabled be the worst thing ever is ableism 101? We have been talking about this for so long at this point. Writing about the process of adapting to a specific disability is better left to people who have actual experience in it.

To give an example that will hopefully resonate more with Tumblr users, I will use the fact that I'm also gay. It's not perfect by any means but probably much more familiar territory.

Imagine, let's say, a character. He's gay. The story he's in is supposedly progressive, certainly not trying to be homophobic. The character has experienced an incident, maybe an act of aggression or a hate crime, that happened because he’s gay, which was traumatic. Happens IRL, sure. So of course the character starts hating being gay. He talks about how gross and disgusting it is, he never lets anyone know that he could be “one of them”, certainly not take a stance against homophobia. You can't mention him without mentioning the accident, they're seemingly fused together. No gay love, joy, even basic happiness, he would actually choose to be straight in a heartbeat if given the option to and complains that he can't. This is shown as a neutral, obvious thing that a gay man would do, no one comments on it. He stays like this the whole time, unless there’s a plot twist in the last 10 pages where the world is now magically perfect ("we fixed discrimination, yay!"). This is the only LGBT character in the story.

Keep in mind that there are people similar to this in real life, living with extreme internalized homophobia.

Is this, in your opinion, realistic and thoughtful representation? How does it feel when written by a cishet writer, versus a gay writer who is recalling his experiences? Do you think that it's reasonable for the majority of media representation to be like this, or very close to it? How would it affect younger gay people who might already be uncomfortable with being queer? Are gay men the target audience, or are they not even considered as a group of people who read books? Is this helping or damaging the general public's idea of how it is to be gay? Why or why not?

The Masterpiece

[large text: The Masterpiece]

From 13 to 19 of May, we are celebrating Face Equality week (what a coincidence!). It’s important to me in general - and I wish it was more important to abled people, but I digress - especially its theme for this year.

“My Face is a Masterpiece”

Great statement, it represents the community well, I do enjoy how bold it is. Very cool stuff, I love the work our advocates are doing!

But why do I bring this up?

Well, to very non-subtly show that we aren’t a self-hating group of people. We are a community, a community saying “our faces are beautiful, look!”, we are saying “treat us equally, and do it now!”. Our activism isn’t about self-disgust. It’s about fighting your-disgust. 

Why can’t writers keep up? Why are you still stuck decades behind?

Is this the only reason I bring it up?

The Call to Celebration

[large text: The Call to Celebration]

FEI, the org behind organizing it, asks a very simple question (emphasis mine):

“Why do we so often see stories about facial difference as a ‘tragedy’, when they should be about triumph?” “Calling all artists, allies, creatives, galleries.  You can rewrite the story to bring about #FaceEquality and celebrate the unique artistry found in every face. Your participation this #FaceEqualityWeek will help to tell the real story, that there is a masterpiece in every face.”

Here. We are calling for you to stop. Directly from the biggest international advocacy alliance group that's out there. If you create, this is for you.

The last argument to not have your character with a facial difference hate themselves? Because we don’t want this. We are tired and frustrated. For me personally, I’m also offended by this kind of assumption. We aren’t tragedies or cheap entertainment for abled people to pity or be horrified by. We are people, and if you can’t internalize that, you have no reason to write about us.

For once, celebrate us. Happy Face Equality Week!

mod Sasza

[mac-tirs]

the not-insignificant differences between the omen twins

so, i saw this picture posted by @amanaci which inspired me to write this rather lengthy piece on the contrasts between morgott and mohg. i decided that, instead of dumping this whole think-piece on their post, i'd make my own separate post and ramble here.

this difference in their height really tracks for how their fighting styles and personalities are like, i feel. i always found it peculiar how different they are despite being twins; i feel like there's a rather stark resemblance between miquella and malenia in their soft-faced features, pale skin, and long flowing hair, and a close resemblance between the carian siblings with their red hair, but morgott and mohg are rather different from each other, only bearing similarities due to their omen nature. i looked a little bit into that and found that there's pretty good reasons behind why.

firstly, morgott is severely malnourished and unhealthy in comparison to mohg. you can see it in his body and how his skin sags, how his ribs and bones show, and how dry it looks. below is a comparison between his hands and mohg's hands.

morgott's hands are dry, almost rubbed red and raw around the knuckles and fingers. it reminds me a little of psoriasis, or some kind of skin discolouration caused by his poor health. it's likely he isn't eating well, or at the very least, he isn't eating as well as mohg. his twin, on the other hand (ha!), has shiny, veiny skin with a healthy colour and gleam to them. it's like he wants to call to attention how well moisturised he is (which, in this case, compared to morgott, he is).

above is a comparison between the twins' horns. the difference is extremely evident to me; morgott's horns are dry, almost seeming brittle, like sun-dried bone that hasn't seen rain or moisture in years. it reminds me of the horns of a very neglected ram, almost, but despite that, the horn growths seem more controlled, less like the wild growths all over the royal omens of the shunning grounds and more controlled as a sort of jutting crown from mainly one side of his head. meanwhile, mohg's horns are shiny, curling wildly to the point of injury, taking his eye in its path of growth. they grew wildly enough to replace his hair altogether, if he ever had any, and give him an even more imposing silhouette with a literal crown of horns (and a beard to boot). beyond this, his horns look healthy, with clearly defined rings to each growth that shine under the light, much like the rest of him. he's oiled leather to morgott's dry hide.

another somewhat interesting detail of morgott is his tail. i know a lot of people see it as soft, and it certainly looks the part, but what i find interesting are two things: the first being that his fur looks quite matted in some lightings and angles but overall looks soft to the touch, and the second being that his tail's horns look much healthier than his own horns on his head. this is in clear contrast to the rest of his body, which looks dry and unassuming with smatterings of coarse white hair up and down his body, and i believe its a matter of the limits to his own self-care. he utilises his tail as another weapon in his arsenal, so he cares for it that it might serve him well in battle, unlike his head of horns, which only serve as a detriment to him with how they must obscure some of his vision, if not most of it. additionally, he likely could bear to look at his tail and care for it, but for an omen that hates his nature more than the average, he probably doesn't enjoy looking at his own face in the mirror enough to properly care for himself.

which brings me back to the sheer differences between these two. morgott, unhealthy and self-loathing, neglects many visual aspects of himself likely because he sees vanity as a luxury not afforded to someone like him. mohg, healthy and self-obsessed, cares and grooms himself to appear very much so like the lord he claims to be, loving himself to a heretical extreme (in the eyes of the golden order). their statures reflect this too; morgott hunches low to the ground, ready to pounce at any given moment but also due to his own shame and humility, while mohg stands tall and proud, though not as tall as he could possibly be due to his upbringing being one of likely having to hunch low to fit beneath the ceilings of the smaller parts of the shunning grounds.

above is a picture of an omen from stormveil, which bears resemblance to all the omen you see in the game. in terms of clothing, one of the big ways people set the omen twins apart, morgott is completely naked save for the ragged cloak of animal hides he wears, signifying he is not fit to even dress himself in a shirt or trousers as befits a king, much like the omen pictured. he wears even less than that, actually, since he lacks even the slightest adornment save for the rope that clasps his cloak together. on the other hand, mohg is entirely adorned in finery, wearing a beautifully embroidered, fashionable priest's robe with matching vestments, and beneath that (as seen in the first image) some underclothes, a plain black button up and some pants. mohg's entire silhouette changes with the removal of his robe, while morgott's barely makes an impact once you realise he has only taken off the one article of clothing he had.

then, of course, there are their fighting styles. there's this fantastic video on youtube that i recommend watching of the twins fighting every major boss in the game, and you can clearly tell them apart from their fighting styles alone. morgott is fast, his size making him look deceptively slow only for him to dart out and do sick flips and somersaults and pirouettes that rival even the most flexible dancers, and he fights with speed and almost animalistic ferocity, save for when he conjures his weapon incantations. mohg is slow but strong, capable of swinging that large trident around like it weighs nothing while hitting with the force to knock down most enemies in a few hits, and most tarnished in just one, but he fights with a steady gracefulness in his every move, walking slowly and carefully while casting spells that hurt a lot.

even their phase 2 transitions are markedly different, with morgott's being one where he drops to his knees, vomits, and releases his cursed blood(?) all over the battlefield, causing his weapon to become alight with his curse and for him to fight with more in-your-face aggression, and with mohg's being one where he simply ignores your attacks and begins stabbing his spear into the formless mother for power at your expense, gaining a majestic set of wings that put distance between you and him so he can cast more of his spells at safer distances. where morgott is pushed to his limit and forced to confront his nature, mohg has long since embraced it and enjoys the fruits of his bloody labour with the mother of truth's blessing.

speaking of the mother of truth, even their patron orders are at odds with each other. the golden order was built upon the foundation of a very carefully-guarded lie: that marika is the one true god, which she can't be, with the existence of radagon (as per goldmask, perhaps the number 1 fundamentalist we meet in game). the formless mother is known also as the mother of truth, existing in direct opposition of the golden order's lies and craving the honesty of one of the purest expressions of life: blood. these two ideals would war against each other, with one being dedicated to the upholding of a beautiful, corrupt lie and the other being dedicated to the instillation of a dynasty of raw, pure truths. as such, even morgott and mohg's own great runes reflect these contrasts in faith, though, remarkably, these two great runes are ones that fit perfectly over each other, with mohg's slightly elevated (seen below, taken from the fextralife wiki).

so, where does this leave us? i don't know, exactly. i wasn't really writing this with any sort of ultimate conclusion. i just found it really interesting how different they were, and i wanted to talk about all the noticeable, significant differences between them here. thanks for coming to my ted talk.

[actiniumwrites]

patches

synopsis: even though you’re both self-proclaimed enemies, they can’t bear to see you hurt. or in which, you show up at your enemies door all bloodied and bruised and they’re forced to take care of you

characters: xiao, gaming, alhaitham, and arlecchino x gn!reader (separately)

warnings: angst to fluff, hurt/comfort, injuries, crying, enemies to lovers, some of them are kinda mean, extremely mild misunderstandings, probably swearing idk

notes: i’m in a massive enemies to lovers kick right now omg you guys don’t understand. this was also inspired by arlecchino’s voiceline from a heavy hit or something where she says, “wanted my full attention, did you?” she’s so fine i’m sobbing 😖

Xiao:

It was a relatively quiet night before you showed up at Xiao’s room at the Wangshu Inn. For the first time in a while, he had felt a semblance of peace. That was until the indistinguishable scent of blood forced itself in his nose and a weak knock sounded at his door.

Xiao opens it immediately. He doesn’t care to know who it is, but rather what they want with him at nearly three in the morning. No one ever bothers Xiao this late. Not unless it was serious.

“What do you—“ he starts harshly but stops mid sentence when he recognizes your face. You’re doused in blood, your clothes all ripped up. And god, you look so weak it almost makes him feel bad for you. “Get inside,” he grabs your arm harshly, but still manages to avoid all your injuries.

You start to speak, but your mouth is full of blood too. He can barely understand what you’re saying aside from a bunch of nonsensical, I’m sorries. And if your injuries weren’t enough to show it, the fact that you’re apologizing to him at all tells him something is seriously wrong. Most of the time you talk to him it’s a bunch of insults thrown back and forth, some even result in physical fighting. Neither of you have been able to get along for centuries, yet here you are getting patched up in his house.

Xiao remains mostly silent as he sets you on the counter and pulls out his medical supplies. First he cleans up all the excess blood with a cloth before tossing it aside and moving to work on the actual injury itself. You can’t help but watch him, feeling nothing but shame as you do. You couldn’t help it. There was no one else you could think to go to.

“You are unbelievably weak and irresponsible. It’s idiotic to think you could ever handle anything in this world, not even a few monsters,” he grumbles between stitches, “Pathetic.”

You just stare at him as tears well up in your eyes. You aren’t one to cry. In fact, you can’t even remember the last time something so bad happened that you did. But sitting here, terrified of the monsters that had you within an inch of your life combined with Xiao’s cold words made you completely shatter inside and out.

Quietly, you sob into your other half-cleaned arm, “I know. You don’t have to say it.” You begin to get up right after, mumbling about it being a mistake coming here but he pushes your knee back down before you can fully stand up.

Xiao looks up surprised from where he sits as he does, his hands drop the thread and needle against the counter. Without word, he stands up and furrows his brows. “I should not have said what I said,” he practically whispers, a twinge of embarrassment hitting him too. A darker look shades his gentle amber irises as he stares into yours, “I don’t entirely dislike you. As stupid as your actions may have been, seeing you injured makes me…upset.”

“They weren’t normal monsters,” you breathe out between the remaining sobs that still involuntarily leave your mouth. You know you don’t owe him an explanation, but you figured you could at least make it known you weren’t taken out by some random hilichurls. “I was down in the Chasm. Those…things weren’t anything like I’ve ever seen before. I didn’t even have time to react.”

Xiao nods and places the last bandage on your face, “You shouldn’t go down there by yourself. It’s too dangerous. The last time I was there I hardly escaped.”

“What do you mean?” you raise a brow, your interest suddenly peaked. Xiao wipes the remaining tears off of your face in silence before turning to walk away.

“Call for me next time and I’ll be there.”

Gaming:

Gaming and you had gotten off on the wrong foot when you first met each other years ago. As children, you always felt like he stole your spotlight and he never seemed to care. And as you got older, it never seemed to go away. You constantly bickered and loathed having to see each other whenever one another’s name was brought up.

Yet whenever you got hurt, he was always the first person you went to. Although normally, it was for small things like paper cuts and bruised elbows. Not for your face having a cut so deep you could barely see and an arm twisted out of place like today.

“Fuck,” you mutter as you bang on his door, hoping it was the right one. There was too much blood in your eyes. Every door in the village looks the same right now, and even if it is the right one, you aren’t sure he’s even home. “Please be home,” you pace back and forth. Gaming stopped asking questions years ago when it first started.

You were forced to go with him after a group of bandits had found and beat you up, taking nearly everything you had in your bag. Gaming had found you while on delivery, and like the sweet guy he is, he stopped and helped you even though you could both barely stand each other. He didn’t want to see you dead either.

You weren’t often hurt, but it became somewhat of a cycle whenever you were. You were a nice person, well liked by most, but you also enjoyed stirring up trouble and it often landed you in some pretty hot water countless times. You knew Gaming wouldn’t say anything to anyone or turn you away like other people would. And above all, you like the kinder side of him whenever he patched you up, which he was good at too.

“Gaming!” your fist pounds on the door again. It’s almost nightfall and a few villagers have begun staring. You almost go to knock again, but your body begins to give out. You mumble a few more curse words before the door opens and you fall forward, directly onto the very person you were looking for.

“Ow ow ow, oh my god my arm!”

“Sorry! Is that blood?! What happened to you?”

“I don’t know! Ask the guys who thought my joke wasn’t funny.”

Gaming picks you up off the floor in a state of panic and rushes you to the bathroom. Luckily for you both, his dad isn’t home to see all of this.

Gaming begins to wipe the blood off your face and examine the cut that runs all the way from your forehead to your cheek, narrowly missing your eye. “This is bad,” he says and begins rummaging through his drawers for medical supplies.

You scoff, “Yeah, you think?”

“You didn’t have to come here, you know. You should’ve gone to a doctor,” he bites back nicely. Sometimes you wish he would just be a little meaner to you. It was easier to hate him that way.

You quiet down and let him take care of your face, “I’m sorry. You’re the only one who I can actually trust to take care of me.”

Gaming hides a small smile while avoiding eye contact with you. Not that you could even see, but just in case. He’d never admit it, but he actually really enjoys when you go to him for help. He’s never resented you like you’ve resented him, but he never bothered to change it either. Somehow he hoped bandaging you up would make you change your mind about him.

“It’s alright,” he says softly, pouring disinfectant onto a small cloth and wiping the cut gently. You wince and he places a hand on your upper arm to silently comfort you, “If you want some good news, you don’t need stitches on your face.”

You breathe out a sigh of relief, having always hated needles, “Thank god.”

“But you will have to see a doctor for your arm. There’s no way for me to fix that on my own,” he says bashfully, “I can maybe…take you if you’d like?”

You peer up at him, shocked at the question. Perhaps this could be a new start between the two of you, and you’re not so against it.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

Alhaitham:

It’s pouring outside when Alhaitham hears banging on his front door. At first, he ignores it thinking it was just Kaveh forgetting his keys again and he doesn’t care enough to let him in. But the banging persists and then comes the faint sound of pained sobs.

He slams his book shut and groans as he gets up and trudges angrily to the door. He swings it open only to be met with the sight of you clutching your waist, barely keeping yourself standing as the rain envelopes you.

“Please,” you whisper weakly.

Alhaitham scoffs, “Really? I’m not a doctor, go somewhere else.” He begins to shut the door, and he almost does so successfully before you collapse on the floor, blood beginning to mix with the puddle outside his door. And there’s a lot of it.

The next thing you know, you’re in your least favorite scholar’s arms as he carries you to his room. He sets you on a chair and you take the time to take in what his room looks like. It isn’t much different than you expected, yet you never thought you’d see it.

“Don’t move. I don’t want you making any more of a mess than you already have,” he sneers, walking off to the bathroom connected to his room to grab out a small bag of medical supplies. When he returns you’re blankly staring ahead of you, barely conscious as tears start running down your face. It’s like you don’t even know you’re crying. Alhaitham stares at you for a moment in utter disbelief before snapping in your face, “Take your shirt off.”

“Huh?” you snap out of your daze, confusedly wiping your tears as you do so. A few sniffles leave your nose as you do so.

“Do you want help or not?” he snaps again, losing his patience with you. He’s beginning to seriously regret not leaving you on his doorstep. You quickly follow his instructions, taking off your shirt to reveal a huge cut stemming from one side of your stomach to the other.

Alhaitham’s eyes slightly widen in shock, and he almost can’t pull them away. For a brief moment, you even catch them soften but it’s fleeting and doesn’t give you enough time to register that maybe the stoic scribe really does care for you, even just a little bit.

You both sit in complete silence as he begins working. You catch his eyes every so often, but he quickly looks back down at the injury before either of you can speak on it.

“Who was it?” Alhaitham grumbles as he finishes wrapping it up, his arms wrapped around your waist. The feeling of his hands distracts you from the question.

“What?”

“The people that did this. Who was it?” he repeats it, more anger this time around. You shake your head and look off to the side.

“I don’t know. It was too dark to get a good look at them,” you try to explain, but Alhaitham doesn’t have any of it. You’re not sure why, but he doesn’t seem like the normal him. The guy that normally finds any and every chance to torment you.

He gets up and grabs the bag, noting something down on a nearby piece of paper and shoving it in the left pocket of his pants before angrily walking out the door of his bedroom, “I’ll be back.”

“Wait! Don’t go,” Your hand reaches out and grabs his. You pull back suddenly, not realizing how impulsive your decision was until it was too late. You go to mumble a sorry, but before you can, you find your hand back in his.

You stare at him in shock, but he just squeezes your shaking hand. “Stay here,” he says somehow both coldly and warmly at once, pulling the blankets back and gesturing to his bed, “I’ll be back in an hour.”

“Where are you going?”

“To deal with the people that hurt you.”

Arlecchino:

You wince as the door swings open aggressively, not expecting Arlecchino to open the door before you could even think to knock.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, squinting her eyes so as to scale you up and down. For a moment, they linger over your bloodstained clothes and the already bruising cuts that litter your body. You don’t notice the way they widen in shock for a moment, too distracted by the adrenaline wearing off.

You still manage to crack an arrogant smile and sarcastically mutter, “Couldn’t think of anyone worth patching me up but you.”

Without waiting for a response, you push past her figure and let yourself inside already knowing where the infirmary is. Although, you don’t make it two steps before your legs give out and your body tumbles toward the hardwood floors.

The clicking of heels stops from just beside you before a strong hand grips your arm and aggressively pulls you up, “Don’t dirty my floors. The children worked hard to clean those today.”

“Yeah? Well they can clean them again tomorrow,” you grumble and weakly attempt to push her hand off of your body. Arlecchino doesn’t budge, however. She instead drags you all the way to the infirmary and sets you down on one of the beds.

“Wow these are surprisingly comfortable. Didn’t know you had it in you to be so accommodating to all the children you like to hold hostage,” you tease to keep yourself from focusing on the pain. She ignores you and instead places a firm hand on your uninjured chest and slams your back against the bed.

Immediately, she begins working on all the little cuts and gently wipes all the blood away, saving your bigger injuries to be dealt with in a moment. For now, she didn’t mind if you suffered for a little longer.

“So,” Arlecchino starts after a few minutes of silence, finally deeming it worthy to have a real conversation with you, “was this your way of getting my full attention? If you wanted me to notice you, you should have just said something.”

“What? No! I got attacked, I wasn’t trying to ‘get your attention’ or whatever.”

“You don’t sound so sure.”

“I really wasn’t,” you cross your arms and turn your head away from her, “I was scared, you know? I didn’t know who else to go to. Make fun of me all you want, but it’s the truth.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

She doesn’t say anything more after the conversation takes its turn. You’re glad she doesn’t, not wanting to engage in the horrible embarrassment you already felt from having to show up here anyway. She was the last person you’d want to have see your weakness, yet here you are covered in the House of the Hearth’s bandages.

When Arlecchino is done with stitching up your leg, she moves to your face and gently brushes away the blood. And cut by cut, she heals each one and leaves you feeling brand new again. You stare up at her for a brief moment, unable to look anywhere else when the red X’s in her eyes are so focused on you.

“So who did it?” She asks suddenly, her tone a little more caring than before. It almost shocks you, but then again, deep down you knew she cared more than she let on. No matter how much either of you didn’t get along, you always had her back. Even if she didn’t know it. You always liked the think that she had yours too.

You sigh and scribble down a few names on a nearby clipboard left by the bed, “That’s only a few of them…the ones I was able to get talking before everything happened. I’m sure you’ll have no problem finding their leader though.”

Her eyes scan over the paper before she glances back at you and nods. She begins to walk away but stops at the doorway and calls out over her shoulder, “I’ll be back in the morning. My room is on the second floor, last door at the end of the hall. I expect to find you resting there when I return.”

[evidence-based-activism]

Individual men aren't equally predisposed to committing rape. men are approximately 49% of the population and commit 80% of violent crime. The correlation to testosterone to physical aggression is indisputable -- this correlation between masculinization and aggression exists even in women.

These antisocial behaviors are the subverted, shadow aspect to the more predominant masculine (even in masculine women) urge to provide and protect, which entails necessary and selective objectification and aggression.

“There is no female Mozart because there is no female Jack the Ripper.” is what Camille Paglia said. Genius, she argues, takes obsession, which produces good and bad talents and skills. Women fall in the middle of the IQ spectrum and men on the ends.

Social forces are certainly at play, but I want to stay focused. trauma or other external factors may serve to explain, but not excuse behavior. Feminine crime is more likely to be focused on family -- children, partners, elders, and others in the immediate family.

https://time.com/2921491/hope-solo-women-violence/

Women are at least equally as likely as men to initiate DV. 40% of victims in a DV study in America were men. Women are at least as likely as men to abuse their children and are the perpetrators in at least half of child maltreatment cases. Lesbian couples also have the highest rate of DV -- 44%, compared to 35% of straight women and 26% of gay men.

Anecdotally speaking, I was abused physically and psychologically by my mother, who was abused physically and psychologically by both her parents. I was also SA'd by a man. Both sexes have their share of degenerates who harm others. Whether their personalities or social experiences are masculine, feminine, or somewhere in between likely has an effect on how they express their violence. Everyone who commits a crime against another should be held accountable, I just disagree with the dichotomy that men are assumed to be perps and women are assumed to be victims.

I'm going to respond to this in parts.

"Individual men aren't equally predisposed to committing rape."

No, no one is ever equally predisposed to anything since that would require the confluence of innumerable, mostly unknown, factors. I have never made this claim; I don't of anyone who has ever made this claim.

"Men are approximately 49% of the population and commit 80% of violent crime."

This technically true in the USA [1]. However, it also leaves out the fact that men account for closer to 90% of homicide offenders in the USA and closer to 95% of homicides worldwide [2]. And those statistics don't even consider the fact that many female homicide offenders were acting in self defense. Men also account for closer to 90-95% of all sex offenders [3].

That is to say, a greater proportion of women's offenses are "simple assault" than men's [4]. (Simple assault is generally defined as either a threat of physical harm without any actual harm or minor acts of assault without resulting injury like slapping someone, grabbing their arm, or spitting on them.)

All in all, men commit the vast majority of violent crime and an even larger proportion of serious violent crime.

"The correlation to testosterone to physical aggression is indisputable -- this correlation between masculinization and aggression exists even in women."

No, no it is not, and no it does not.

This meta-analysis [5] found a correlation of 0.08 between testosterone and aggression. To be clear, a correlation score can range from -1 to +1, with -1 indicating a perfect negative correlation, +1 indicating a perfect positive correlation, and 0 indicating no correlation. A correlation of 0.08 is an extremely weak correlation.

Another, more recent, meta-analysis [6] found a 0.05 correlation between aggression and testosterone and no statistically significant causal effect of testosterone on aggression. Changes in testosterone were weakly correlated with aggression (0.16) and this was only in men. Importantly, this result may have been influenced by publication bias (see the study for details). Again, to be clear, they found no evidence of a causal connection between testosterone and aggression.

The lack causal connection is important, as some research as presented in this review [7] and meta-analysis [8], suggests that behavior/external events (like winning a competition) can increase testosterone. This raises an important question: can acting/being aggressive independently raise testosterone? If so, (and it does appear likely) then men who choose to act aggressive may be raising their testosterone levels; when recorded in a correlational format this results in the positive (albeit weak) correlation discussed above.

Here's some other, single study results:

In women, performing (acting out) a performance of power, whether in a traditionally masculine or feminine way, increased their level of testosterone [9]

In men, testosterone increases both pro-social and anti-social "status enhancing" behaviors [10]

Testosterone is associated with both "socially dominant [note: not necessarily aggressive] behavior among high-status persons, but strategic submission to seniority among lower-status persons" in men [11]

Testosterone is associated with greater pro-social behavior in women [12]

In an animal (male gerbil) model, testosterone caused prosocial behavior depending on "current social context" [13]

All in all, the correlation between testosterone and aggression is (1) not indisputable, (2) extremely weak, and (3) doesn't appear to apply to women.

"These antisocial behaviors are the subverted, shadow aspect to the more predominant masculine (even in masculine women) urge to provide and protect, which entails necessary and selective objectification and aggression."

Anon ... no. First of all, you appear to be treating "masculine" behavior as if it is biologically innate - for which there is no evidence - rather than socially determined.

You act as if women have not been "providing" since women existed. As if women haven't been involved in growing and domesticating plants and animals, haven't been taking care of children, haven't been growing and giving birth to all the children in history. Even the traditional "feminine" role emphasizes "providing" and "nurturing" the family.

I have the exact same comments for "protect", but more importantly: protect from what anon? From the weather? Bears? Disease? No. It's men. Men protect women from other men and then expect us to be grateful, as if it isn't men who have created the need for protection.

Beyond all that: even if the "masculine urge to provide and protect" were a real thing (and not something women have always been involved in), it still would not necessitate the "selective objectification and aggression". This argument isn't even logical ... why would "providing" need objectification? If there were no aggression what would be left to protect?

"There is no female Mozart ... "

Absolutely hilarious example to choose, anon. Meet, the female Mozart: Maria Anna “Nannerl” Mozart (his sister) [14].

And here's some other female contemporaries of Mozart [15]. I suggest Google as a resource to find more.

"...because there is no female Jack the Ripper."

While it is true that the number of male serial killers does outnumber female serial killers (and the disparity is even wider for those who kill specifically for sadism), there have, in fact, been some.

"Genius, she argues, takes obsession, which produces good and bad talents and skills. Women fall in the middle of the IQ spectrum and men on the ends."

I find the argument that obsession -> genius to be very concerning, and don't expect there are any sources on that. In particular, serial killer IQs tend to follow the same range as non-serial killers (source in last linked post).

And no, the idea that women fall in the middle of the IQ spectrum is not supported by high quality evidence.

This extensive multi-country review [16] on math performance found that the "variance ratio" (the measure for what you're describing) varies widely between countries and is related to social inequality. This suggests the differences in variance are a result of environmental not innate differences.

This longitudinal study [17] claims to find differences in girl's and boy's IQ scores, but the differences found are within the margin of error of the test. This means that a sex difference is unlikely to exist, and is, at the very least, not reliably measurable. It also suggests that any difference in the variance of IQ scores, is very small. (And see above for possible alternative explanations of this difference.)

"Social forces are certainly at play"

Yes, as indicated above.

"but I want to stay focused."

Focused on what??

"trauma or other external factors may serve to explain, but not excuse behavior."

Agreed (mostly). They may serve as a partial explanation yes, but people can experience trauma or other hardships without engaging in violence.

"Feminine crime is more likely to be focused on family -- children, partners, elders, and others in the immediate family." + [The link]

Correct, most crime by women is aimed at people they know. See above posts (when I spoke about homicide) for further discussion on this.

The link is an anecdotal source on this topic, again, refer to my earlier discussions.

"Women are at least equally as likely as men to initiate DV. 40% of victims in a DV study in America were men. Women are at least as likely as men to abuse their children and are the perpetrators in at least half of child maltreatment cases."

This is completely false. The idea that women perpetrate domestic violence or child abuse at similar rates as men, is a misogynistic myth.

See this post for an explanation. Also, this source [18] discusses the topic of women and domestic violence perpetration; I plan to eventually make a post on this topic, but in the meantime that source is an excellent place to start.

"Lesbian couples also have the highest rate of DV -- 44%, compared to 35% of straight women and 26% of gay men."

This is also a myth. A misogynistic and homophobic myth.

I'm not sure where you got those specific numbers, but I believe the origin of the myth started in the one of the CDC's reports on "Victimization by Sexual Identity" [19]. See this post for an explanation on why you shouldn't use this data to try and estimate perpetration. (Short version: it isn't weighted to be representative of the perpetrator population.) For the intimate partner violence portion in particular, it shares the same issues I describe in my post debunking the last two myths (i.e., reliance on the CTS and issues there within.)

More importantly, they don't report on the sex of the perpetrator for domestic violence, so we also have no idea if the lifetime prevalence rate of domestic violence is a result of prior relationships with a man. Data on other forms of victimization support the possibility, with 73% of lesbian victims reporting only male perpetrators of any contact sexual violence and 90% of lesbian victims reporting only male perpetrators of rape. In addition, 52% of lesbian victims report only male perpetrators of stalking.

This BJS report "Violent Victimization by Sexual Orientation and Gender Identity, 2017–2020" [20] shows a similar rate of intimate partner violence for homosexual and heterosexual individuals. Importantly, however, this combines male and female homosexual individuals into one category, so we don't know the specific rate for female homosexuals.

"Anecdotally speaking, I was abused physically and psychologically by my mother, who was abused physically and psychologically by both her parents. I was also SA'd by a man."

This is terrible, and I hope you are safe and able to heal.

"Both sexes have their share of degenerates who harm others."

Sure, I mentioned the female serial killers. Notably, however, if you take a random sample of "degenerates who harm others" the vast majority are men.

"Whether their personalities or social experiences are masculine, feminine, or somewhere in between likely has an effect on how they express their violence."

I do not know what you mean by this. Socialization definitely plays a significant role in why men are so much more violent than women, but "feminine" men can and have been as violent as "masculine" men and "masculine" women have been as non-violent as "feminine" women.

"Everyone who commits a crime against another should be held accountable"

Yes.

"I just disagree with the dichotomy that men are assumed to be perps and women are assumed to be victims."

Anon, you started this ask by acknowledging that men commit 80% of violent crime (and I clarified that men commit 90+% of serious violent crime). This disparity is significant enough that it is perfectly reasonable to treat violent crime as a gendered phenomenon.

There are always exceptions and outliers. The existence of these cases does not invalidate the trend, nor should they deter the generalizations needed for meaningful class analysis.

Now, if you want to advocate against violence in general, draw attention to "male-on-male" violence and work to reduce it, that's also reasonable, and I wish you luck with your endeavor. (In all likelihood, feminist activism will - and already has - reduced male-on-male violence, even when it wasn't a specific target.)

But you still need to acknowledge that violence is primarily the domain of men. You also need to recognize that feminism is a movement by and for women. Our focus will always be male violence against women.

References below the cut:

Alexandra Thompson & Susannah N. Tapp. (2023). Criminal victimization, 2022 (307089; Criminal Victimization). Bureau of Justice Statistics. https://bjs.ojp.gov/library/publications/criminal-victimization-2022

Homicide and Gender. (2015). UNODC United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime.

McCartan, K. (Ed.). (2014). Responding to Sexual Offending. Palgrave Macmillan UK. https://doi.org/10.1057/9781137358134

Lawrence A. Greenfeld & Tracy L. Snell. (2000). Women Offenders. Bureau of Justice Statistics. https://bjs.ojp.gov/library/publications/women-offenders

Archer, John, et al. “Testosterone and Aggression: A Reanalysis of Book, Starzyk, and Quinsey’s (2001) Study.” Aggression and Violent Behavior, vol. 10, no. 2, Jan. 2005, pp. 241–61. DOI.org (Crossref), https://doi.org/10.1016/j.avb.2004.01.001.

Geniole, S. N., et al. “Is Testosterone Linked to Human Aggression? A Meta-Analytic Examination of the Relationship between Baseline, Dynamic, and Manipulated Testosterone on Human Aggression.” Hormones and Behavior, vol. 123, July 2020, p. 104644. DOI.org (Crossref), https://doi.org/10.1016/j.yhbeh.2019.104644.

van Anders, Sari M., and Neil V. Watson. “Social Neuroendocrinology.” Human Nature, vol. 17, no. 2, June 2006, pp. 212–37. Springer Link, https://doi.org/10.1007/s12110-006-1018-7.

Geniole, Shawn N., et al. “Effects of Competition Outcome on Testosterone Concentrations in Humans: An Updated Meta-Analysis.” Hormones and Behavior, vol. 92, June 2017, pp. 37–50. ScienceDirect, https://doi.org/10.1016/j.yhbeh.2016.10.002.

Van Anders, Sari M., et al. “Effects of Gendered Behavior on Testosterone in Women and Men.” Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences, vol. 112, no. 45, Nov. 2015, pp. 13805–10. DOI.org (Crossref), https://doi.org/10.1073/pnas.1509591112.

Dreher, Jean-Claude, et al. “Testosterone Causes Both Prosocial and Antisocial Status-Enhancing Behaviors in Human Males.” Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences of the United States of America, vol. 113, no. 41, Oct. 2016, pp. 11633–38. PubMed Central, https://doi.org/10.1073/pnas.1608085113.

Inoue, Yukako, et al. “Testosterone Promotes Either Dominance or Submissiveness in the Ultimatum Game Depending on Players’ Social Rank.” Scientific Reports, vol. 7, no. 1, July 2017, p. 5335. www.nature.com, https://doi.org/10.1038/s41598-017-05603-7.

Casto, Kathleen V., and David A. Edwards. “Testosterone and Reconciliation Among Women: After-Competition Testosterone Predicts Prosocial Attitudes Towards Opponents.” Adaptive Human Behavior and Physiology, vol. 2, no. 3, Sept. 2016, pp. 220–33. Springer Link, https://doi.org/10.1007/s40750-015-0037-1.

Kelly, Aubrey M., et al. “Beyond Sex and Aggression: Testosterone Rapidly Matches Behavioural Responses to Social Context and Tries to Predict the Future.” Proceedings of the Royal Society B: Biological Sciences, vol. 289, no. 1976, June 2022, p. 20220453. DOI.org (Crossref), https://doi.org/10.1098/rspb.2022.0453.

Walker ·, Karla. “Who Was the Female Mozart?” Colorado Public Radio, 18 May 2022, https://www.cpr.org/2022/05/18/who-was-the-female-mozart/.

Hidden Herstory: Mozart and His Female Contemporaries - Women’s Philharmonic Advocacy. 22 July 2022, https://wophil.org/hidden-herstory-mozart-and/.

Kane, Jonathan M., and Janet E. Mertz. “Debunking Myths about Gender and Mathematics Performance.” Notices of the American Mathematical Society, vol. 59, no. 01, Jan. 2012, p. 10. DOI.org (Crossref), https://doi.org/10.1090/noti790.

Lynn, Richard, and Satoshi Kanazawa. “A Longitudinal Study of Sex Differences in Intelligence at Ages 7, 11 and 16 Years.” Personality and Individual Differences, vol. 51, no. 3, Aug. 2011, pp. 321–24. DOI.org (Crossref), https://doi.org/10.1016/j.paid.2011.02.028.

Michael S. Kimmel. (2001). Male Victims of Domestic Violence: A Substantive and Methodological Research Review. The Equality Committee of the Department of Education and Science. https://vawnet.org/material/male-victims-domestic-violence-substantive-and-methodological-research-review

Chen, J., Khatiwada, S., Chen, M. S., Smith, S. G., Leemis, R. W., Friar, N., Basile, K. C., and Kresnow, M. (2023). TheNational Intimate Partner and Sexual Violence Survey (NISVS) 2016/2017: Report on Victimization by Sexual Identity.Atlanta, GA: National Center for Injury Prevention and Control, Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.

Truman, Jennifer L., and Rachel E. Morgan. Violent Victimization by Sexual Orientation and Gender Identity, 2017–2020. Bureau of Justice Statistics, June 2022, https://bjs.ojp.gov/library/publications/violent-victimization-sexual-orientation-and-gender-identity-2017-2020.

[i-am-hungry-24-7]

I've just re-read my previous requested fic for tf 141 x reader with high pain tolerance, and I think we could extend this prompt (and as always you can take it or leave it, no pressure a yea 👍🏻)

What if TF 141 almost lost F!Reader again, this time she got caught by enemies and got tortured for crucial/classified information. While being tortured, you can't help but feel a little grateful that you have such an extreme pain tolerance. You finally managed to get out that place by your own (and of course after unaliving your enemies) and got back to your team. Men are worried as hell cause 1) you look like shit, like someone has just crawled out of hell (which in your part it isn't wrong), 2) the fact that you have extreme pain tolerance just make it worse

And when you finally got evaluated by medics, including clothes off, that's when they knew you'd have it worse than what they've imagined. Black-ish bruises almost every where, broken bones, dislocated joints, dried blood etc. It's heartbreaking seeing you like this. Probably some will have self blaming, guilty, rage, and other mixed emotions. Hmm imagine the heavy angst but also the massive comfort after that.

Thankskie 🦈

Summary: high pain tolerance F!Reader get tortured, after you getting rescued, enjoy the FLUFF between you and TF141

cw: very slight gore (interrogation), canon swearing, canon violence

blahaj, FLUFF, TF141*F!Reader

last req about high pain tolerance F!Reader

Oh, This isn’t great. You probably going to die this time.

You licked your chapped lips, the bitterness of iron is obnoxious, making you regret the motion and go back to try to piece together your memories again.

You counted the time when you first got caught, but after endless rounds of interrogations, your mind is too hazy to keep up the measurement.

With your hands bounding tightly on your back, chains and steel bars preventing your legs from moving, all you can do is just prey for your teammates to come.

At least you aren’t afraid, no fear of death, nor fear of pain. It’s always these moments that you feel grateful for having almost no feelings of pain, it makes you keep composed and adamant.

Well, starving kind of sucks though, you guess you’ll even devour those vegetables you hated and shoved into Kyle’s plate if it’s presented to you.

Your mind wanders, from your pudding hiding in the deepest part of the fridge in case someone (Soap) eats it, to how Price will scold your ears off for being too reckless when you’re back, until the footsteps outside the door remind you to concentrate.

Damn, you need to get out alive if you want to listen to your dear Captain recite the rules.

The door creaks open with the broad man stepping in and his dogs tailing after with weapons.

The cool water gets splashed on your face when the man stands still in front of you.

“New toy, yeah?” you spot the machete in the man’s grip

“Glad to see you awake, sergeant?” The man laughs “Seems like the mouth still works pretty well, I hope your mind is clear too so we can cooperate perfectly today.”

“Sober enough to tell you ‘no’, I guess”

Red pours from your shoulder the second after your taunt, and you frown slightly at the little sting.

“Fucking bitch still has a sharp tongue after these wounds...” He eyes down at you with a bit of disbelief.

Even though you can’t see yourself, you know you look like shit either. Burnings from the lighters, slash wounds from various tactical knives, dark bruises forming on your thigh and other parts after countless punches and kicks.

All you need to do is buy time, but even if you barely feel pain, you still will die from blood loss if this keeps going.

The rest of the interrogation is just adding more injuries to your broken body, and your consciousness starts fading.

You really want to take a nap... but will you wake up again? you’re not sure especially when another smash lands on the back of your head.

Just about minutes before you sure will pass out again, you hear the noise. Gunfire, yelling, screaming of a massacre.

They arrived...

“Go check what’s wrong.” The broad man gestures, and one of his subordinates walks out to

“Guess your saviors have come... now” You look straight into the man ’s eyes when he puts the muzzle between your eyes. “No time for playing, one last time, tell me the people gave you the intel.”

The chaos outside is getting louder and closer. Buy time, you tell yourself again, so you whisper

“Okay... Okay... I will tell you, please don’t kill me, please...” You sniff, and start sobbing while your head stays lowered.

“Finally giving up, huh? Tell me, I need their name, who do they belong.” The smirk on the man’s face gets wider, god, you really want to punch his face.

“It’s...” You murmur, and the man leans closer to hear clearly.

“It’s go fuck yourself, you bloody bastard.” You spit the blood on his face and grin like a maniac.

and the door swings open, the gunshot splatters the man’s blood on your face, but you don’t care.

You win.

“Hey, guys, long time no see.” You smile at your teammates after the man collapses beside you.

“You’re fine now, don’t worry, we got you.” Soap rushes to your side “Price is calling the exfil, Ghost and Gaz are outside making sure everything’s clear.”

“Thanks...” You melt into Soap’s arm when he unties the rope and carries you.

“I tell the bastard to go fuck himself, hehe.”

“Stop talking, bonnie, ye need to rest.”

“Did I do great?”

“Yes.” The gravel voice of Soap’s becomes softer as he answers.

“May I rest now?” you blink slowly.

“Of course, lassie.”

Getting the confirmation, The warmth radiating from Soap is too soothing, you want to tell him how much you miss them, but those words are unable to come out as you get dragged into a coma instantly.

“damn...”

Your eyelids flutter open, the familiar white ceiling is the first thing you see.

“Morning, bonnie, how do ye feel?”

“dizzy as fuck.”

“pain?”

“Nah.”

“Sometimes I think you’re not human...” Soap laughs, but he’s worried, or worried can’t describe his mood when he saw your wounds as you were sent into the infirmary.

That day when they back to base, all of them followed you, and didn’t pay any mind about getting their gears off first.

You looked like someone who just found her way out of hell, beautiful face swollen, large bruises spread across your skin like some nasty paintings, and the situation was worse than they expected after the medics cut your clothes off and started their evaluation.

Soap couldn’t forget the rage swallowing him like flames when he saw what you went through in those days, the more wounds they spotted, the more tension in the air became more insufferable.

Gaz and he cursed when they saw the huge burn on your back, skin obviously inflamed, and when the deep cuts that exposed the bones revealed from the cover, he noticed Ghost clenching his fist to suppress anger.

Price stormed out of the infirmary and called Laswell between the medics surmising how many of your bones were broken.

“Wait...” your voice pulls Soap back to reality “blahaj! 4 blahaj! Where do they come from?”

“Price gave them to you, as rewards for your hard work. He said you keep rambling about wanting to have one.”

“awwww” Soap grins as he watches you struggle to hug all of them at one time.

“There ya go.” He helps adjust the plushies so you can get them all in your arms.

“Oh yeah, where’s others?”

“Price’s on op, will be back in a week. Ghost and Gaz will visit you soon.”

“Hmmmm.”

You caress one of the blahaj’s head and turn your face

“Thank you.” you grin “For coming to save me.”

“What are you talking about?” Covering his hand on yours, he looks into your eyes, without those playful glints in his azure ones.

“We’re a team, or more than a team. Ye think we will throw ye there and do nothing?”

The seriousness on his face infatuates you, you meet his gaze without darting, and finally, break into tender giggles.

“yeah, sorry, you’re right.” You chuckle “You know what? In that basement, All I wanted was to get out of there and come back to eat my pudding.”

“Pudding?”

“Yeah, I have one in the fridge.” nodding in excitement, you continue “I should ask the doctor if I can eat it.”

“Wait that’s yours?!”

“What’s wrong?”

“Ehhh...” Soap’s smile freezes on his face under panic “I ate it.”

“...”

Soap MacTavish gets kicked out of the room with a new mission: buy 10 puddings.

When Gaz knocks on the door and steps into your ward, you are staring out the window, but turn to him immediately when you hear his arrival.

“Hey, Kyle.” You wave with your better hand.

“Feel better?” The sugar-coated smile he has always provides you with energy, your mood lights up as he takes the seat beside your bed.

“mmhmm, not that dizzy anymore.”

“loves those sharks very much?” He points at the blahajs you squeeze close to you.

“Damn, they’re my new babies now.” You show Gaz each of them.

“This is Pricey, this is Ghostie, this is Gazzy, and this is Soapy.” Proudly introducing them to Gaz, you give the sharkies a few pats.

“Such Innovative names, hm?”

“I don’t think Gaz is some special name too, Kyle.”

You both giggle at the stupid names you granted to the sharks, while Gaz lands his eyes on your arm hanging mid-air, his laughter gradually comes to a halt.

“Hey.” He watches you raise an eyebrow when he calls you “Sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“Just...” His eyes stay on your bruises, traveling along them, and he hates that they lead his gaze to roam your whole figure. “We should be there faster.”

His brown eyes are full of distress when they meet yours again.

“Garrick, come closer.” You beckons, and he follows suit.

“Don’t apologize. When I saw all of you on that goddamn chair, I knew I was safe now.” You cradle his cheek in your palm “You guys are my shelter, my home, and I never thought the chance that my team wouldn’t save me, Soap said it yesterday, and I’m sure you’re the same, yes?”

“Of course.” His eyes soften, and you return him a reassuring smile when

“Time for you to go train the rookies, right?” Shooting a glimpse at the clock, you ask.

“yeah, time to deal with those troubles.” He stands up from the chair and looks down at you “See you, lovie.”

“see ya.”

You watch him walk towards the door, but stop after a few steps.

“Why does Soapy have a huge dent on his head?”

“Oh.” You pout “He ate my pudding, so I punched his shark since I can’t spar with him now.” another punch hit Soapy when you finish speaking.

“Wow...”

Gaz mourns for his brother’s future with his whole heart.

“Still awake?” The gruff yet gentle voice floats into your ear the moment the door slides open.

“Been sleeping the whole day, LT.”

Ghost watches you shift, and lies on your side to face him.

“How’s the day, Ghost?”

“Shit as usual.”

“How about seeing me, feel better?”

“Feels worse.”

“Hey, honesty is a virtue but not here.”

He scoffs at your retort as he observes your face.

“The bruises on your face look smaller.” Ghost indicates.

“Oh yeah, my face! How does it look like?” You point at the hand mirror Gaz brings you, and after Ghost hands it to you, you open the lid.

“Jesus Christ!” you shout when the reflection shows you how shit you look like “I’m so ugly right now!”

“We all know.”

“Damn, if there’s an award for honesty, you will be the winner, Simon.” You throw the mirror back into his grip.

“Will you congratulate me?”

“I will give you an ‘I’m a winner’ sticker for you to paste on your mask.”

He chuckles at your banter, but you can sense his exhaustion, from his limp body to his half-lid eyes.

“You’re tired, Simon. Go back to rest.” You coo softly.

“I’m not leaving until you sleep.”

“but I’m not that sleepy now.”

“Should I sing you a lullaby, sergeant?”

“I’m afraid that my ears don’t have the honor the hear your beautiful singing, Sir.” you feign an ‘oh hell no’ face to him, but your eyes light up when an idea comes to mind.

“Hey, how about you lie on my bed? it can fit 2 people.”

“I don’t know you’re such an active woman.”

“Fuck you, Simon. If you want me to fall asleep then get on the bed right now!”

Sighs in compromise, Ghost rises from the chair and sits on the edge of your bed with a grunt, and you scoot inward to leave him more space to lie down.

“You’re like a bear, Ghost, I’m gonna squash into a pie by you and the blahajs!”

“Then throw those bloody sharks on the floor.”

“No! they’re Tf141 blahaj!” You pet the one in your arms when Ghost gives you a confused face. “This is you, Ghost.”

“The real Ghost is beside you and you choose him over a fake one?”

“I don’t know you’re that active, lieutenant.”

You smirk at him, he’s only wearing a balaclava, so you’re able to see the corner of his eyes crinkle at your words.

But Ghost must have some magic, you grow sleepier under his presence, maybe it’s his steady breath sounds like a lullaby, or it’s because safety he always generously offers to you.

“Sleepy now?” He speaks slowly and quietly as if he’s fear of scaring your sleepiness away.

“a bit...” A big yawn answers the question better than your slurry voice.

“Close your eyes then.”

“mmm.”

You secure the Ghostie blahaj in a tight embrace as you follow Ghost’s command.

you feel light pats on your non-injured part, and you scoot closer to the bulky man, letting him lead you into a peaceful sleep.

Ghost watches you fall asleep, and he moves off the bed as gently as he can.

“Sweet dreams.” He chants in a low voice, and he takes other sharks in his hand, placing them closer to you.

Making sure the sharks are cuddling you, he leaves like a ghost in the serene silence.

You look down at yourself, ankles tied to the chair, blood dripping from the knife that’s barely in your sight.

Aren’t you already out of that basement...?

Is it all a dream? In reality, you’re still getting interrogated?

You try to fixate on the noise outside the door, but you feel the cold metal touching your forehead.

Am I never going to see them again? I want to see them again...

I want to hear Price’s praises, want to hear Soap and Gaz fighting over the last biscuit, want to hear Ghost’s annoyed voices at my frolic.

Tears gather in your eyes when you hear the click from turning off the safety of the gun.

“... geant...sergeant... sergeant.”

“Ahh!” You let out a yell as you snap your eyes open, which are wide with horror.

“Cap-Captain...” You pant whilst you recognize the person pulling you from your nightmare.

“Yes, it’s me, love. You’re safe now, you’re in the base, infirmary, remember?” He caresses your hair to calm you down.

Oh, yes, you aren’t in that basement. You’re back.

You’re with the people you love.

“Why are you here, Captain?” after you breathe steadily again, you notice it’s 1 am, and the aisle outside is silent.

“Just came back from the op, and want to see you.”

“You should have some rest, Price.”

“You mean I leave now even when you just woke up from a nightmare?” He crooks his eyebrows.

“Well...”

“Be selfish, love. I will stay here.”

“You don’t blame me for being too stupid and getting caught by the enemy?”

“Things went south sometimes.” He shakes his head “It’s not your fault.”

“...”

“Say it, luv.” He encourages you when you hesitate.

“I...” “I thought I was not afraid of anything... at least in that basement, pain’s not a big deal for me, starvation is bearable, and death... if that means I won’t lose to those dorks, then it’s nothing to me.”

Price gives you a grunt as acknowledgement, so you continue.

“but... I think I’m still afraid of dying...” You fidget your fingers “I want to see all of you again... I want to come back to you.”

“I don’t want to die...”

You haven’t noticed tears staining your cheeks until Price’s finger — calloused yet warm — wipes the tears away.

“We all know you’re brave, kid.” Price cups your face, hand barely touches your skin, must be avoiding trigger your pain, but you don’t care, nor you can feel the pain, you shove your cheek in it and earn a chuckle from the man.

“Your high pain tolerance makes you look forward to your target without worrying yourself, but keep in mind.”

“Don’t make us worry, you need to come back to us, we can’t lose you, just like you can lose us. Understood?”

“Yes, Capt.”

“You want to go back to sleep?”

“If you tell me a bedtime story, then I will.” the mischievous grin returns to your face.

“Greedy, eh? I thought those sharks could satisfy you.”

“I want your bedtime story too.”

“How about I tell you a story about how to become an attentive soldier?”

“Fuck you, Captain.”

You hit Price with the plushie, which he catches easily, and put it on his lap, letting you give the shark little punches to drain your excessive energy, as he starts telling what happened when he met Soap the first time.

You aren’t afraid of pain, and you become an undaunted person on the battlefield. Yet still, you now keep in mind that there are people who love you, and are worried about you.

You all are a team, a home, and a haven for each other, always by each other’s side, or waiting for others to return safely.

and it’s really nice to be able to come back home.

a/n: thanks for reading! and thank you sharkie for the request, I hope you will like it (or not too disappointed) !! :D

Have a nice day/night, everyone!

[loveemagicpeace]

🍬Uranus Energy🍬

Uranus may signify death through accident, injury, or natural disaster, but at least it never signifies the death-in-life that is characteristic of Saturn. Thus, although Uranus energies can be extremely difficult to live with, the measure of chaos that they introduce is essential for life. Life is to a great extent a balancing of the orderly forces of Saturn with the chaotic forces of Uranus. Each has its place, and each needs to be kept in check by the other. Uranus represents something very different, very unique. But can also be very strange and unfamiliar. Anywhere you have uranus in your house it shows where your life is the most different. Uranus energies coming too soon in life can cause a chronically erratic quality that prevents any kind of maturation and produces an individual incapable of taking part in the social contract. Such people are automatic rebels: they rebel simply to negate order, even when order is still useful. Whatever it may affect or symbolize takes the form of something unusual, far different from the everyday world.

🦋Uranus in 1st house- you might present yourself differently to others or feel somehow out- of step. You can play a role as outsider, bringing valuable insight to outmoded situations. Your appearance is unique and your beauty can also be original and different from others. These people tend to have a different perspective than the rest. They think and look at life outside the box. You usually don't like things related to systems, you prefer to stick to your own rules. This placement often indicates an unconventional approach to life. This suggests that you are a very individualistic person, who operates the best on their own.

🌱Uranus in 2nd house-Financial fortunes might be subject to sudden changes, perhaps a result of not playing it safe. Income might come from independent freelance sources. Your money can go up and down very quickly. You can also have a different way of making money. This can lead to a unique approach to finances, a deep understanding of personal values, and an unconventional path to self-expression. Another strength of this placement is its innovative, progressive energy. You have a different way of managing your money. You spend a lot of money on things that are more dreamy. You have a free way of managing money and it doesn't mean much to you.

🌱Uranus in 3rd house- Your mind works at lightning speed. You can be single-minded in the way you think, with a talent for presenting the opposite view. Your way of thinking is often contradictory and different from the others. Many times your thinking and manner can confuse other people. This can also mean that your relationship with relatives is distant and cold. Your thoughts are often ahead of their time, leading you to challenge established ideas and concepts. Uranus here can also cause sudden accidents on the road. You have to be careful how you drive.

💕Uranus in 4th house- Early independence may have been high on the agenda. You might opt to rent rather than buy, so you can change the scenery from time to time. At home, you can often be rebellious and do things on your own. The relationship with the mother can be more distant, cold and perhaps strange. You can move a lot and the moves are usually sudden. Uranus can make a home unstable and strange.

🍭Uranus in 5th house-You have potential for genuine creative originality, although your challenge might be to allow it to land and take form, because each idea is rapidly superseded by the next. Your dates are usually sudden, different, and you may always feel that this area is not so close to you. Many times people can suddenly surprise you (positively or negatively) - also many times you don't get an answer as to why something happened the way it did. You can also suddenly fall in love. Pregnancy can happen spontaneously and the child may be born different from the others.

🍸Uranus in 6th house- You probably need some excitement in your daily round. Being freelance might suit you, so you can set your own routine and timetable. You like work that is independent and free. Above all, what you need is freedom - you hate when someone is above you and tells you what to do. Your rebellious path can be most effective through work. But since this house also represents the physical body, health - it means that you may have some disease that is unusual or you may have some skin problems that are unusual.

🛼Uranus in 7th house- You may prefer to break up with someone who curtails your freedom. Partners may seem unpredictable, but perhaps an assertion of your independence is at the root of it. You can go into a relationship suddenly or end it suddenly. Many times you can attract people who are different, strange, unique, smart. You can have certain conditions that you like about the relationship and stick to them. Few meet your standards. But you need a lot of freedom. Uranus can mean that marriage can be sudden. The law, however, can be quite different from normal laws. It suggests an individual who seeks independence, freedom, and excitement within their intimate connections. Uranus in this house indicates that you seek the company of people who have similar views as you do.

🏹Uranus in 8th house- You can shine intellectual light into life's mysteries, bringing clarity and rational discourse. It might be important to you to maintain your distance in intimate encounters. Because it is also the house of transformation, rebirth & things connected with needles, blood also sugerirs. It also means that you can go for sudden surgery. It can also mean a sudden loss. But you can deal with a loss in a different way than others. They are likely to attract unconventional partners who challenge their views on intimacy and shared resources. It can lead to successful relationships, marriages, and beneficial business opportunities. On the other hand, it can also create disruption in relationships due to its unpredictable nature and an unwillingness to conform.

🥊Uranus in 9th house-Going to university or grappling with religious principles can bring enlightenment - but you might also be inclined to question, rejecting orthodoxy and tradition. You can be very rebellious when it comes to church, religion, other culture and you can also be very controversial about that. Cuz you can also have your own religion that you believe in. Your opinion about the world can be completely different and the places that interest you can also be very unusual. You can also travel to places that others would never go. Especially to unpopular places. You can also have a very unpopular opinion about the world things & around you.

🎱Uranus in 10th house-Bowing to authority is not your style and you may choose work which encourages your independent vision and allows you to change track when it suits you. You can also be very rebellious when it comes to authority figures. The career may be in constant motion, but this can make it difficult to identify with a profession. They are often innovative thinkers with a knack for science and technology, and they bring originality and ingenuity into their development efforts. This often leads to unique and inventive career opportunities, an exciting public image, and the potential for innovative and progressive thinking.

🏝️Uranus in 11th house-This placement offers a parodox: how to maintain your freedom and autonomy within a democratic context. You could play the role of agitator, bringing radical change. You can have a unique way of doing things and seeing them. Many times it is strictly seen that you have the characteristics of uranus. U can also have very unique group or friends. This placement suggests that you enjoy taking part in online discussions where you can connect with like-minded people. Uranus here suggests that you are not interested in everyday goals, craved by most people. You have unique visions for your life. But you can also have the feeling that you are quite different from your friends (can also be lonely placement).

🧚🏼‍♀️Uranus in 12th house-Perhaps you hide your unconventionality so as to fit in - reclaiming this can help set you free. Your radar for collective trends can put you ahead of your time. You can also struggle with spirituality, things that are hidden ,unconscious -this doesn't mean that you don't believe in it, but you can have complex believing into this stuff. They may have dreams, intuitions, or sudden insights that challenge societal norms and traditional beliefs. It often happens with this placement that your parents expected a child with a different type of personality. As a child, you felt that you have to live up to their expectations, but you were struggling on the inside. Social conventions annoy you, but you struggle to express this.

🎸For personal readings u can sign up here: https://snipfeed.co/bekylibra 🎸

-Rebekah🎸❤️‍🔥🧚🏼‍♀️

[roachspeaks]

Slashers and Jealousy

Just drabbles for how the slashers deal with Jealousy :)

REQUESTS OPEN BTW

Warnings: some sexual themes/descriptions, maybe swearing, descriptions of killing people, people with bad intentions, Slight smut in Bo’s and Brahms’s, swearing, sexuality coded(mentions of female friends), side character OC’s (That may be included in One shots in the future),

Michael Myers(I wasn’t sure which version this suited best so you can decide)

It’s a commonly known fact that Michael doesn’t feel things. At least not like other people. He has his own set of emotions and expressions that are completely unique to him. He can be hard to understand sometimes but the closest thing to jealousy is when he sees you giving others the attentiveness you give him. It’s not like he cares. He doesn’t, not like how you care for him. He certainly doesn’t care that your showing a complete stranger the types of care you show him.(patching up their scratches and bruises, giving them a cold drink for the Haddonfield heat). The stranger had apparently claimed that he was passing through town and had gotten into an accident on one of the hiking trails. Michael knew that was a lie. The timing didn’t match up. Michael went on the trails every morning and he didn’t see the stranger or even a wreckage of any kind. Another thing the man left out. Michael didn’t miss how the man held on to your wrist whilst you cleaned his scratches with an alcohol pad. You brushed it off, focusing on the task at hand. You had had enough practice fixing up injuries from Michael. Of course he wasn’t in the room with you two, he was watching from the window outside. Michael could read people easily. He was amazing at it actually. And watching the stranger inside your home he could only read bad intentions. Michael didn’t know how the conversation went but he assumed you offered the stranger the night in your guest room. Michael entered the house silently through the back door. Then silently up the stairs of your home, he wasn’t surprised to see the stranger standing in your doorway while you slept. Michael didn’t hesitate for a moment to come up behind him and slit his throat. Blood spurting all over your floor as he gasped for breath that he didn’t deserve. You had gotten used to waking up when Michael would get home. So you immediately woke to the sounds of dying a just few feet from you. Let’s just say the both of you slept in the guest room that night. He didn’t ‘cuddle’ you per say. He would never, he’s a stone cold serial killer. But he did let you cuddle into him. Because you needed it of course. Not because he was worried about you. But he held you just a little closer than night. Let your hands wander just a little more than he would usually tolerate.

Vincent Sinclair

Let’s be honest. He’s an extremely insecure person, that fuels his jealous thoughts. Often he will be jealous of his brother. You and Bo spend almost as much time together as you and Vincent. You lived with them and Lester. Vincent didn’t get jealous of Lester though, or even strangers. He just knew that Bo was seen as a very attractive individual. That’s how most of the female tourists ended up sculptures in the museum. He handles his Jealousy with sadness and self resent rather than anger or aggression. He feels incompetent with himself and unworthy of the attention you give him. This particular time you and Bo had been working on a truck in the garage. You were both sweaty and covered in oil, in tank tops and sweatpants. The truck was on the lift and had been raised too a level that even Bo couldn’t reach the top. He had accidentally left a wrench on the hood. It wasn’t a big deal. But when Vincent saw Bo holding you up by your waist, his hands happening to be underneath your white tank top. He was heartbroken. Somewhere in his mind he knew that logically you were his partner and you wouldn’t ever leave him for Bo, but in the moment it was easy to forget. Vincent left abruptly, and you noticed. As soon as you were on the ground Bo’s hands returned to his sides. He knew what Vincent was thinking, and you did too. He nodded toward the door Vincent had left though and you swiftly went to follow the long haired man. When you found him he was in his workshop. Scribbling on a piece of paper. You slowly leaned over his shoulder and what you saw shocked you. A drawing of you and him, scribbled out and ripping. Vincent’s breath was jagged and frustrated. “Oh Vince” you whispered into his neck, as your arms came to wrap around him. He froze as if being caught. “I love you. Not Bo. You, Vincent Sinclair” that sentence, plus a lot more physical contact the next day reassured him immensely. He still struggles with insecurity, but you always know how to make it better.

Bo Sinclair

Unlike his twin, Bo’s jealousy is angry and possessive. He’s used to being left behind, he doesn’t want that scenario to happen with you. Let’s be honest Bo is the type to jealous fuck. Aggressively slamming into you over and over. Making you cum over and over again. Reminding you that only he can make you feel that good. Bo uses sex as a coping mechanism. Something he knows he’s the best at so he can hide behind it. It gives him a sense of security. Now though you wouldn’t let that slide. Your legs were already wrapped around his waist as he lathered your jaw in sloppy kisses. Pushing your back up against the wall of the storage closet in the auto shop. A customer was getting just a little too bold with their eyes and Bo hated it. He said he needed to talk to you ‘in the back’. There wasn’t a ‘back’ in the shop. There was a tiny storage closet around the corner, and that’s where he took you. The customer could definitely hear the two of you. You weren’t loud often but Bo just got a rise out of you. His kisses moved down to your neck and collar bone. He growled and moaned against your skin, sending harsh vibrations up your spine. You nearly got lost in the moment, he felt so good against you. But then you remembered that you had been thinking about this for a while. The fact that whenever a customer would interact with you in a way that could seem flirtatious in the shop, it would almost always lead to spontaneous sex with Bo. At first you thought it was a kinky thing but over the course of a while, after taking the time to examine him in these moments. You discovered it wasn’t a kink or turn on, it was a coping mechanism. He always got so fixated and rough in the moment. You didn’t mind the roughness, if anything it was a preference for you, but when he did this it was like he was tranced. Like he had something to prove to you. You swore that the next time he did this that you would confront him on it. Knowing Bo if you asked any other time he would deny that it ever happened. You moved your hands from his neck to his shoulders, pushing him off of you and unwrapping your legs from his torso. He was too caught up, taking this is a change of positions. He continued smashing his lips into yours, practically shoving his tongue with down your throat. “Bo! Mmm… stop it!” He kissed you hard and sloppy between your words. But at the word stop he slowly stepped back, still holding your waist with both hands. “What?” His face was neutral with a pinch of concern. Jealousy still ever present behind his eyes. “What’s up with you? Every time a customer gets a little flirty you freak and drag me back to the storage closet” my fingertips trace the bone of his jawline and move to cup his face in your hands. “I don’t know what what you mean sugar” he smirks and rolls his eyes. You don’t play along though. Instead staring into his eyes with an eyebrow raised. He tries to say that it’s seriously nothing but eventually he cracks. “I don’t-…I don’t like watching people eye you up right in front of me…” he avoids your eyes as if he has anything to be ashamed about. “Bo…it’s ok to get jealous. I get jealous all the time. But we can’t just fuck it out whenever, we still have customers.” I run my thumb along his bottom lip in an attempt to make it more intimate. Being as that is when Bo learns the best. He pays the most attention to you when your being physical. He nods and rests his head on your shoulder. The fabric of his blue coveralls brushing across your arms(that were exposed as you were in a tank top, because you were supposed to be doing car mechanics). You thought that was that but suddenly you heard him chuckling. “You get jealous all the time eh?”.

Thomas Hewitt

Thomas’s jealousy(much like Vincent’s) stems a lot from insecurity, being told all his life by people like Hoyt that he was ugly and that no one could ever really love him. But alternatively when he gets jealous he hates the fact he’s feeling that way at all. He treats it like he’s disrespecting your trust in him by resenting someone else for getting your attention. Most of the time you stay at the house with Luda Mae and there isn’t many occasions where Tommy would get Jealous, however this time you, him, Luda and strangely enough Hoyt, were going grocery shopping in town. He was already getting strange looks from everyone in the store from his appearance. Normally he wouldn’t even have come along, but Luda was getting older and needed more help carrying things. No one knew why Hoyt had come along. He wasn’t going to help, if anything he made it more of a chore than it had to be. Luda had sent you to go grab a bag of sugar, causing you to need to separate from the group. Thomas watched you walk away, worrying. To which he had every right to worry. You couldn’t find the sugar. You had been to this grocery store what felt like hundreds of times and yet you couldn’t find it. You saw a person who worked there though and proceeded to innocently ask him where to find the sugar. He lead you to the shelf. The bags that Luda wanted were big, and heavy. The man took the liberty of offering you help(he clearly wasn’t aware that you could carry it yourself. You lived on a farm for gods sake). You just let him carry the bag. He followed you back to your group, cracking a few jokes that warranted laughs out of you. You clearly didn’t pick up that he was flirting. Hoyt smirked at this, noticing an opportunity to torment Tommy. He elbowed him lightly and laughed smugly. When you got within 10 feet of Tommy you picked up your pace and ran up to him. The worker seemed shocked that these were your people. An old fashioned looking woman, a sheriff carrying a gun obviously on his belt, and Thomas. To strangers Thomas was hard to describe. He was obviously a big man, and the mask situation wasn’t helpful for new interactions either. “Oh right. Thank you!” You smiled brightly at the worker, who’s expression was wary and still surprised. You went to grab the large bag from him and hauled it into the cart. As the four of you went to walk away he called out after you again. “Um here! My phone number.” He slid a small piece of folded paper into your hand before running off. You looked at your hand oddly, that was weird. You didn’t miss how as you walked alongside him, Thomas’s eyes lingered on your hand that slid into your pocket. He was distracted as he walked, bumping into Luda once or twice. Luda being Luda, done with getting her heels stepped on by a man that towered over her, decided to solve the problem. “Tommy, why don’t you and them go get me some butter.” She pointed down the aisle where the butter was. As you followed Thomas you turned your head to see Luda looking at you with a look that said ‘talk to him about it’. So that’s what you did. He had his hands placed on the plastic boarder between the walkway and the shelf. Sometimes you forgot just how big his hands were. You slid one hand overtop of his and intertwined your fingers. “Im not keeping his phone number Tommy.” To prove your point you used your free hand to pull the paper out of your pocket and with help from your teeth you shredded it in half. Both dropping one piece and spitting the other one on the floor of the grocery store. You looked at him from the side of your eye and saw him smiling through the hole in his mask. You grabbed a stick of butter and ran back to Luda and Hoyt, Tommy’s hand still in yours. Hoyt almost said something but before he could he got the back of Luda’s hand to the back of his head.

Brahms Heelshire

Brahms is a tough one. Again not many situations when he would get ‘jealous’ per say. Possessive and protective as fuck? Definitely. The idea of you leaving the house scares him, and yet when grocery boy comes around he gets moody. It’s a lose lose situation. You know better than to let Malcom in the mansion, Brahms would lose his shit. But he is the only other companionship you have other than Brahms and your family over a phone. Some days in the mornings you’ll sit on the porch and have a conversation with him over coffee. This has led to many temper tantrums from Brahms. But you always make it up to him. He’s not mature, like at all. We all collectively know that. He’s an eight year old in a 40 year olds body with the horniness of a virgin teenager. You swear he likes to fight you on everything after Malcom’s been around the house. This time he wanted to fight you on bedtime. He had already avoided you all day, only interacting with you to eat. He was touch deprived(more than usual). So, when you went in for his bedtime kiss, even the slight touch made his resolve crumble. His hands grasped your hips roughly, pulling you to straddle him. “Oh, now you wanna talk to me?” Your hands were resting on his chest as to keep yourself upright. “Im not complaining, but your a jealous guy yknow that.” It wasn’t really a question, more of a statement. An incredible accurate one at that. You could see he wanted something, the look in his eyes told you everything. Beautiful forest green eyes clouded with want. “All you gotta do is ask Brahmsy” you lean in to his face, not quite touching him. Just to tease him a little. “Please…” he rasped. His actual voice evident and gruff. “Kiss me…” he leans in just a little leaving barely an inch between you. You could feel his breath on your face, thankful that he had been brushing his teeth. You couldn’t help smashing your lips into his. It was aggressive and needy. He clearly missed you even though it had only been a day, and quite frankly he had probably been watching you through the walls all day. His hands groped at your sides and your chest. All whilst you continued to kiss him. Needy and clingy, two key words when describing Brahms. That night he cuddled into you extra tight. With no intention of letting you up the next morning.

Billy Loomis

Billy doesn’t get jealous unless he’s already having a shitty day. He’s pretty calm and collected. When he does get jealous he starts fights, with everybody. You, Stu, random strangers, teachers, everybody. He’s pretty unstable as is in the terms of emotions. Especially in relationships. His mom made it real hard to trust that someone won’t leave him. In this instance he was jealous of your friend Connor. Connor was generally nerdy, spent all his time in the science labs at school. That’s how you met him actually, a science project. He was the exact opposite of Billy. Frankly you were more of a ‘smart nerdy’ type yourself. It was ridiculous how it all started anyways, you had a study session already planned with Connor. You made sure to tell Billy that a week in advance, knowing he doesn’t like surprises. But apparently he forgot all about it and made plans with Stu and his new temporary girlfriend. Obviously you told him you couldn’t go because you already had plans that you told him about. He got frustrated and jealous as expected. Connor showed up at your house at the worst moment then possible. If we’re gonna be honest Connor never liked Billy much either. Billy was extremely popular and kind of an asshole to the smarter kids at school. Not to say he wasn’t smart, he’s just quiet and friends with Stu so people assume his grades aren’t great. You and Billy had been yelling at each other when Connor opened your door. What happened next was all a blur, memorable events include Connor and Billy getting into each other faces, Connor pushing Billy, and Billy knocking Connor on his ass with a punch to his jaw, Billy had a reputation of overdoing it. Evident in this situation because Billy proceeded to get on top of Connor and continue to punch him. By the time he stopped Connors whole face was bleeding and bruised and Stu and his girlfriend had come into the house. The only reason he stopped was because Stu pulled him off. Sure they killed people but not as Billy and Stu, so he wrapped his arms around him and dragged him off of Connor. You had to call him an ambulance but you knew about Ghost face. “Both of you go. I’ll call an ambulance.” Stu understood why you wanted them gone, so he left. Dragging Billy out behind him. The next few days were lonely. Billy didn’t come back to your house, you assumed he was staying at Stu’s. But around a week after the incident you received an anonymous call. When you picked up you heard the voice of Ghost face over the line. “What’s your favourite scary movie?” If Billy planned on killing you it was a little too late, so you played along. You told him your favourite. The voice over the phone laughed and said something along the lines of ‘So I do know a thing or two, huh?’ The voice then told you to go outside into your backyard. You did as it instructed and stepped out of your back door to see a large sheet draped on the wall of your house, with a projection on it of the title screen of your favourite horror movie. In the centre of it all stood ghost face. Your ghost face. You walked up to him and once in touching vicinity you flipped the chin of his mask up over his mouth and kissed him. No matter how irrational and irresponsible he was sometimes, you missed him. When you pulled away he fully took the mask off, tossing it on the grass somewhere. “Forgive me?”

Alright have whatever this is. I would’ve done more characters but im having some writers block. If you want a part two with someone I missed just comment or ask me. Requests are open sooo yea.

[odinsblog]

Game of Thrones stars and other actors read South Africa's case file charging Israel with genocide at the International Court of Justice.

Transcript:

It was already known that repeated exposure to conflict and violence, including witnessing and experiencing housing demolition, combined with Israel'siege of Gaza since 2007, is associated with high levels of psychological distress amongst Palestinians.

Indeed, the United Nations Security Council Resolution 2712 expressed its deep concern that the disruption of access to education has a dramatic impact on children and that conflict has a lifelong effect on their physical and mental health.

This disruption and its dramatic impact on children must be considered in particular and in the context of the number of Palestinian students and educators who have been killed, 4,037 and 209 respectively, and wounded, estimated at 7,259 and the number of Palestinian schools having been damaged or destroyed 352 or 74% of the schools in the whole of Gaza.

Medical professionals assess that the health effects on all Palestinian children, women, men, older people, people with disabilities and people marginalized identities are immense.

An emergency coordinator for Médecins Sans Frontières interviewed on her return from five weeks in Gaza, describes: It's even worse in reality than it looks. The amount of suffering is just something incomparable. It's really unbearable. I'm speechless when I try and think of the future of these children. Generations of children who will be handicapped, who will be traumatized.

The very children in our mental health program are telling us that they would rather die than continue living in Gaza now.

The extreme levels of bombardment and lack of any safe areas are also causing severe mental trauma in the Palestinian population in Gaza.

Even before the latest onslaught, Palestinians in Gaza suffered severe trauma from prior attacks. 80% of Palestinian children experienced higher levels of emotional distress, demonstrating bed wetting, 79% and reactive mutism, 59% and engaging in self harm, 59% and suicidal thoughts, 55%.

Eleven weeks of relentless bombardment, displacement and loss will necessarily have led to a further increase in those figures, particularly for the estimated tens of thousands of Palestinian children who have lost at least one parent and those who are the sole surviving members of their families.

For the families who remain intact or partially intact, quote, “It's about doing everything you can so your child doesn't realize that you've lost control.”

There are reports of Israeli forces using white phosphorus in densely populated areas in Gaza.

As the World Health Organization describes, even small amounts of white phosphorus can cause deep and severe burns, penetrating even through bone and capable of reigniting after initial treatment.

There are no functioning hospitals in the north of Gaza in particular, such that injured persons are reduced to waiting to die, unable to seek surgery or medical treatment beyond first aid, dying slow, agonizing deaths from their injuries or from resultant infections.

Large numbers of Palestinian civilians, including children, have reportedly been arrested, blindfolded, forced to undress and remain outside in cold weather before being forced onto trucks and taken to unknown locations.

Medics and first responders in particular have been repeatedly detained by Israeli forces, with many being detained in communicado at unknown locations.

Videos published by Israeli media on Christmas Day appeared to show hundreds of Palestinians rounded up inside al-Yarmouk football stadium in Gaza City, including children, older people and persons with disabilities, being forced to strip to their underwear in degrading conditions. United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian affairs, or UN OCHA, reports video footage showing bruises and burns on the bodies of detainees.

Images of mutilated and burned corpses, alongside videos of armed attacks by Israeli soldiers are reportedly circulated in Israel via a Telegram channel called, 72 Virgins Uncensored, billed as exclusive content from the Gaza Strip.

[yandere-daydreams]

oh daydreams, please bless us with your opinion of what kind of Hybrid the JJK men would be

my takes are hot and controversial. y'all will never know how much self-restraint it took not to pull an 'oops all catboys' and actually give this list a little genome variety.

gojo satoru would be a gyrfalcon. he's an absolutely huge, constantly looming bird of prey with grey-speckled feathers and a wings so long, it only takes one to wrap around you entirely. most hybrids hybrids are at least a little stand-offish, but he's laid across your lap nearly every night, clicking happily while you preen him. if it wasn't for his wings, his piercing eyes, you'd think he was a canine-hybrid - just based on how unwilling he is to ever leave your side.

geto suguru would be a black panther. graceful, elegant, stronger than he has any right to be - ironically, the only things that don't add to his air of mystique are the rounded, twitching ears on top of his head and the sleek, black tail that's almost always brushing against your legs. he's not as clingy as gojo, but if you ask politely, he might let you comb your fingers through his hair (you're dead if you ever try to call it 'petting') as he purrs and kneads at your chest. there's a good chance you'll be left with more than a house-cat's worth of scratches after your informal grooming session, but don't worry, he'll be more than happy do run his rough tongue over your injuries and pretend he doesn't notice that his pointed teeth are just making the damage worse </3

fushiguro toji would be a grizzly bear. his coat is much darker than that of the standard bear hybrid, but once he stands to his full height and throws you over his shoulder with all the effort it would've taken to lift an empty cardboard box, your doubts are miraculously cleared away. he's got hands that can wrap around your head and a jaw that can bite through through steel and he's going to take every possible opportunity to drape himself over you and wonder allowed just how good you'd taste if he ever decided to take a bite. his bark is worse than his bite, though. scratch his adorable ears for a few seconds, and he'll be roughly five-hundred pounds of putty in your hands.

nanami kento would be a spotted jaguar. he'd prefer to be something plainer, like a panther or a cougar, but he wears his spots well. jaguars are largely solitary animals with little need for socialization or companionship, but with enough pestering, he might let you hover around him and fawn over his vibrant coat and extremely kissable pink nose. he's more reserved than most of the other hybrids on this lips, but he'll show his affection through the occasional grooming session and, if you're lucky, the occasional slab of (store bought, thankfully) meat left where he knows you'll find it. he says he prefers to be alone, and yet, he's stilled curled around you every night, purring happily and nuzzling into your neck. he's just a big softie, at heart.

sukuna would be a red fox. it's not enough for him to be a predator - he has to be the one predator known for its intelligence. he's got an ever-present kitsune's smile, his white-tipped tail constantly curling and swaying as he flaunts his strength, and he's got no shame when it comes to unabashedly proclaiming himself your superior while you comb out his thick fur for the nth time that day. he's cockier than gojo (somehow) and obsessed with the idea of proving himself as a mate (without ever admitting he'd want a worthless human as his mate, of course), which means you're going to have a very jealous, very smug fox at your side at all times, no matter how difficult that might make your daily, probably not extremely fox-centric life. try not to hold it against him, he's just trying to impress his future mate <3

[howtofightwrite]

Most traditional boxing instructors will tell you that if the opponent is taller than you, has longer arms than you, or is heavier than you, you're fucked and you need to stay extremely aware and work really hard to compensate for all the advantage he has over you.

In a recent forensic survey, it was determined that most traditional boxing instructors who get into real world altercations die when they're shot in the head.

This is the problem with a lot of these kinds of arguments. No one practices traditional boxing. At least, no one does so publicly. How do I know this? Because traditionally boxers fought in the nude. Yeah, we're not seeing that, are we? Now, maybe they meant bare knuckle boxing, but really no one does that either, these days. Boxing without safety equipment is not a particularly good idea, for fairly obvious reasons.

The only reason the word, “traditional,” is in the ask is to lend their statement unearned credibility. It's an attempt to make their statement sound more authoritative, without offering any evidence to support the statement.

Who said that?

“Traditional people did.”

Okay, but, 'traditionally,' people cleaned shit off their ass with a stick. So, maybe appealing to Hellenic sports isn't the best gauge of how a fight will play out.

Also, I know I just said it, but, who are these authoritative sports guys? Because they're not named. We're simply told, “most,” of them agree. Which starts to sound a lot like “four out of five dentists agree.” Who are these instructors? What do they teach? Why are the currently in prison for indecent exposure? And how much did you pay them to get their uninformed opinion? Salient questions which may need to be answered, if the original question wasn't invalid on its face.

Why do I say it's invalid?

Because boxing isn't fighting.

Boxing is a sport.

Boxing has rules.

Kick your opponent in the groin, or shin, and you're punished.

Step on their foot, push them, and watch them tumble to the ground before you start stomping on them, and you'll be punished.

Throwing your opponent will be punished.

And of course, as mentioned at the top, pulling out a gun and expanding your opponent's mental horizons is extremely frowned upon.

These are all things that can happen in a real fight.

These are all things that do not benefit from increased height or reach.

There is one genuinely accurate statement. In a fight, you do need to be very aware of what's going on around you. Everything else is the product of someone who's been punched in the head repeatedly until the CTEs got them thinking that boxing is analogous to a real fight in any way. (And, statistically, will probably end their career sitting in a jail cell over an aggravated assault charge, because their emotional self-control was completely destroyed by those same head injuries.)

The rules that boxers need to follow are designed to (somewhat) protect the participants. It reduces the dangers of a boxer being killed in the ring. In an observation that I would hope to be self-evident, those rules don't exist in actual combat.

It's also amusing, because the original Asker had to go so far as to single out an ill-defined, “traditional” boxing, because no other martial art they checked gave them the soundbite they wanted.

And, of course, women box. Historically, you could say, “traditionally,” there were even boxing matches between men and women. It wasn't until the 1880s that women were excluded from competitive boxing in the UK. (I'm not sure of the exact date when women were banned from boxing in the US, though that prohibition lasted for less than a century, before the modern return of women to the sport.)

So, either these “traditional instructors” don't know the history of their own sport... which doesn't sound particularly “traditional” to me, or they're full of shit.

My advice to everyone would be, maybe, don't take the advice of a sports coach about how he's secretly an absolute badass in all the delusional fantasies he's cooked up about how he'd like to inflict violence on others because they wouldn't date him.

-Starke

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[mountsmase]

a/n: hii 🫶🏻 this is a concept that I love and we’ve always spoken about it so I thought it was about time I turned it into a fic 🤭 i also just wanted to say a quick thank you to all of you on anon who send in these concepts because you gave me so many amazing ideas for this fic and I love doing concept nights with you all 🥹 I’m so proud of this fic so I hope you enjoy it 🩷 feedback is appreciated as always 😚

word count: 4.3k

genre: pure fluff

———————

Coming Home to You - MM7

Relief floods over you as you step into the warmth of your Manchester home, the front door clicking closed behind you as slip off your shoes and drop your bags by the door.

After a busy few days, down in London for work, you’ve never felt more relived to be back home. The 4 hour drive home having done nothing to alleviate the exhaustion taking over your body.

You love your job, it’s so rewarding and comes with some amazing experiences, and honestly, you couldn’t imagine yourself doing anything else. But, that doesn’t mean it comes without downsides and challenges. The long hours and the time away from home can be exhausting, and it’s times like these where you want nothing more than to snuggle up in bed, let your duvet engulf you, and sleep for days.

You let out a tired sigh, willing yourself to relax a little as you shrug off your coat and hang it by the door, making the decision to deal with your bags later.

The water is just starting to boil when Mason hears the front door open and close from where he is in the kitchen. After an earlier than expected finish at training, he headed straight home to tidy the house and get started on dinner. He knew you’d be tired and a little worn out when you got home, so he wanted everything sorted for you to get in and have a nice relaxing evening without having to worry about a thing.

He tuns the hob off and makes his way through to the hallway to great you, stopping in the doorway to watch as you pull off your coat and hang it up on the rack by the door.

A shriek leaves your lips when you turn and notice him standing there and he can’t help but chuckle at the surprised look on your face.

You weren’t expecting him home so soon, he was due to be at training for at least another hour, and in your rush to get inside and out of the rain, you hadn’t even noticed his car parked on the driveway.

You can feel your face light up at the sight of him, dressed all cozy in his dark green hoodie and black joggers and you can’t even give yourself time to wonder why he’s back so soon as he beelines for you, arms wrapping around you in a warm hug.

Your own arms wrap around his waist tightly, your face finding home in his neck and you nuzzle into his skin. You breath him in, the smell of his aftershave mixing with hints of his natural scent calming you instantly.

For a few minuets, you just stand there, basking in his warmth and enjoying the familiarity that he brings you. And, as time passes, you feel your self sinking further and further into his embrace, moving away seeming impossible and extremely unappealing.

You assume he’s feeling the same way as he tightens his grip around you and scoops you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he carries you through to the kitchen and places you down on the counter.

“Hi sweetheart” he says, unwrapping himself from you and placing a kiss to your forehead.

“Hey, Masey” you reply, getting comfy on the counter as you watch him move around the kitchen.

“What’s all this?” You wonder aloud, spotting the pans on the stove and multiple ingredients lining the counters. “And how come you’re home so early?”

“Dinner, and just finished training a little earlier than expected because of the whether” he tells you, motioning to the window where you can see the poring rain through the glass.

You nod absentmindedly, relived to know that he’s not home early due to more issues with his recent injury, and also happy that you don’t have to worry about the cooking tonight.

If you were in charge of dinner tonight, you’d most likely end up ordering a takeaway. But, a home cooked meal definitely sounds more appealing right now.

“How was the drive?” He asks, adding the pasta to the boiling water before coming to stand in front of you.

Spreading your legs apart, he steps in between them, one hand landing on your thigh whilst the other reaches up and tucks a stand of loose hair behind your ear. You send him the softest smile you can manage, knowing just how much he dislikes and worries about you having to do that long drive so frequently.

“It was fine, boring as always but I’m just happy to be home now” leaning forward, you nudge your nose against his in a silent reassurance that you’re in one piece and happy to be home with him.

Your little moment is interrupted when your tummy rumbles loudly, the two of you giggling together as he steps back and continues cooking dinner.

“Sorry, I’m starving”

“Good job chef Mase is nearly finished making dinner then” He says, earning a very unserious eye roll from you as he adds a few more ingredients to the pan and finishes making dinner for the two of you.

You sit and eat together at the kitchen island, chatting about anything and everything and he can’t help but worry as he spots you shuffling around uncomfortably, your hand coming up and holding the side of your neck as you wince quietly.

“You okay?” He asks, the look on his face matching the concern in his voice.

“Yeah, just a little achy from the drive but I’m fine” you reassure him, still trying to get comfy and he just nods, wanting to ask more but reluctantly opting not to.

He knows you’re likely to try and brush it off as nothing, so he wouldn’t get an accurate answer from you, and that’s exactly what you were planning on doing. You wouldn’t want him to worry about something that’s probably just a little tension from the drive and you’re grateful when he doesn’t ask any more questions. But, you forget that he knows you almost as well as you know yourself, sometimes even better, so despite your seemingly reassuring answer, he’s still worrying as you finish up dinner.

You offer to help him tidy up but he doesn’t let you, not wanting to aggravate what ever it is that’s bothering you so you reluctantly sit back and watch as he loads up the dishwasher and tidies up the kitchen.

“C’mere” he whispers, helping you down from the stool once he’s finished putting everything away.

He pulls you into him, body flush against yours as he wraps his arms around your shoulders, your own snaking around his waist as you rest your cheek against his chest and melt into him.

“How about a bath and an early night?” He suggests, resting his head on top of yours.

He places a kiss to your forehead when he feels you nodding, tightening his arms around you when you try and step away, keeping you against his chest.

“Not so fast” he mumbles, tilting your chin up with his index finger and leaning down to claim your lips with his.

You kiss him back, a satisfied hum leaving you at the familiar feeling of his lips back on yours and you can feel the butterflies raging in your tummy.

Kissing him has always been one of your favourite things. His lips are always so soft and gentle and you feel yourself melting into him as he parts yours slightly, his tongue slipping inside and gliding against your own. Your hand moves up to his shoulder and squeezes gently, his arm tightening around your waist. His other comes up, hand framing your jaw and he brushes the pad of his thumb over the apple of your cheek as he continues to work his lips against yours.

He keeps the kiss fairly light, pulling away after a few moments to look at you, and the soft smile he sends you has your heart soaring.

“Come on,” he nudges his head towards the hallway, untangling himself from you and allowing you to walk ahead of him as you head towards the stairs, turning off all the lights as you go.

You stop short, bending down to grab your bags, but you’re brought to a halt when Mason comes up behind you.

“Let me get those” He utters, hand brushing over your hip as he steps past you and scoops the bags up himself.

You mutter a quiet ‘thank you’, sending him a grateful smile before scaling the stairs and heading straight into your shared bedroom.

You begin removing your jewellery whilst he goes into the en-suite, starting the bath and making sure the water is the perfect temperature before adding some of your bubbles and bath salts. He rummages around for some clean towels, laying them over the heated towel rail to warm them up and adds a few finishing touches to the room.

You see him re-enter the bedroom in the reflection of the mirror and he disappears into your walk-in wardrobe, re-emerging with some PJs for the both of you before coming up behind you. He leans around and places a delicate kiss to your cheek, sending you a smile in the reflection before leading you into the en-suite.

The water is still running when you follow him into the bathroom, piles of bubbles foaming on the surface and you can already smell your favourite combination of bubble bath and bath salts. There’s a few candles lit and scattered along the edge of the tub and counter tops, the main lights dimmed, causing the room to become enveloped in a soft, golden hue.

You get to work removing your makeup and he reaches over, checking the temperature of the bath before turning the taps off. Taking the pile of PJs he brought in, he makes some space on the heated towel rails, hanging some of your Christmassy PJ bottoms and one of his shirts on the rack before coming back over to you.

“Ready, bubs?” He asks, hands coming around your waist as he looks at you through the reflection in the mirror.

Sending him a smile, you nod, reaching to lift your t-shirt off and he gives you a hand, pulling the material over your head and discarding it into the laundry bin before helping you remove your leggings and underwear.

You catch him looking at you, his eyes shining with an emotion that you can only describe as adoration as they scan over your body, simply taking a moment to admire you before holding his hand out for you to take.

Helping you climb into the bath, he watches as you lower yourself into the warm water, stepping back and undressing himself so that he can join you.

You can’t help but watch as he pulls his hoodie over his head, his perfectly toned body and the tattoos that you adore so much making it hard for you to look away.

“Like what you see?” He teases, catching your staring, and he smirks when your eyes snap up to his, a deep blush covering your cheeks.

“Shut up” you mumble, voice quiet and he smiles, loving that he can still make you shy after so long together.

“But, for the record, yes. Yes I do” you add, and it’s his turn to blush as he steps into the bath behind you.

You shuffle forward, giving him room to slide in behind you and you settle back against his chest. His arms circle your waist, hands landing on your tummy where he traces random figures against your skin and you let your self sink into his embrace. Relaxing fully for the first time in what feels like weeks.

Your head falls back against his shoulder and you tilt it slightly so that you can look up at him. You meet his warm gaze, a soft smile sweeping over his lips before he leans down and touches them to yours.

He keeps the kiss slow and perfectly soft, only breaking apart when you separate to take a breath, and he takes the opportunity to brush his lips over your cheek, trailing kisses down your neck and along your shoulder. He kisses any inch of skin that he can reach, revelling in the giggles that leave your lips when his stubble tickles your delicate skin. His fingers continue tracing over your tummy as you lay there in complete bliss, all thoughts of work leaving your mind until all that’s left is him.

“Sit forward, my love” he requests, speaking softly as to not break the peaceful atmosphere. You do as he asks, sitting up and shuffling forward to allow him more space behind you.

He reaches over and grabs your body wash from the edge of the tub, squeezing a generous amount into his palm before lathering it up. His hands find your shoulders, massaging the soapy suds over your back and down your arms before rinsing them off. You think he’s finished, wanting to grab the bottle and return the favour but he takes it from your hand, placing it back down before finding your shoulders again.

His thumbs work over your skin in firm circles, fingers working to ease the tension in your back and he pays special attention to the spots that gain the most reaction from you. Soft hums leave your lips and you have to stop yourself from melting into him, the feeling of his hands working over your skin relaxing you and making you feel like you’re in heaven.

He doesn’t stop until he’s content he’s gotten rid of all the knots and tension, double checking with you that you’re no longer feeling any discomfort before scattering kisses along your skin and pulling you back to lay against his chest again.

You stay in the bath for quite a while longer, relaxing together in a comfortable silence until the water begins going cold and you decide it’s time to get out and start getting ready for bed.

Climbing out of the bath before you, he wraps a towel around his waist and takes yours off the heated towel rail, holding it open for you as you step out of the tub. The warm fabric engulfs you as you step towards him, his hands working to wrap the towel around you as he pulls you into his chest.

“How’s your back feeling, angel?” He asks, placing a kiss to the top of your head.

“So much better, thank you.” You lean up, placing a quick kiss to his his lips.

“You’re welcome, baby. Just let me know if it starts hurting again, yeah?” He says, more telling you to than asking, and as much as you don’t want him worrying about it, your heart warms at how attentive and caring he’s being towards you.

“I will, Mase. Seriously though, it does feel so much better already, thank you.” You roll your shoulders, still feeling a tiny bit of discomfort but it’s miles better than the pain you were in earlier.

Stepping back, he takes your towel from you, helping you dry off and change into your candy cane printed PJ bottoms and one of his t-shirts before getting himself dry and into a pair of boxers and his matching bottoms.

“Do some skin care with me?” You give him your best puppy dog eyes as you hop onto the counter next to the sink, knowing it’s impossible for him to say no to them.

“Sure, bubs” he says, sounding defeated, but you know deep down that he loves doing your skincare with you. He most likely would of ended up doing it with you even if you hadn’t asked.

You push his hair back with one of your headbands, unable to hold in your giggles at the sight of him with his hair pushed back, all messy and sticking in every direction.

“Oi, don’t laugh at me, I don’t have to do this with you, you know?” He teases, threatening to take the band of and you scramble to stop him, pulling his hands down and turning serious.

“No! No, sorry. You just look so adorable, it’s cute” A blush covers his cheeks at your words, his skin that’s already reddened from the heat of the bath turning even more flushed and it spreads over the bridge of his nose. You can’t help but lean in and brush a kiss to the patch of skin there.

Leaning over, you pull all of your different products out of the drawer - ‘potions’ as Mase likes to call them - and line them up on the counter ready to use. You run through your routine, using cleansers and moisturising before moving on to serums.

“What are we going for today? Hydrating? Brightening maybe? Or what about anti-aging?” You ponder out loud, adding the last part on as a joke and his reaction has you giggling, just not in the way you anticipated.

“Anti-aging?” He asks, a faux look of offence on his face but it quickly changes to one of amusement. His hands find your waist, sliding under the t-shirt as his fingers tickle over your skin and he quickly has you thrashing around, trying to escape his hold.

“S-sorry! It was a joke! Mase!” you say through giggles, aimlessly trying to grab at his hands.

“You think I need to use anti-aging stuff?” He stops his actions and you take a moment to catch your breath, worried that he actually took offence to what you were joking about, but the cheeky smile on his face tells you that he’s still messing around.

“Of course not, I mean, it’s always good to use it but you’ve got better skin than I have most of the time anyway” you reassure him, twisting the cap off of one of your serums before squeezing a few drops into your hand and massaging it into his skin.

He takes a moment to admire you as you do so. Watching the look of pure concentration on your face as you work whatever product you’re using into his skin.

He loves these little moments with you. Moments where you feel like the only two people in the world, moments where he gets to have you all to himself without any distractions or worries.

His eyes scan over your face, taking in your bare skin and all of your what you like to call ‘imperfections’. Little things that you always seem to complain about, but he loves. They make you, you, and you’re perfect to him. In his eyes, you’re the most beautiful girl in the whole damn world, and he wouldn’t ever want to change a single part of you.

“You’re so beautiful, angel” he whispers, speaking his mind, and you shy away from his gaze, bringing your hands up to cover your flaming cheeks.

Compliments are something you rarely received in your past relationships, but that’s something that quickly changed when you met Mason. He always wants you to know just how much he appreciates and admires you, and even after a couple of years together, you don’t think you’ll ever be used to how often he says those types of things to you. His words making you feel special and wanted in a way you never felt before meeting him.

His hands land on your hips, squeezing gently through the material of your PJ bottoms and you sneak a glance at him through your fingers, finding him already looking at you with the softest of smiles grazing his lips.

“Don’t hide from me, bubba” he gently wraps his hands around your wrists, tugging them away before nudging your chin up with the tip of his finger.

His eyes lock onto yours once again and you swear you can see every emotion thats swirling through them, the deep shades of chocolatey brown shining with so much love and adoration that you can’t quite believe it’s for you.

Warmth rushes through you when he steps forward, his hand coming up to cradle your jaw. His thumb brushes over the skin of your cheek and you sink in to his touch, eyes fluttering closed when he rests his forehead against yours and, for a few minuets, you just enjoy his touch and the peaceful moment together.

You’ve always heard people saying that home isn’t a place, but a person. And, until you met Mason, you didn’t think that could ever be true. But they’re right. He is your home, your safe space, someone you know you can always count on and trust. From the minuet he walked into your life he’s brought you so much happiness and light and honestly, you can’t even remember what life was like before him. He’s your rock, your person, and after a week of work like the one you’ve just had, there is no one else you’d rather come home to. You thank your lucky stars every single day for bringing him into your life.

You reluctantly pull away, suddenly filled with an overwhelming amount of love for him. Your lips place a kiss to the reddened skin on the bridge of his nose before trailing across his cheek and landing on his own. His hand moves around to the back of your neck, holding you to him as his lips move against yours.

The kiss is kept gentle, your lips working against each others slowly as neither of you really having the energy to go any further, but it’s filled with so much emotion and conveys your feelings perfectly.

“I love you so much, you know that?” you whisper against his lips, giggling to yourself as you pull away to catch your breath.

“You might of mentioned it a couple of times,” he responds, chuckling when he catches you rolling your eyes.

“But, I love you too, more than you’ll ever know” he turns serious, catching your gaze, wanting you to understand just how much he means it.

You nod, sending him a tired smile before taking his outstretched hand and jumping down off the counter so that you can brush your teeth.

He holds your shoulders carefully and turns you around so that you’re facing the mirror. Reaching around you, he takes your hair brush and a scrunchie from the draw before working to untie your hair from the bun it’s currently in. He brushes through your tangled ends, being careful not to tug too much and cause you any pain before separating your hair into three sections and doing his best to plait it for you.

“You’re becoming a pro at that” You say absentmindedly, watching through the mirror as he ties the scrunchie around the end of the neat braid.

“I know, I learn from the best” his eyes are twinkling when he sends you a cheeky smile through the reflection, “Summer is the best teacher” he adds, emphasising the fact that he didn’t say you and you jab him with your elbow, the two of you laughing together but you’re stopped short when you begin yawning.

“C’mon, let’s get you into bed, bubba” he chuckles, placing a quick kiss to the top of your head before guiding you out of the en-suit.

He helps you climb under the duvet, tucking you into the warm sheets and making sure you’re comfy before he stands again. He goes to leave the room, but he doesn’t get far, your hand reaching for his as soon as you realise he’s leaving.

“Where’re you going?” you pout, already battling against sleep.

“Just getting some waters from downstairs, I’ll be as quick as I can”, he tells you, but your grip on his hand doesn’t budge.

“Promise?” You whisper, his heart soaring at your tired eyes and pouty lips and he smiles to himself, loving how clingy you become when you’re sleepy.

“Promise, bubba” He squeezes your hand when he feels you loosen your grip, letting you know that he’ll be as quick as he can before heading out of the room.

You’re almost asleep when he re-enters the bedroom and climbs straight under the covers next to you. He leans over to grab the remote from the bedside table and turns the TV on, flicking through a few channels before deciding on Disney+ and you giggle when he selects Ratatouille. The familiar Pixar lamp bounces across the screen as he turns the volume down a little and puts the remote to the side.

He switches off the lamp off and gets himself comfy, laying on his back and opening his arms for you. Shuffling into them without hesitation, you snuggle up to his side and rest your head against his bare chest, the calming beat of his heart right underneath your cheek.

His hand finds its way under your (his) t-shirt, fingers tickling over your back and you snuggle even closer, tilting your head up so that you can look at him.

“Thanks for tonight, Mase” you hum, looking up at him through your lashes.

“You don’t need to thank me, bubs. You’d do the same thing for me and it’s only right my girl gets princess treatment after kicking butt at work all week” he grins, leaning down to kiss you and it’s calm and soft when his lips touch yours.

“I get princess treatment from you everyday” you say, head dropping into the same place as before and you sleepily nestle into him.

“As you should” he mumbles, fingers continuing their patterns on the skin of your back.

You lay there for a while, eyes growing heavy as you try and focus on the TV but the beat of his heart combined with his soft touches makes it hard for you to stay awake any longer.

“I miss this when I’m away” you stifle a yawn, snuggling even further into him as you finally give in and let your eyes fall closed.

“Me too” he leaves a lingering kiss to your forehead, “Now, get some sleep pretty girl. I love you”

“I love you too, Mase. Night.” You manage to get out before he feels your body go heavy against his, sleep finally taking over you as you snooze in his arms.

———————

a/n: I hoped you enjoyed! feedback would be really appreciated 🫶🏻🩷

[izvmimi]

cw: set in both past and present. goofy but a bit of fluff. reader has a specified quirk. suggestive near the end.

Concentrate. Stop being impatient. You’re applying too little power, you won’t heal anything like that; you’re applying too much power, you’ll kill them! Slow down. Move more quickly, the sick and injured will keep coming. 

You bite your lip and pull your backpack closer to yourself as you think back to today’s lesson, both mentally and physically exhausted from the day before you. These internships are meant to push the limits of your Quirks, and you can imagine that all of your classmates are just as tired as you, but it’s hard for you to reconcile the fact that an old lady who keeps candy in her purse and smooches indiscriminately to heal injuries should be such a hardass to you. 

The tips of your fingers still tingle with the aftermath of transferring so much electricity towards them. Today, she had you try to practice transferring all of your energy from your toes to the palms of your hand and back, consecutively, and you still feel wobbly on your feet as you make your way home. It’s dark now and you’re a little lonely walking home alone, but your thoughts will keep your company as you walk through the streets. 

Joining the hero class late, you simply have to work harder, that’s all there is to it, you think. You don’t have the flashy quirks your peers do, no extreme power without blowback, no endless ice or fire or weapons, no explosions or gravity manipulation, no animals to come to your aid or ability to disappear and slip away. 

You have to be creative with your Quirk as best you can if you want to be of any use. 

You’re about 15 minutes away from your home by now and check your cell phone. There are messages from Momo where she’s trying her hardest to convince you that there’s some utility in makeup commercials for the greatest good, and you try to placate her as best you can as the good friend you are. Your friend from the support course has also sent you a wide-eyed orange cat emoji with the aim to check in since you’ve been quiet and you smile and send a signal that you’re alive with a tongue out emoji. You look at your screen for a few more seconds and don’t get an immediate reply but smile to yourself anyway before slipping your phone in your pocket.

As you turn past an alleyway, the sudden crashing sound of trash cans and body weight against concrete startles you enough that you jump. You have a few seconds to decide if you want to see what’s happening before you convince yourself it’s an animal, but you hear a groan, and before you can make it around the alleyway, there’s yet another thud. 

When you turn the corner, you’re surprised to see Midoriya, face smashed into the wall, nearly ten feet in the air. He falls too fast for you to reach him to try to break his fall, but it’s broken by a load of bundled trash, possibly more than you’ve ever seen not disposed of in your entire life. Dumbfounded, you watch him frown but he doesn’t seem hurt too badly (at least, not as badly as you’ve seen him self-inflict before) and he barely even realizes you’re there, before he’s back to his feet again, staring at the wall pensively, eyebrows knit together as he’s lost in thought. 

He’s in his hero suit, and you wonder how long he’s been out here. Feet pressed against the pavement again, he bends his knees and you see sparks fly before he’s about to jump again, and before he can move…

“Uh… Midoriya? What are you doing?” you finally announce yourself and he freezes still like a statue.

The sparks stop immediately as he turns to you, and his face is redder than a strawberry, jaw slack.

“Oh! Oh my God! I.. uh…”

You blink. Midoriya is always somewhat skittish around you, and you do admit that it’s probably because you’ve been prone to mess with him and give him nicknames, but you’ve never harbored any ill will against it. In fact, there’s a sort of fondness you have towards him, ever since the sports festival. He always manages to surprise you with his resourcefulness even if he’s the polar opposite of you ability-wise - all power, no self preservation.

Still, this isn’t the type of surprise you anticipated. 

Midoriya is still staring at you, mouth agape as he tries to come up with an explanation, not having realized that you’re no longer interested in whatever strangeness he imparts to you as long as he’s okay. All you can think about now is the fact that your head has started to pound, so watching him smash his face into the wall a second time might be the least of your concerns.

But you have to be curious in some way if you’re still standing here at 9 pm on a weekday.

“I-I’m trying to figure out my Quirk…” Izuku says through nervous laughter. You nod slowly, looking at and around him.

“Looking for the light in a dark alley, I see,” you murmur. He doesn’t laugh, instead grimacing. You scrunch your nose a bit at the smell, inescapable, trying to be kind enough not to say a word about it. “It’s super late,” you murmur, then tilt your head. “Are you going to go home soon?”

Maybe walking home with a classmate might be nice, it occurs to you.

Izuku’s green eyes light up for just a moment, then he frowns. 

“I can’t-” he sees you pout before you even realize you are doing so, “-but I can next time! I just have to…” his voice falters as you shift your weight from one side to another then shrug your shoulders. 

“No big deal.”

You turn on your heels, a little slighted but fine. He’s nice to talk to sometimes but you could call your mom or another friend perhaps for company. Izuku is annoying anyway, he’ll probably find a way to aggravate you before you make it home and you’ll regret even running into him. Perhaps.

“I’ll see you around then,” you offer, waving impassively behind you as you walk away.

“B-be safe!” he calls out as you take your first steps away, and you keep walking, the sparks of electricity he generates again as he goes back to whatever desperate move he’s working out putting the hairs of your neck slightly on edge, light catching your peripheral vision.

You turn to him, and take the scene in again. The boy with the Quirk that grants incredible power with a blowback he still can’t withstand. Perhaps truly, he’s not the opposite of you, but complementary. 

He has a look of determination to him, you note, as he squats slightly, then leaps again, soaring high to the point that it’s almost graceful -  but then he hits the wall once more. He tumbles again into bagged trash, and you sigh. 

You’re exhausted but not so exhausted that you can’t help.

“Midoriya, don’t jump again.”

As his head snaps back in your direction, he seems shocked that you’re still there and you wonder how he has such singular focus. Before he can react to you, you end up palming his entire face, pulsing the rest of your energy reserves quickly into the bruised tissues before retracting your arm.

Izuku’s eyes are wide when he looks at you, but you can tell you’ve succeeded because the redness and tiny scrapes on his face have already started to disappear, even if you can’t do anything about his bleeding nose.

You should have thought about this, you think as you wipe your hands on the side of your pants.

“T-thank you,” he mutters. 

You offer him a smile. Either way it’s a form of training.

“Of course. See you around, dino nuggets.”

—

“You know, that was the first time you healed me, ever.”

Izuku remembers that night so many years ago slightly differently than you do, it seems. He remembers being less uninterested in your presence than you impart to him as you recount it, and tells you his heart thumped so fast with embarrassment the moment he saw you he might as well have been having a heart attack, and focusing on his goal of figuring out OFA was the only thing that kept him from dying of mortification on the spot. Your crush finding you crashing into a wall then garbage repeatedly at nighttime in a dark alley isn’t exactly a chivalrous look, and looking so pitiful he earned an unsolicited heal wasn’t exactly the way he tried to woo you.

But all’s well that ends well, no?

You giggle, letting small pulses of your bioelectricity relax the muscles in his back with pinpoint precision. Your fingertips continue to dance gently along his skin until the tension dissipates completely, and he lets out a satisfied sigh as they move gently to his neck, then tap gently at his scalp. 

“I probably could have been just a little more respectful of your dignity, but I think even back then I was trying very hard to suppress any positive feelings for you,” you admit. There’s no point in pretending now that your tender relationship is clearer than crystal, blatant for the world to see.

“And how did that work out for you?” he retorts as your hands run through his hair lovingly. 

You smile to yourself, letting your torso press gently against his back. Izuku’s laying on his belly and you were straddling him prior to this, having decided to bless him with a special back massage as a treat. Your husband always does his best, and doing his best has taken a lot out of him in the past few recent days, so this is the least you can offer him and you’re glad to do so. Both of you have grown stronger, smarter, and better at using your Quirks for yourselves, for society and for each other. It’s only natural that you’ve learned a trick or two.

“Terrible,” you answer.

You smile as your face presses against his upper back, letting your hands run along the length of his arms, more soft pulses of electricity passing through his skin. He shudders against your body and your heart practically sings with affection. 

“Terrible?” he tries to sound annoyed but his voice comes out higher than usual, riddled with relief.

“Yeah, I had no intention to fall in love with you. A huge fail on my part, actually.”

He chuckles.

“I guess it’s true that there’s a lot to gain from failure then.”

You hate and love that he’s always so good at redirecting and softening any of your playful resistance. Your hands tighten gently around his wrists.

“Are you mocking me, Izuku?”

His laughter rumbles through his larger body, the vibration running through all parts of you as you stay pressed together.

“Maybe,” he replies, coyly. 

“You know, in this position, I could make sure you never get up again,” you say in a honeyed voice. “You have a vested interest in being nice to me,” you tease.

Izuku moves a little too fast for you to keep up at times, and this is one of those times. Before you realize, your positions have switched, and now he’s on top of you, so close his forehead is pressed to yours.

He kisses just above your eyebrows, your eyes closing automatically.

“I’m always nice to you,” he reminds you, his voice soft.

You smile as they open again and you look at him. He’s far from the awkward try-hard boy he once was, and you’re far from the sometimes standoffish, other times overly yet hesitantly invested girl you once were.

You’re invested in him with full intention, just as he’s invested in you.

“You’re right. Thank you for being so good to me,” you reply softly.

And you’ll always be good to him.

[signedkoko]

Howdy!

Makes perfect sense about the requests, thank you for letting me know!

There was really one idea that I've been thinking about but it's kinda angsty and cliche so I understand if it's not the most interesting prompt

--

It's for poly Stolas and Blitzø x reader (but if you don't write poly relationships they can be separate)- finding their s/o crying? Usually their (s/o) tries to be self-sufficient and while they're in touch with their emotions, feel uncomfortable being vulnerable about it.

--

I understand if you choose not to write it for any reason, though. Take care 💛💛

-🐻

Stolas X Reader X Blitzo [Comfort]

In which the two stumble upon you crying, and do their best to comfort you.

Of the two, you are likely to be the most down to earth, go with the flow person

It works best that way with two large personalities, they give you all the love and attention you could need

And ultimately, you are very good at working through your own problems more personally, since a lot of them don't concern your lovers

The both of them have a lot of more pressing matters that require a lot of support, though Blitzo is far more begrudging about his issues

It was just that, recently, everyone has been so busy, and you found yourself falling below the line of being 'okay enough'

Except Blitzo had so many clients with IMP recently, and it was that time of year where Stolas has to participate in all kinds of royal ceremonies required of his lineage

So you were mostly home alone, seeing them at the end of the day and, if lucky, during breakfast

It's not to say they were neglecting you or one another, but there was a mutual understanding that the three of you had very demanding lives- or at least, they did

Everything was just becoming a bit much, and you found yourself spending most your day shut in

One evening, Stolas came home a tad earlier than expected

He knew you'd be home, and after a long day he wanted nothing more than to tell you about it and see your face again

He was very troubled when he heard crying coming from your shared room

Probably runs in, blowing the door open and dramatically lifting you up into his arms

" Oh my is everything alright my dear!? "

Like a mask had been switched, you hid your tears and stopped crying, shaking your head

Even if you try to tell him you were just a bit sad, he will not have it, it is extremely rare to see you crying, and knowing you'd been home alone all day he worried you hadn't taken care of yourself

He lets you back into the bed and hushes you, rubbing circles into your back and using his magic to bring the phone to him

" Blitzo, when will you be home? "

" Kind of in the middle of something, Stolas, can it wait? "

" I'm afraid not, you see, our partner- "

" I'll be there in 5. "

Literally there in less, his van is squealing into the driveway and you can hear him running through the halls, and when he enters he is on the phone, likely yelling at Moxie to take care of everything

Both are on you in moments, Blitzo is inspecting you for any injuries and Stolas is soothing you with scratches and comforting gestures

While Stolas will try to coax you into being more open with them, Blitzo is far more direct

Because, fuck! He's worried! And if you don't tell him what's wrong, how can he fix it? How can he make it all better?

As hard as it may be to get things out, they won't leave until they can figure something out for you

Author's Note - I always like s/o with Stolas and Blitz because I imagine reader can be sort fo a mother figure to both Octavia and Loona! Anyhow, thank you for requesting, and please enjoy 🖤

[starmapz]

shame on me || chapter six || grief

gojo satoru x female vessel reader

❝gojo satoru is the strongest sorcerer. when you come along with power to match his own, his responsibility to the world gets the best of him and his first impression is poor to say the least. when he needs your help, by some miracle you're too kind to deny him. or maybe he's just manipulative enough to convince you. either way, you're stuck training his student, a vessel like you. what could possibly go wrong?❞

warnings || 18+ only. contains explicit content. enemies to lovers. extreme angst. graphic descriptions of injury and death. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. fluff. major character death. anxiety. panic attacks. extreme slow burn. eventual smut. p in v. oral (f! and m! receiving). praise. overstimulation. unprotected. fingering. mating press. slight nanami x reader. happy ending!

additional tags || gojo is a dumbass but very lovable. very very very minor love triangle, will not be a main theme. no competing. takes place after season 2. au where gojo is not sealed and the shibuya incident does not go down the same. nanami is alive. choso is around. no major manga spoilers but will contain themes and ideas touched on later.

wc || 6.2k.

edited but not beta-read.

series masterlist || main masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

Grief is a cruel emotion. It wraps its clawed hands around your throat and drags you down until you can no longer catch your breath. It threatens to drown you in its grasp, leaving nothing behind but the bubbling feeling of what once was. Like an anchor, it holds you below the surface until there’s nothing left but a shell of your former self.

Gojo knows the feeling well, although he’s gotten better at hiding it over the years. He didn’t have a choice. After all, he’s the strongest.

He tilts his head to the bedside table, flipping his phone screen towards him to check the time. Three in the morning. He lets a breath out through his nose, staring at the ceiling. His stomach churns as he lays there, a grimace plastered to his face.

He can’t help but find the whole situation he’d found himself in ironic. Despite your inherent kindness towards others, he had pushed you away. He had pried away any ounce of respect you may have had for him because of his misconception of Miriko, and when he had been wrong he hesitated. Satoru Gojo hesitated.

Although the thought clung to him like a hangnail, it wasn’t what kept him awake at night. What kept him awake was the haunting sound of your sobs. The reminder of the domino effect his poor judgment had caused.

It all could have been prevented, had he treated you like the rest of the faculty. He could have treated your first meeting as a lapse in judgment on his behalf and moved on. He could have been civil. He could have accepted your original denial to help him train Yuji.

Would that have changed anything though, really? You were too kind to have denied Gojo your help in training Yuji, he was sure of it. You would have said yes had he begged. At the end of the day, you were always meant to be here. Here in the cabin, in this moment, choking on your agony.

It didn’t stop the fact that Gojo blamed himself. You likely did too.

Rubbing his hands over his face, he flips onto his side. Eventually, things would get easier. He kept reminding himself of this fact. That no one was there when he lost…

Suddenly jumping to his feet, he grabs his glasses from the bedside table and slides them over his iridescent irises, throwing on a loose white T-shirt and gray sweats and bounding down the stairs to the kitchen. He steels himself in his resolve, swallowing his guilt. Maybe no one was there when he needed someone, but that was no reason for him to let you drown alone.

More importantly, it occurred to him for the first time since you’d agreed to stay in his cabin almost two full days ago that you hadn’t eaten anything. Shoko would not be happy to know that Gojo hadn’t been doing his job keeping an eye out for you.

Your sobs subsided as he moved through the kitchen, opening the fridge and cabinets. He was assuming you held them in at his expense, not wanting him to hear your moment of weakness, but he didn’t blame you. Were he in your position, he would have done the same.

His hand pauses over the carton of eggs as a stray thought wanders through his mind. 

“It’s lonely,” he recalls your words to Yuji, “being at the top with no one able to touch you.”

He lets out a long sigh through his nose. It pained him to say it, but you were right. He knew you meant it in a different sense than how it felt for him, that you truly had been lonely for a long time, but it didn’t change the way your words struck him. Gojo was surrounded by people in a way you never had been, but that didn’t change the fact that at the end of the day, he too pushed everyone away, even if they failed to see it.

He had a job to do, a part to play. It was a trait of his that Yuji had picked up and he hated it, but he also saw the way that you were attempting to coach those thoughts out of him and he admired it.

Standing with his hand over the eggs for so long, the fridge beeps as a warning to close the door. Bringing him back to the present, he pulls out a pan and cracks a couple of eggs straight into the pan before seasoning them.

He doesn’t bother worrying about whether or not you’ll hear him, he knows you’re awake. He’s not sure you’ve managed to sleep at all. Your sobs were near constant and although he had hoped that maybe by the time the second day came around things would subside, they hadn’t yet. Gojo’s own sleep schedule was a nightmare as well, unable to find rest between keeping up his appearances with the students, missions, and trying to sleep through his guilt. He had hoped to catch up on sleep when you woke up, but that didn’t seem to be the case either.

He stares at the pan, so deep in thought and more exhausted than he realizes, that he doesn’t realize it’s burnt. Only a little bit though. It’s fine. Gojo’s not a chef.

He pulls a plate from a cupboard and throws the omelet on it. It looks a bit sad sitting alone on the plate, but he figures it’ll have to do.

With the plate in one hand, he knocks on your door with the other. Taro’s barks startle him and he whips around to where the dog had been roused from his sleep. Before Taro has time to growl at Gojo, he’s quickly distracted by the realization that Gojo is trying to get your attention.

He waits a moment, praying you’ll open the locked door, but when you don’t he tries again.

Silence.

Third time’s the charm.

Taro whines when you still don’t respond.

“C’mon, y/n. It’s important.”

It takes a moment, but he hears you shuffle around, followed by the scuffling of your unsteady steps.

When you open the door, he forces his reassuring smirk. Taro bursts past Gojo straight to you, sitting at your side comfortingly as though sensing your mental state.

He swallows at the glum sight of your sunken eyes, one leg shaking despite leaning against the doorway. Your skin is gaunt and shoulders slumped. It takes everything in him to remind himself to play his role in this matter. Right now, he was nothing more than a doctor. That was what you needed, right?

“Omelet?”

Your eyes dart to the plate in his hands, raising a brow. “You said it was important.”

Sensing that his smirk wasn’t an aid in your well-being, he decides to drop the act. “Eating is important.”

“I’m not hungry, Gojo.”

“I put my heart and soul into this omelet.”

You eye the plate again, your crimson eyes taking in the admittedly sad looking plate with a single omelet in the middle.

“Did you put anything in it?”

He frowns, eyes flitting between the eggs and you. “Seasoning.”

“So you made eggs,” you deadpan.

He shrugs. “Eggs, omelets, it’s all the same.” God, why were you so difficult with him all the time?

Sighing, you slowly straighten, leaning your shoulder against the door as you accept his offering. He grins eagerly as you try the eggs. The way you furrow your brow after taking a bite doesn’t instill confidence in his abilities. You flip the omelet to the other side, holding the plate out to him.

“They’re burnt.”

“They’re crispy,” he insists without missing a beat.

Had he blinked, Gojo swears he would have missed it, but a small smile tugs at the corner of your lips.

It’s a start.

“Can I come in?” He asks hopefully, examining your suspicious expression. When you let up and shuffle aside, he passes through the threshold of the door and waits as you balance yourself against the walls to make your way to the bed on wobbly feet.

When you finally take a seat and mindlessly pick at the eggs he made, he sits at the end of the bed. It creaks under his weight as he settles in the tense silence that hangs between you both.

It’s funny, the way he seemed to lose his words suddenly. After all, there was no right answer to the question of what to say to you. At the end of the day, it wouldn’t change how you felt or what happened. Regardless, he didn’t like the idea of leaving you to drown alone just as he had so many years ago.

“Still sore?”

You shoot him a look and he winces. He had just watched you shuffle along the wall to make your way to sit on the bed, he supposed it was a stupid question.

“Is, um,” he clears his throat, “the bed comfy?”

You pause your movements, chewing on your lip for a moment. “It’s fine,” you say with a humorless chuckle at his attempt at conversation. “Cat got your tongue, Gojo?”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. Yeah, a cat named Guilt. “Sorry, I-” his blue eyes flicker around the room in search of a reasonable answer but it never comes to him. The moonlight flooding in through the open window shines in the crimson eyes that stare back at him, clearly awaiting an explanation. “Look, I’m trying y/n.” It’s all he can think to say.

Your shoulders relax, if only a bit, and to his surprise your hardened expression softens. You let out a long breath and nod. “Thanks, Gojo.”

Slightly taken aback by your more relaxed figure, the white-haired man reclines on his palms as he relaxes in your presence, offering a sympathetic smile. “Have you slept at all?”

“... No.”

The smile falters. “And this is the only food you’ve had.”

You nod, training your attention on Taro to avoid the air of discomfort between the pair of you. Taro eagerly awaits the moment your attention slips so that he can eat the meal that was growing colder by the second.

“Would you at least sit at the table and try some food if I make some tomorrow morning?” It’s a rhetorical question and you both know it, Gojo isn’t about to stand aside and watch as you fade away wallowing in your grief.

“Sure,” you sigh, a glint in your eyes as you snidely add, “try not to burn it?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Gojo snorts, rolling his eyes. You managed to eat about half of the omelet before sliding the plate over to your dog, but at least you’d eaten something. If Gojo had to take care of you himself, then he would.

He takes the plate from you, heading to your door.

“Gojo?” He turns his head to face you before leaving the door. “Thank you.”

He smiles. Not his signature smirk or grin, but a genuine smile, before closing the door behind him.

–

Getting to the table had been a colossal effort. With your chin leaning on the ball of your palm, your tired irises follow Gojo’s movements as he moves ingredients around in the kitchen. Maybe eggs weren’t his forte, but his pancakes were turning out fluffy, albeit very sweet and sugary.

The white fabric of the T-shirt he wore is pulled taut as he reaches up to a shelf to grab a plate. He grunts when he sets it down, adjusting his blindfold over his eyes before returning to cooking. It’s strangely domestic in a way you had never thought of Gojo before.

Pouring a couple more small pancakes into a pan, he sets a small stack in front of you.

“S’alright if you can’t eat it all.” He turns back to continue cooking for himself. Pouring some syrup over the stack, you thank him and take a bite.

“This is actually pretty good,” you comment.

“You say that like you expected me to be a bad chef.”

“I’ve only ever seen you eat sweets and your eggs were burnt.”

“You never came out for lunch with me,” he shoots back in defense of his sugary tendencies.

“You were kind of a dick,” you tell him bluntly.

Before he can retort, there’s a knock at the door. With an exaggerated huff, he turns to the door, ducking through the entrance as he peeks through it and grins at the sight of Megumi. The young boy grunts and slaps Gojo’s hand away as he ruffles his hair.

“D’you still need me to walk the dog?” Megumi asks, eyes flickering to meet yours. You conjure up the best reassuring smile you can manage and nod to him.

“Thanks, Megs,” Gojo grins, ruffling his hair again. Megumi shoots daggers at Gojo for ruffling his hair again before he takes off into the training field with your excited pup in tow.

You knew Gojo cared about his students a great deal, but even so it caught you off-guard just how much he acted like a proud parent to Megumi, puffing his chest out as he turns back to you from the door. Gojo takes note of the way your head is tilted, lost in thought.

“I’ve been taking care of him since he was six,” Gojo explains, smiling over his shoulder.

You blink in surprise, straightening in your seat at the thought of Gojo taking care of a child. He couldn’t be much older than you, which had to mean he was young when he took in Megumi. Thinking of Gojo as a father was an equally strange thought to the domestic setting you’d found yourself in with him once again. 

When the look of shock didn’t leave your face, Gojo chuckles to himself as he sits down at the table across from you, setting a plate with a much larger stack of syrup-drowned pancakes in front of him.

“Him and his sister had nowhere to go and he’s a talented kid,” he explains fondly. His smile grows as he cuts his pancakes, dimples notably showing at the corners of his lips. Every moment this morning, it felt like you were seeing him in a strange new light.

“Didn’t take you for a dad,” you mumble through a mouthful of pancakes. “You’re pretty good with kids though.”

“Compliments? This early in the morning?”

“Are you always this much of a pain in the ass?” You grumble, leaning on your fist.

His silence says no, but his shit-eating grin says absolutely. Still, he recognizes you aren’t genuinely annoyed with him. If anything, this was the most friendly the two of you had ever been. You could only wonder what switch flipped in him that he decided to be more friendly with you but you don’t have the energy to think too hard about it.

“How’re you feeling?” His tone takes on a more serious timbre as he gets up to set his already finished plate in the sink, running a hand through his hair as he leans on the counter with crossed arms.

“A bit better,” you admit, rolling your shoulders. “I hate the disconnect with Miriko though,” you confide, stabbing a small portion of pancake for the dozenth time. “It’s weird, it’s like this strange feeling that I’m forgetting something in the back of my head.”

Gojo hums in understanding, “Has your connection with her gotten stronger in the past couple of days?”

“A bit last night,” you nod. The only difference between last night and the previous was food, so you had to imagine that was an important factor in her energy recovery. “It’s quiet, though.”

Your words hang in the air as Gojo takes them in, his chest rising as he takes in a breath.

“Lonely?” Although the intonation of his tone implies a question, it isn’t one. He knows the answer.

“It is,” your voice is barely a whisper, meek. You’re not sure why you find yourself divulging information to Gojo of all people, but who else was left? You couldn’t drive yourself crazy in the silence that your own mind had become. It was strange, the way your own brain wouldn’t shut up, and yet you craved the familiar presence of the curse that had caused this whole situation in the first place. Of course, you couldn’t blame her. She was the only reason you were alive to this day.

Then again…

You turn your attention to Gojo, examining the strangely casual outfit he was wearing before trying to make sense of his expression. His lips are pursed, as though he’s waiting for you to continue.

If you couldn’t blame Miriko, could you really blame Gojo? Would you have ended up here with or without him?

You press your lips into a tight line, turning your attention back to your plate.

No, you decide. You wouldn’t be in this position if not for him.

But then again, you never would have met Nanami. Even with the loss hanging heavy over your head, you wouldn’t trade your relationship with him for the world. You wouldn’t trade the feeling of being loved.

You stab the pancake harder than intended as you juggle your thoughts, causing you both to jump and pulling you out of your trance.

Gojo clears his throat. “I’ll um, give you some space,” he tells you and hurries off to the washroom to shower.

A shower sounds nice. Maybe that would help clear your thoughts.

–

Dull lights flicker above you, illuminating your figure. You lean over the washroom sink, sighing at your reflection. The woman staring back at you barely feels like someone you recognize. No wonder Gojo had forced you to eat. Even you were able to admit that you looked like a damn wreck.

Pale skin matches your equally dreary and tired expression, not to mention the dull ache in your limbs forcing you to lean on surfaces for support. Lifting a hand, you run it through your wet hair, wringing out what water you’re able to before letting it fall over your shoulders. If it dripped down your shirt, so be it.

Holding yourself up on the door frame, you pick your phone up for the first time since you’d woken up. Of course, you’d always kept your distance from others so you weren’t expecting any messages, but to your surprise your dad had texted his worries. Sliding your phone to unlock it, you read through a flurry of worried texts, followed by one that surprises you.

12:32 PM | Dad: Your friend answered the phone and told me what happened. Love you. Text me when you wake up.

You open your mouth to ask Gojo about the text, but the words die on your tongue as you look up at him.

Gojo is sitting at the table with his legs up on the chair opposite him. He’s wearing a black compression shirt, the outline of his pecs visible beneath the thin fabric. A pair of loose white pants adorns his lower half, tied at his hips. You can’t see his eyes from beneath the thick fabric of his blindfold.

He tilts his head curiously as you freeze with parted lips and wide eyes, trained on the mug in his hands that made your blood run cold. It’s nondescript, he likely picked it up when he’d gone to gather things from your cabin without thinking twice about it, but the sight has a familiar tightness clenching in your chest.

“Where did you get that?” Your voice is eerily devoid of emotion.

Sensing he did something wrong, Gojo sits up, holding the mug up to look at it. “Dunno, I brought it over from your cabin.”

“It’s not yours,” you tense at the sight, spitting the words through your gritted teeth. Images of Kento using the mug each morning flash through your mind, the sound of his gruff morning voice stirring panic in your chest as you act without thinking.

“It’s just a mu-”

“It’s not!” Your voice is loud enough to shock the both of you. You’re gripping the wall hard enough that your knuckles run white. He takes the hint, setting the mug down as realizes what has you so upset, hands up in the air to depict his innocence.

“y/n, it’s not a big deal, ple-” Gojo tries to mediate the situation, knowing you aren’t in a good enough headspace to cooperate, but it does him no favors as he sees the tears beginning to well in your eyes. He panics as hot tears trail down your cheeks and he does the only thing he can think to help.

With only a couple of wide strides, he closes the distance between you and envelops his arms around you. You tense at the contact, unmoving, making him wonder if he’s made a mistake. You swallow hard, not wanting to give in as if you were admitting defeat, but you would be a fool not to accept what you had needed so badly. Even if it was from the person you wanted to blame.

So you give in, wrapping your arms around his torso and struggling not to shake from the tears that were staining his white shirt. Toned arms tighten around your core as you accept his embrace and he stands unmoving as you let the sound of his steady beating heart soothe you.

Even if it was only for a moment, as you feel the weight of anxiety lift from your chest, it feels like you can finally breathe again. It was a solace you hadn’t expected to find in Satoru Gojo, but even if only for a moment, the feeling of breaking through the surface of the sea of emotions swirling around you is a relief.

You don’t dare move as Gojo’s chin rests atop your head, his thumb rubbing small circles against your ribs as he mindlessly offers you comfort. His warm breath fans across your shoulders, the rhythm of his breathing offering a distraction from the panic that had settled in at the sight of someone else in the place that Kento should have been.

Taking a deep breath, you slowly push off of Gojo, who keeps one hand under your forearm to keep you steady. He continues to rub circles into the skin of your arm with his thumb, his expression serious as he lets you get your bearings.

“I- I’m sorry,” you squeak, barely able to get the words out at all as you bring a hand up to wipe your tears. “I don’t know- I- I-”

“It’s fine, y/n,” he assures you, a small smile revealing the hint of the dimples on either of his cheeks. “It happens. You’re going through a lot.”

Your head hangs in shame at how you lashed out at him, your eyes resting on the floor.

When you mutter another apology, Gojo lets out a breathy laugh, clearly not sure what to do with a small crying girl in his home who wasn’t exactly fond of him. Gripping your forearm reassuringly, he slowly begins to move to the table, sitting you down in the chair he was using and letting you take the mug as he sits beside you.

Your eyes train on the familiar light blue speckled mug with brown undertones. It hadn’t been purchased for him, it wasn’t a gift. It shouldn’t hold any meaning, really. But it was the only one Kento had seemed to use, causing something to snap in you at the sight of Gojo using it.

You can’t bring yourself to hold it, your eyes trained on the familiar shape that was held with a warm smile most mornings.

“Did he ever tell you we went to school together?”

You wipe another tear, nodding as you watch Gojo take his blindfold off. Uncovered, his cerulean eyes seem to hold an entire other world within them.

“You wouldn’t have believed what he was like.”

“What do you mean?” You ask curiously, leaning forward as Gojo reminisces.

“He was a year behind me, Shoko, and-” he stammers over his words, recovering before you have a chance to think twice about it. “He was just as reserved back then as he was when you met.”

“Even as a teen?”

“Especially as a teen. So straight and to the point,” he grins, shaking his head. “The other first-year was good for him, I think the two of them brought out the best in each other.”

“I never heard him mention anyone else in his year.”

“And his hair, did he ever show you?” Catching your curious look, he stands and bounds up the stairs, choosing to ignore your statement. From the bedroom loft you hear his voice. “Would you believe me if I told you he wasn’t my biggest fan?”

“He has good taste,” you mutter somewhat jokingly.

“I heard that,” Gojo teases as he bounds back down the stairs with a single photo in hand and his sunglasses now hanging from his shirt. “Check it out, this is from his birthday.”

Standing in the center of the photo is a very young Nanami sporting long blonde hair and an unimpressed expression. A party hat is strapped to his head and he’s standing as stiff as a board. The photo is blurry, clearly taken from a flip phone several years ago.

A bittersweet smile spreads across your lips at the sight.

“His hair…” You mumble in disbelief, a choked laugh escaping your lips as a tear slips down your cheek. You slowly reach out and take the photo from Gojo, thumbing over the photo as though you’ll feel anything more than glossy paper. You don’t, of course, but the sight brings a comfort you haven’t felt in a while.

“Told ya, it was a sight,” Gojo chuckles. He watches the way you hold the photo, like it’s precious, a grimace pulling at his lips. He replaces it with a smile. “You can keep it.”

“Hm?”

“The photo, you can keep it.”

“Oh, I- Are you sure?” You ask, examining the blue eyes that could pierce right through you. He nods. “Thank you, Gojo.”

Silence falls over the cabin as you observe him. He leans back, his arms crossed behind his head with a small smile as he leans his head back. His chest rises and falls slowly, muscles flexed as the material of his shirt bunches at his biceps.

You can’t help but wonder what changed. Was he only being kind while you grieved, would the switch flip in a month when you had recovered? Your eyes fall to the photo at your fingertips.

You’d once aired your grievances to Kento about the strange way Gojo reacted to you and he’d mentioned having a hunch about what his issue with you was, the discussion now clear in your mind.

“You think he’s doing it on purpose?”

Nanami nods. “Yes. Gojo is annoying, but he’s smarter and more emotionally intelligent than he comes across.” He pauses with a reminiscent laugh. “Sometimes, anyway.”

“Why would he purposely be an asshole?”

Kento shifts to prop himself up on his elbow, moving his pillow beside you. Your eyes flicker to the flexed bicep and he smirks. “I have a hunch…” he hums, his mahogany eye trailing down to your fingers as he threads his own through yours. “That he’s worried you’ll turn on him.”

“Oh,” you blink, eyes widening. Your grip on Nanami’s hand tightens. “Can you ask him about it?”

His lips press into a thin line. “I’m fairly certain he wouldn’t admit anything.”

“Right…”

With that thought resurfaced, you could only hope to bring it up sooner rather than later. The opportunity didn’t come until a couple of days later. You were regaining your vigor and had even managed to reconnect with Miriko, whose strength was growing steadily.

Of course, that didn’t make the turmoil of emotions any easier and you would be lying if you said being alone at night with your thoughts was something you enjoyed, but at least a semblance of normalcy was returning to your life.

Even so, admitting that Gojo’s presence had been a strange comfort pained you.

Gojo had also proven to be a half-decent chef, but more to your surprise he seemed to be attempting to take care of you. He also didn’t dare leave you alone. He had needed to step out for a mission and had left Yuji to keep an eye on you, whose eyes had brimmed with grateful tears that you were okay, something that warmed your heart and sent you into a flurry of sobs.

Megumi continued to drop by every day to walk Taro, each interaction between him and Gojo continuing to baffle you as you realized just how much he did see the students as his own children.

In particular, you began to notice more and more the way Gojo acted like a proud parent towards Megumi. It was oddly heartwarming, when you realized the few things that decorated the rather barren cabin Gojo stayed in were things that seemed to be made for Gojo by Megumi when he was quite a bit younger.

A couple of the magnets on the fridge held up drawings or cards that you’d never bothered to look at but it became clear they were school projects and notes, as well as a couple of small gifts sitting on the kitchen windowsill. A pipe cleaner flower from Megumi’s little sister and a pipe cleaner dog from the young boy, both horribly sun faded but full of love.

It grew harder every day to hold any amount of hate for him.

Five days after waking up again, Shoko dropped by to check in on you and run some tests before getting you up and walking again, doing some basic rehab. Miriko had insisted she would be able to heal you but Gojo was adamant on having you recover as soon as possible.

Closing the door behind Shoko, he turns to where you’re sitting on the couch in the living room, your crimson gaze following his movements. He sighs, stepping over the back of the couch and sliding down onto the couch beside you, legs spread in typical man fashion.

You raise an eyebrow at him as his knee brushes yours, but Gojo just smirks, slinging his arm over the back of the couch. He had very little regard for personal space.

“How’re ya feeling?”

“It’s nice to walk again,” you tell him, dodging the question as you lean back into the couch.

“Ya look like a penguin,” he snickers, throwing his head back.

“You’re such a pain,” you groan, knocking your knee back against his teasingly.

The warm afternoon sun threads through the blinds at the end of the couch, illuminating Gojo’s cheek with its gentle rays. His white lashes seem to sparkle from where they’re barely visible over his sunglasses, fluttering every so often as he blinks.

“Gojo?”

He hums, giving his head a shake to keep his bangs out of his vision.

“Why do you want me to recover quickly?”

“Cause I care?” He says as though it’s obvious.

“Yeah right,” you sneer. “Really, why?”

“Okay first of all, ouch,” he puts a hand over his heart in feign offense. A smile pulls at the corner of your lips. Slowly but surely, he was earning your trust. Believing he cared in the friendly way he seemed to imply could still be seen as a stretch, but you decide to leave it be. “Second of all,” he frowns now, “the higher ups aren’t happy.”

“Okay…” you urge him to continue, pulling your legs up onto the couch as you face him.

“They want you dead.”

Your face falls at the admission, the muscles in your jaw clenching as a familiar thought runs through your head. You wouldn’t be in this position if it wasn’t for Gojo in the first place.

“Why not just kill me, then?” Your words are ice on Gojo’s skin, as though any ounce of trust he’d earned is gone in an instant. The tension in the air grows steadily the longer he doesn’t answer, the hair on the back of your neck standing on end.

“What kind of a question is that supposed to be?”

“You never liked me to begin with, so why-”

“For fuck’s sake y/n, what are you on about with that?” He pulls his shades off as he asks the question in exasperation, waving a hand in the air.

“What am I-? You- You know the answer to that question!” You retort in disbelief.

His jaw hangs open as his head falls back against the couch. “Fuck, I-” He closes his eyes, bringing a hand up to the bridge of his nose. “You are so fucking difficult, you know that?” He grumbles.

You stand up abruptly in disbelief. “I’m sorry, do I need to remind you of the shit you pulled to get me here? About how my last three weeks have been?”

“y/n I know you’re upset but that’s not fair.”

“Not fair? Not fair?” Heat gathers at your cheeks as tears threaten to spill. And god damn it, it only makes you more angry that you can’t stop yourself from crying in an argument. “You want to talk about not fair?”

The silence that hangs between you both as you pause could be cut with a knife. It hangs heavy in the air as you both know what’s coming. Gojo presses his lips into a thin line, standing as he prepares himself for the onslaught of what’s to come.

“Kento is dead. I destroyed the entire schoolyard, I can barely walk, I need help just to take care of my own dog and-” you pause, trying to regain your composure before tears can spill down your cheeks. “-and now I can’t hide anymore. I don’t get to have a normal life, because of you.”

“C’mon, that’s not fair.”

His repetition only makes you angrier and you take a wobbly step away from him, wanting out of his sight. For all the kind things he did for you, each one seemed to be constantly outweighed by the reminders of the situation you’d been thrown into. All from one unfortunate meeting two years ago.

“I’m fucking trying, y/n!” He raises his voice, taking a step forward to tower over you. His chest is rising and falling fast, blue irises darting across your face as he takes in the change in your expression. Your brow furrows, lips parting as he airs his grievances. “I made a mistake, okay?” His resolve wavers as the volume he’s speaking at returns to normal.

You don’t dare utter a word, out of fear he might not continue.

“I know I can’t make it up to you. That’s fine. But it’s not fair to blame me for Nanami’s-” he doesn’t finish the sentence when you can’t meet his gaze. “That loss hurt us all.”

With the sun nearly set, there’s very little light left illuminating the two of you. The sounds of the summer cicadas in the distance seem to disrupt the tense air in the cabin, a welcome distraction from the pain settling into your chest once more.

Taking a deep breath, you swallow the lump in your throat. “Can I have some space?”

You see the subtle way his shoulders slump. It’s not a response, but he knows as well as you do that his answer wouldn’t have mattered either way as you turn and shuffle into the guest room. Taro follows behind you, able to sense that you’re upset. You’re thankful for his endless support, no matter whether you were in the right or not.

No matter how much you wanted to feel you were right, it wasn’t easy when Gojo had a point. You’d been so caught up in your own emotions you hadn’t stopped to think of the way the loss had affected Yuji, Megumi, Shoko… or Gojo. You knew him and Nanami weren’t close, but you’d never considered what kind of relationship they did have.

Settling down onto your bed, you pick up the photo sitting on your desk. Nanami in a party hat. Your bittersweet smile returns at the sight and you sigh, long and forlorn.

You couldn’t keep blaming Gojo. You hated to admit it, but he was right. It wasn’t fair. Regardless of the fact that a portion of the situation was his fault, you’d fought about that enough times to last a lifetime. It wasn’t worth the energy anymore.

Miriko?

Yes?

Would it be so wrong to forgive him?

It takes her a moment to respond.

It is not my place to make that decision.

Shuffling on the bed to lay flat on your back, you stare at the wooden ceiling, turmoil threatening to bubble over in your chest as you wipe the tears that finally fall.

He was trying, you owed it to him to try as well.

But fuck were things ever more difficult now that you were alone, without your boyfriend to go home to.

For the fifth night in a row since you’d woken up, Gojo feels the familiar knife of guilt twist in his gut as he hears your quiet weeping. Unrest is quickly becoming his closest friend.

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a/n || he's trying 🥹 writing domestic gojo is so fun, hope you all enjoyed! 💖

btw this is the nanami photo ehehe