#psychology shit y’all

[mariswxts]

Dean vs Sam : Spicy Scenes

My god, how did I not make this connection sooner?!

Dean and Sam during spicy scenes in Supernatural, here’s my take on them:

Dean:

He’s always had to be the bigger person, the carer, the giver. Sometimes he wants someone to do something for him, that’s why he’s attracted to women who know what they want and aren’t afraid to take it, because he has that reassurance that even though he would fight tooth and nail for them, they can take control. So in spicy scenes, he’s more submissive than you’d anticipate and lets the girl go on top, is soft with her, while still retaining some element of being a giver cause that’s who he is.

WARNING: FAINTING-WORTHY SCENES BELOW

Exhibit A:

Exhibit B:

Sam:

Normally Sam’s a sweet guy, right? Right? Opposite during kissing scenes, guys, dude goes CRAZY in control it’s almost too hot to handle. Probably because he’s had so little control in his life over his own decisions, since Dean took care of him and so did John. Plus, he’s described as cuddly, harmless little Sam. Dude’s actually a beast, and he finds actual control when he’s with a woman in bed, and he gets to let that side of him out.

Exhibit C:

Look at the way he’s movin’ her ^^

Exhibit D:

Y’all got any hot takes, reblog with yours! Gonna np tag to get it out:

@jackles010378 @zepskies @cheynovak @k-slla @angelbabyyy99

[onetoomanyfandomfixations]

Hazbin Hotel Characters React to You Asking for a Hug (PART 2)

Buckle in bitches, its time for some COMFORT

Lucifer

Guys he’s SO nervous

“Oh really? You, uh, you want a hug from me? Are you sure?”

Nervous laughter 100

Takes a hot minute for him to adjust, but DOES give good hugs

WING HUGS. Y’ALL KNOW HOW I GET ABOUT WING HUGS.

Y’all gotta remember he’s a dad

So good, firm dad hug

His hands are clammy af, but don’t mention that pls

Gives you the opportunity to talk out whatever’s going through your head

Actually has really insightful advice

Like his daughter, honestly so honoured you chose to come to him

Lute

“Must I?”

Begrudging as FUCK

But she’ll do it

If she has to

Stiff, awkward hugs that last for 5 seconds tops

No wing hugs :(

“Human souls are weird”

Tries to teach you how to fight so you can use sparring as a “normal” coping mechanism

Adam

As much as I hate him, would give BANGIN hugs

“Fuck, you wan’ a hug? Fuck yeah bitch, get over here!”

Super enthusiastic about it????

Like, gives you shit, but its still one of the tightest and most excited hugs you’ve ever received

Very very warm

You will probably overheat if you stay there too long

WING HUGS!!!!!!!

Will be extra touchy with you from here on out

Arm around the shoulder, etc

Carmilla

Is she mom, or mommy? Jury’s still out on that one.

Will never ever refuse you if you need a hug

Will, however, try to pull you aside and make it a private moment

Not a big fan on PDA, but your wellbeing takes priority

Makes you rest your head against her chest, no matter how tall you are

If you tell her what’s going on, will fix it

You don’t even need to ask.

She’s gonna check up on you after at LEAST twice

Rosie

Is she mom or mommy part 2: electric boogaloo

Drops EVERYTHING

Ushers you into a sunroom and brews you a pot of tea to share

And grabs snacks, of course

Definitely forgets if cannibalism makes you queasy

Holds you hand from across the table and encourages you to talk it out with her

A lil bit pushy about it, but its from a place of love

But if you need it, will definitely hug you

Another one with bone shattering hugs

Her hands are cold af tho, so beware

Vox

Tbh doesn’t hear you the first time, he’s super focused on whatever else he’s doing

Once he hears you/it registers to him, he’s pretty confused

“Why do you need a hug?”

Only hugs you if y’all are really close

Generally not a touchy person

He won’t stop whatever he’s doing though

Most likely will just sit you in his lap, so he can cuddle And work

Multitasking, bitch

Don’t do it while he’s actively broadcasting though

Super against PDA (bc he’s embarrassed) and will probably snap at you if you break this boundary

Velvette

“Wot. Why?”

Also confused

Like Vox, usually to busy to properly hug you

But will let you stick around and lay all over her while she works

Anyone who questions it dies Very quickly, and Very grotesquely

Very protective

“Babes, do I need to hurt someone? Coz you Know I’ll do it”

Probs takes selfies of you hanging off of her bc she thinks its cute

Will dress you up to try and make you feel better

Valentino

Seek psychological help 💕

I know he’s got a sexy voice, but you know I’m right

[cantkiss-u]

the maddie hate in the fandom is so unbelievably forced it’s ridiculous, and it’s purely because a lot of y’all don’t find her attractive. best believe if she looked like miss fortune or smth, the consensus would be “i would let her do xyz to me”, more people would ‘understand’ cait using her as a rebound & you’d forgive her for her crimes in a heartbeat. but because she’s not physically appealing to you, you’re doing 3 much celebrating her death & calling her an “ugly ginger bitch”, using her betrayal as an excuse to blast your misogyny.

it’s genuinely weird. arcane works hard to depict the complexities and motivations behind characters who appear villainous, allowing us to understand people like silco, singed or even viktor, proving that they’re not one dimensional in their pursuits.

just because we don’t get maddie’s whole backstory, it doesn’t mean you can’t afford her the same reflections. i think to be chosen as a spy by ambessa must mean she’s great in her field (especially by noxian standards), aspiring to impress her leader and live up to the expectations of her nation.

and she delivered: she gained cait’s trust so she would confide in her, keep her close & update her on every step she made, providing maddie with all the intel required. maddie’s proven herself to be a competent, dedicated soldier who can also attack her opponent from a psychological angle (manipulation and lies... yes)—isn’t that the noxian dream?

but to so many viewers, none of that matters because she’s not serving her purpose of being attractive to them. whilst she is a background character, she rarely gets any discussion outside of ‘that ugly ginger bitch that ruined caitvi’ and people use that to justify the insane intensity with which they hate her.

a lot of y’all will cry and beg for more complex female characters but lose your fucking shit when they don’t function how you want them to.

[blackbirdsblackberries]

The idea that a yandere ends up unintentionally tormenting the object of their affection because they don’t know that that their darling and the person who’s badmouthing them are the same person is a delicious take!

Personally if the batfams actions resulted in actual expulsion or reader having to move to escape harassment they wouldn’t waste any time in revealing their civilian identity and being like:

“Nice to know y’all hate me as much as I hate myself :), thanks for getting me kicked out of school btw :), I’m leaving this shithole city and never coming back hope you’re happy because I sure am! :) :) :)”

and everyone is scrambling to undo the damage because :

oh shit, they knew our identities?!

oh shit, Arachne is reader?!?

oh shit, we’ve been harassing Arachne and got her kicked out of school and now she has to leave?!?!???

OH SHIT-

(the number of smiley faces is directly proportional to how close they are to snapping like a twig )

Immediate panic followed by Bruce trying to buy your forgiveness 💓

Look! You got back into the school! You don't need to move now right? Right?

You hate yourself? That's not very healthy. Bruce is willing to talk to you about it, Dick is basically the therapist of the family, Jason hates himself too, Tim did a mini course in psychology, Damian was taught how to be confident in your skill, Steph knows what it's like, Duke is always there to help - did you know his parents were attacked by Joker gas? Do you feel bad? You're basically leaving him like his parents!! (Disproportionate), and Cass can read body language so she can help!

[star-girl69]

i think aphrodite kid reader x clarisse is simply just better??? like the trope is just superior??? like, we have clarisse who is tough, and mean and one of the strongest people at camp, then we have reader who is kind and compassionate and really doesn’t care all that much about fighting. so naturally, clarisse is super protective and treats reader like a princess?? how could people dislike it 😔😔

no exactly and i actually must write about this - basically this is just all about the little things clarisse does for her perfect princess angel daughter of aphrodite gf (me!!!!!!)

okay as payment for my absence please accept some shitty headcanons I LOVE YOU ALL BYEEEE

she’s just always DOING THINGS FOR YOU

she’s so perceptive and she always knows exactly what you want and need even if you don’t know it yourself

like if you like wearing high heels one) clarisse genuinely wonders what is wrong w you

she sees no practicality in them bc there isn’t lol

but also she’s like omg???? MY GF feels safe enough around me to wear shoes she can’t run in???? WHAT JOY!!!!!!!!!

and you’ll come back to your cabin being all ugh omg my feet hurt so bad laying on the bed and putting your feet UP

and clarisse is like “well i could have told you that”

excuse me????

“don’t get me wrong baby you look gorgeous and i love you wearing heels but it’s your funeral”

“DIE”

she just laughs and takes your shoes off

she’ll continue to bully you as she’s literally massaging your feet like ok girl yeah we see you

clarisse is also a MENACE about making sure you eat

“did you eat today?”

“babe you SAW me at lunch”

“just making sure….”

you’re just so kind and amazing and clarisse loves you so much but you are not the best at fighting!

she is constantly stressed when you’re not by her side

bc no one loves you like her who will protect you 💔💔💔💔

when someone takes advantage of you she gets so PISSED OFF

bc it’s not like someone is beating you up it’ll be like someone is using you as their personal therapist or smth and you’re just like “pls go speak to an actual professional wtf 😭😭😭”

and she’s so pissed off bc WHY IS THIS BITCH PSYCHOLOGICALLY AND EMOTIONALLY TORTURING HER GIRL??????

she’s not afraid to beat people up for you and actually enjoys it!

anyways, clarisse is also a koala bear

and an emotionally stunted caveman

she’s not good with her words so these actions are all she has to show you that she loves you

idk if y’all have noticed but clar rarely saying ily to y/n bc it’s my personal headcanon that she has such a hard time saying those words. she shows you she loves you but for some reason it’s just so hard to get the words out. (…BC SHE IS AN EMOTIONALLY STUNTED CAVEMAN)

so she quickly adapts to do all these little things

if you’re walking down a flight of stairs trust she is holding your hand

QUEEN of opening jars for you

if you’re not feeling well or you’re tired or just feeling lazy she’ll bully someone into doing your chores for you

also this bitch is NOT afraid to stand up for you and make sure you get what you deserve.

like that one meme

“UM… she said NO PICKLES… you fucking dumbasses…”

“CLARISSE 😭😭😭”

also like in “better than revenge” she loves to watch you do your makeup

finds it so fascinating that you can only get PRETTIER

like she’s okay at makeup but you can do that shit perfectly like standing on your head

you make it seem so effortless

she’s not a HUGE makeup girly but sometimes she’ll let you just go crazy

so you can sit on top of her….. that one sapphic meme yes…..

also she’s constantly bragging about you

“yeah… i have the prettiest gf in camp… y’all are just losers what can i say”

ofc if anyone were to agree w her she would go insane

“yeah y/n is so pretty”

“um ok yeah you don’t have to say it i say it enough….”

even if one of your siblings gives you a compliment she’s like HOLD THE FUCK ON- then she remembers THATS YOUR SIBLING ITS OK and she’s like oh this is so embarrassing.

will she stop? no ofc not

she’s constantly telling you how pretty you are. beautiful. gorgeous. exquisite. all the words

loves kissing you all over

KISSES YOUR HAND 🤭🤭

anyways going back to the clarisse koala bear agenda that got away from me

she’s just always touching you

hand on the small of your hand guiding you somewhere

hand around your waist

SITTING IN HER LAP AT CAMPFIRES

no matter what type of hair you have she’s obsessed w it. if you have pin straight hair she’s so obsessed w the fact that you don’t need a huge curl routine like her, finds it fascinating

if you do have curls she loves doing a curl routine together

whatever whatever type of hair you have she’s obsessed with it and will wash it for you if you want

so soft and lovingly like a more of a scalp massage than a hair washing

will brush your hair for you, braid it for you, anything you like just OBSESSED

she loves when you like sit on top of a picnic table and then she gets to sit in between your legs on the bench thinks it’s so so fun and so so silly

she LOVESSSSS sleeping w you OBVI.

on top of you, you on top of her, she’s a koala bear. like entirely wrapped around you

partially bc she is as aforementioned a koala bear and partly bc she is overprotective even in her sleep

if you move in the middle of the night even just a little bit

she’s a super light sleeper i feel like

always on the guard fr ✊

a little bit better when you’re there tho

so if you move in the middle of the night she’ll just like caress your hair and kiss your cheek and try to shush you back to sleep

like bitch you’re still asleep have you never heard of ADJUSTING? MOVING? SHIFTING?

hope you’re not one of those people who has to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night bc with clarisse that will stop

you can’t abandon her even for 2 minutes even for basic bodily functions like you just can’t it’s so inconsiderate to her… 💔

taglist:

@lvrue @t-wylia @laughingcheese037 @kroumi @urdeadpoet @colezb @rey26 @harmzilla @elliewilliamsbae @amberfreemansburntface @kyuupidwrites @neverwaakeme-up @shark1008 @liballer @heyimadison @nvirskies @pnsteblnme @mar2ss @restellsss @ravisinghs-wife @marsconer @evangelinexo @randomhoex @luvrrish @rebecca37 @saltair-and-palemoonlight @ace-spades-1

[diremoone]

“make me (yours).” | r. sukuna

w — [ minors do not interact ] modern! AU, hints of sugar daddy vibes ;), older man/younger woman, age gap, everyone is above 20+ and legal age, male masturbation, Sukuna imagining seggs positions and shit like that, Sukuna is around 36 & Reader is around 22/23, tbh sukuna being a comfort character rn. jjk after 235? it’s non-canon lmao

a/n: this is the most I’ve ever written that’s sinful I’m not used to this (it’s been so damn long since i have written anything remotely sinful omfg) and it’s not even that much I’m so embarrassed y’all HELP— also part two depends on you guys and any ideas you want to send in through my ask box :3

part one | part two

[ first divider by @/benkeibear, the second by @/cafekitsune ]

♥️ Rich! Sukuna who meets you through his younger brother, who’s a few years older than you. You’ve been in Japan for a few years now, that much he knows, attending the same school his little brother got into. And now he’s determined to find out everything about you.

♥️ Rich! Sukuna who’s so fucking glad you can speak Japanese. He knows English, yes, but he prefers it when you speak his native tongue, because he fucking loves your accent and gets off on it. It’s exotic — you’re exotic — and he can’t help the temptation of wanting you and more.

♥️ Rich! Sukuna who knows to keep his smug smirk into himself when his little brother finally mans up and finally introduces you to him one day when he comes home to work on a project that you’re helping him with. And he knows that Yuuji knows about the look on his face. Because he knows his history with women. Yuuji knows he’s made a mistake introducing you to each other.

Or so he thinks.

Sukuna is thoroughly amused by you, although there are times where he becomes frustrated. You’re not an easy case to crack, and not easy to tease and rile up. Perhaps that’s the part of you that’s from accelerated maturity.

You’re smarter than the average person, even the people slightly above average. You’re intellectually and psychologically challenging and he very much likes it. It’s been a long time since he’s had the kind of stimulation you’ve brought him. Since his and Yuuji’s father passed away.

He watches from a distance as you and his brother go over notes and work and crack jokes that put a pretty smile on your face. He can’t hear your laughter from where he stands, but he’s positive it’s as lovely as your smile.

As for you, you know you’re being watched. You look to the tall man out of your peripheral vision and halt rolling your eyes.

“Your brother is never subtle, is he?”

Yuuji sighs heavily. “Never.”

♥️ Rich! Sukuna who hates the fact he can’t see you more often. So he digs and digs and then finds out about some old family debts and a couple things for medical expenses he can easily pay off to hold over your head, to use as a means to be something akin to a sugar daddy so he can order you around and see you whenever he wants to.

And it comes as no surprise to him when he mentions it the next time his brother brings you over for schoolwork that you’re startled by him finding out. He only mentions it after Yuuji has fallen asleep on the couch. You give him the wide-eyed expression of shock, probably wondering how he found out about it.

But unlike his expectations, you don’t ask how he knows. you don’t get embarrassed and try to hush it away with the option of using yourself as his favor. You shrug, going a little more into depth and detail about the financial struggle that’s been kept under wraps for several good years.

Sukuna himself is surprised in return, by both you and the way he sits down for you — to listen to you.

♥️ Rich! Sukuna, who finds out that even though you see him as super attractive, you’re not as swayed by his flirting and all of his advances like many women and young women your age are. Yes, you know he’s super fucking stupidly hot, and yes you’ve more than likely thought about certain things while in bed under the sheets, but you’ve got more important things to prioritize than hot men. Which he applauds you for just as much as he despises it. It makes him frustrated, because he’s attracted to you and wants you in his bed so bad; because it should be so fucking easy like it has been with other women. But you’re not the same, and while his lust is as prominent as ever in his older age, he also has the desire for something more than just a fling.

♥️ Rich! Sukuna who manages to get ahold of your schedule through his baby brother (who’s prepping for your broken heart) and asks you out, setting up a date for when he knows you’re free. He much enjoys the look on your face when he brings up the date he’s set, knowing you’re wondering about how he managed to nail the exact day you’re free for the day he’s set for the outing. He enjoys it even further when you quickly deduce how he knows about it.

Goddamn, he loves a sharp woman.

♥️ Rich! Sukuna, who orders you a dress to be made that’s a mix of beautiful deep crimson and black, one that shines but doesn’t shine too much to glare at people eyes. He drums his fingers against his desk in his home office as he sees the notification pop up on his phone that the item has been delivered.

But as usual, you surprise him. You don’t end up wearing the dress he’s made, but something completely different. You arrive to the restaurant he’s bought out for the night in a deep silver-gray tux, hair styled in a simple manner with minimal makeup that he knows you don’t need because he’s already seen and fallen for your natural looks anyway.

Sukuna hates you. He doesn’t, but he doesn’t know what the fuck to do with the feelings he has. You’re so much younger than him, but holy fuck has it been so long since he’s been given any sort of challenge or stimuli, especially from a woman. He both hates and is glad you’re not easy. And it only fuels his drive to get you to give yourself to him.

You drive him up a damn wall.

He’s been in the shower for at least forty minutes, alternating between hot and cold every five minutes. Forty minutes and the painful hard on he’s had all morning still hasn’t gone away.

Sukuna leans his head forward against the wall and cusses at himself. His hand isn’t enough, but there’s some relief as he starts leisurely pumping his shaft. He cusses and swears worse than a sailor as he starts off slow, imagination running wild (at what could be).

He wants you so fucking bad. He wants you on your knees in front of him; on the soft carpet because no way is he going to let his pretty woman have sore knees while taking his monstrous dick down her throat.

He wants to bury his face between your legs and make you cum so much and so hard you see fucking galaxies, then let you catch your breath just barely enough before he uses your juices as lubricant and permanently molds your pussy to the shape of his fat cock.

He wants your legs over his shoulders as you throw your head back and moan as he fucks your better than anyone ever has and ever will. He wants to see a white ring around his cock as he pumps himself in and out of you like he’s a starved man. And that he is. For you, anyway.

Sukuna just knows your pussy is so fucking warm. He’ll bet his dick that you’ll have the tightest pussy he’s ever going to have. The best he’s ever going to have.

His hand pumps his shaft faster and faster, gripping it harder as he nears climax. His massive cock aches painfully, desperate to cum. Fucking hell… He wants you so bad, underneath him, or on your knees, calling him by whatever pet name or name from whatever kink you might have.

Forbid everything if you call him ‘Daddy’ or ‘Master’. Game fucking over.

He doesn’t even care if you have those kinds kinks or not. He just wants the pretty girl that’s done more than caught his attention under him as he makes her feel pleasure that only he can provide.

But the selfish part of him can’t help but hear you call out those names in his head. And that’s what does it.

Sukuna’s thighs and back muscles flex almost painfully as his balls draw up and cums. He tosses his head back, the feeling of his load spurting from the tip making him groan in pleasure. He cums so hard he feels like he’s about to keel over.

“Fuck yeah…” he pants, oxygen finally catching up to his lungs’ need.

But now he’s disappointed and just a little pissed off. Because the cum on the wall shouldn’t be there. It should be on or in you. And he doesn’t like that.

And as he rewashes himself, his jaw clenches, can’t help but thinking determinedly he’s going to change things between the two of you.

Come hell or high fucking water.

♥️ Rich! Sukuna who’s finally shifted the relationship to being something else. Although you can’t tell what it is. The first date he takes you on is to break the ice, getting to know you better as a person. It’s also to see if you’d fuck him, but he knows you’ve got stronger convictions than the women he’s used to.

He takes you on a second date, this time in more casual clothes on a drive to a house he’s set up to have dinner and stargaze at.

He gets to tell you he’s paid off your family’s old debts now, relieved them of the medical bills and taxes that haven’t been paid yet. But it backfires, and now he’s left to make you understand that it wasn’t to make you feel beholden to him in any manner, like owing debt to the mafia.

♥️ Rich! Sukuna needs you to understand that despite how much he wants to fuck you, it’s more than just because he finds you attractive and wants to satisfy his dick. He wants you to know you’re not temporary; he doesn’t see you as a quick fix to his primal needs.

Not at all.

You’re the long term fix to his primal needs. And perhaps the only one he’s going to need ever again. And once the expression of understanding crosses your face, he goes to cradle the back of your head and hungrily slots his lips on yours. He may not get to take all your clothes off right now, but he’s happy with his results tonight.

Besides, he knows he’ll get you into his bed with a shiny diamond ring on your left hand eventually.

wheeeew im gonna go take a cold bath

@vagabond-umlaut here’s ur man babe pls enjoy.

& everyone pls feel free to send in more ideas for this series if you want im having fun with this lmao

[cultkinkcoven]

really can’t stand people who refuse to even try with neopronouns or understand therians because to my autistic brain it is so fucking simple and I feel like it’s actually everyone else that are over complicating shit.

We came up with a couple terms to describe a couple ideas of self. He, she, they. I don’t use neos, but I do use he and they. I use he because I am masculine aligned and I use they because I am also nonbinary and not entirely masc. I don’t have any feelings towards myself that do not feel human.

But some of our gendered pronouns aren’t even enough, and on the realest note, my gender is probably somewhere between boy slut and freak, but I usually just keep that to myself. If someone feels like these words aren’t specific enough to them, fuck yeah make another one. Are you kidding me? You explored your own identity enough to have come up with a special custom term that perfectly describes you? That’s so fucking cool dude.

If a neurodivergent person with CPTSD feels extremely inhuman because of their psychology/ trauma or real world experiences with discrimination, (wow you mean the person everyone treats differently doesn’t feel very human?! that’s crazy!) but they do however have a very easy time relating and communicating with cats through their nonverbal social cues, if they feel comfortable and expressive wearing a tail and ears, and think of themselves as “cat”, okay??? cool? Cat is a homie, tf. Why wouldn’t I want to be friends with cat, cat seems to know how to have fun.

If a neurodivergent person with DID has multiple altars that are littles, and because of some experience, they experience their little as an animal, a puppy, or baby bird, …. okay??? cool??? I’m not really in any kind of position to tell chick that chick can’t fucking exist, and honestly it’s really none of my business how a system manages their littles. “oh they’re probably mentally ill” okay??? And perhaps they are? They’re still living are they not? They still exist, yes? So am I going to go out of my way to make their existence more difficult? I don’t really see the point!!!

If a neurodivergent person with antisocial personality disorder has never felt connected to humanity whatsoever and simply does not want to be referred to by human terms, it’s really not my place to debate about it.

It doesn’t even have to be that serious. You’ve always identified strongly with fairies? Be a fucking fairy dude. No one can stop you. You feel like you’re an elf? Okay! No one can control you, you are whatever the fuck you are regardless of how anyone feels. You can reinvent yourself tomorrow. Why tf not.

Is it really that hard to dynamically adapt language? Like, when people tell me they don’t know how they could possibly use xi xim or xe xer (pronounced with a Z) in a sentence, it tells me that they literally have a lower capacity for learning language. Like they’re not smart enough to apply pronoun grammatical rules to new words, they can’t even fathom the concept of a new word because they somehow believe that words aren’t made up by people but just pop magically into existence. You don’t have to get neopronouns but if you’re telling me you seriously cannot figure it out, I’m genuinely going to think you’re slightly dumb (unless you’re dyslexic, you get a pass I know it’s rough out here for y’all lmao)

It’s not that I think every case of neopronouns is easily explainable and super simple, because it doesn’t even have to be.

It’s more so that, with 7 billion fucking humans on this planet, it’s really not a surprise to me that some of them express their identity through non human terms. As someone with autism I can understand that, even if I don’t feel the exact same. There is always going to be some weird person who goes by knife/knives or bun/bunny. Im kind of just happy they’ve found something they can feel comfortable within. I genuinely cannot bring myself to care enough to argue with someone about it.

The whole “so I can identify as an attack helicopter?” thing is so stupid because if you were being genuine you could identify as a damn fighter jet. But y’all ain’t ready for that conversation because everyone who is passionate is too cringe for y’all to handle.

[spacerockfloater]

I’m going to preface this post by saying I don’t give a flying fuck about the hate I’m going to receive for the opinion I will be sharing and I won’t bother replying to any comments attacking me for it.

I fucking LOVE that Aemond killed Luke and I wish it wasn’t accidental. I wish Luke’s death was full on intentional, lol.

As a victim of bullying, I’ve been in situations where I have had to fend off 20+ kids as a kid myself. I’ve been verbally, physically, emotionally and psychologically assaulted as a child by other children, simply because I wanted, strived for and had good grades in school, actions that did not affect any of my classmates in the slightest. Therefore, I absolutely sympathise with Aemond, whose lack of dragon and later on his acquisition of one hurt no one (dragons belong to no one, you snooze you lose), yet he still got ridiculed and attacked for it. Yes, Aegon was also a bully and I hate him for it, but ultimately he grows out of it and supports his family, unlike the Strong bastards who remain bullies and assaulters. Oh, and Aemond tried to hit Jace with a rock because he attacked him first. Accusing him for standing up for himself is victim blaming. People who defend the Strong boys are bullies and that’s final.

No, I don’t give a rat’s ass that his attackers were children. Aemond was a child, too, and they ganked him 4v1. It’s crazy how some of y’all support physically attacking someone because you don’t agree with them. It was satisfying to see him kick their teeth in. Aemond and Luke are only 2 years apart, even if the actors’ appearances suggest otherwise. Your age does not excuse you being a fucking piece of shit. Children and teenagers appear on the news daily as rapists, killers, assaulters and all kind of criminals. That’s the reason juvie exists. Children should face the consequences of their actions.

“Are you excusing child murder?” if it is by the hand of the child they unapologetically disabled, fuck yeah. Besides, at the end of the day, Aemond dies, too, so you could say justice is served.

Still, I would have given the Strong boy the benefit of the doubt if it weren’t for this scene:

Lucerys is laughing at Aemond.

He is looking him in the eye and he is laughing at him. It’s been 6 fucking years. Lucerys is 17 (confirmed by the writers) and he feels no remorse for what he did. He was not punished for his action, so he has learned nothing.

He feels safe to mock Aemond, in the comfort and safety of his grandfather’s house, where his guard and stepdad can stop Aemond, whom he cannot beat on his own, from bashing his head against the wall. He feels safe to attack Aemond when he calls him Strong, knowing that other people will finish the fight he started but can’t win.

But what happens when no one is around to protect him from the consequences of his own actions? He shits himself. His face falls, he stumbles backwards and does not object to Aemond calling him Strong.

Not laughing now, huh, you little shit stain?

[apocalypse-shuffle]

AMBER FREEMAN | GHOSTFACE (scream 2022)

—

“Sent A Whole World Crying - pt1” (unrequited Amber Freeman x Fem!Reader) and (background Mindy Meeks-Martin x Fem!Reader)

| You accidentally let Amber know that you think she’s Ghostface (through DM’s); she’s not about to let you live through that mistake, obviously��probably.

| NSFW, canon typical violence, psychological trauma, unrequited feelings, angst (TW: general sadism, malicious concern, some taunting, reader-insert is harmed, slight metaphorical smut - some of the descriptors and dialogue I use are suggestive enough that it could be triggering.)

| Listen I’ve seen the analysis of who killed who in the movie, but for the sake of this fic I don’t care. (pic source: scream 2022 + promotional poster)

| Happy Early October!!

| 4k+ words

You:

- Mindy I’m telling you! - She keeps disappearing during the kills and then coming back all twitchy - Why aren’t you answering? You were all for looking into this shit earlier - Mindy! - I know you love Tara and they used to date or whatever but you know I’m right. - She’s probably Ghostface - Come on girl I’m being serious

You’ve been texting Mindy for the last two hours now and she’s still yet to answer you.

You didn’t know if it was because of how much shit you gave her for her insistence on trying to figure out who’d attempted to kill Tara a few nights ago (as if murder accusations were just mere gossip), or because she just hadn’t checked her texts yet, but this was bugging you to much for you to drop.

Hypocritical or not.

At first you’d blown off the signs, but red flags were red flags and eventually if they added up enough they started to look like blood splattered on the walls. Which didn’t help with the way your friend’s particular brand of paranoia was starting to rub off on you.

Now, you’ve managed to work yourself up so much at Amber’s most recent disappearing act that you’d nearly ran home so you could safely text Mindy.

In a circumstance that was beginning to be rarer and rarer for you both, you couldn’t be up underneath each other right now and so her DM’s would have to suffice.

She was busy with the film club at the moment, but she’d never once begrudged you texting her whenever. Plus, after going out with her and her friends last night, then stewing over your observations all day, you needed to tell somebody what you thought.

You weren’t very close to the group Mindy hung out with — you fucked with your own company just fine — but you and Mindy had become close over your mutual hate of your philosophy class and eventually she’d stumbled through asking you to hang out as a group (still blunt as ever even despite her raging blush) so you’d been with her friends at the bar only because she asked.

Friendship obligations, and all that.

It wasn’t like you didn’t want to figure out who would do something so horrible just as much as they did either. It was just that you only truly cared for Mindy and Chad’s sakes.

Or at least as much as most of them wanted to figure this situation out.

Amber talked a big game about caring for Tara’s safety above all else and vetting everyone the smaller teen came into contact with, but after that jerk who got y’all kicked out Amber had disappeared too. She came back overly excited — weird considering her best friend was almost brutally murdered — and there had been smudges on her shoes. You couldn’t confirm that it was that guy's blood, but you certainly felt like it was. The glint of something thick and wet was pretty hard to miss even on black boots.

Which was why you needed Mindy to answer you. You couldn’t bank on Amber fucking off around the same time the news reported Ghostface killed that man being a happy little coincidence.

Amber was pushy and rude on a good day and on a bad you’d seen her be downright malicious before, tripping someone down the stairs after he’d bumped into her type of malicious.

Plus ever since you started hanging out with Mindy you’ve noticed her staring at you more often, and no matter the contemplative look on Amber’s face whenever you caught her staring, her attention still made the hairs on the back of your neck prickle.

Sighing, you unlock your phone and check your messages again, pacing around your room all the while, before something catches your eye.

That wasn’t Mindy’s handle. It just looked nearly identical.

Shit, no wonder she wasn’t responding.

Jolting to a stop in the middle of the room, you rush to delete the messages.

It’s as you’re deleting the fourth that the green ‘active now’ dot shows up beside the unfamiliar username and then ‘read’ pops up underneath your last three texts.

“Damnit,” you grumble, still deleting the last couple texts. It won’t do much now, but if you were fast enough the person at least won’t be able to show anyone else or prove what you said.

Your stomach flips a little as you see the three dots pop up in the vacant space left behind by your erasing spree.

You freeze.

And then, heart in your stomach, you just react, exiting out of the conversation and going to the person's account and blocking them.

Oh god, you were so fucked. Shit. You really hoped that wouldn't come back to bite you in the ass.

You sit down on your bed with a huff, heart beating so fast it feels like you just ran the mile in gym class again. Dropping your phone on your comforter you shake out your trembling fingers. You suppose that was a sign that maybe you should just keep your opinion to yourself.

You rub your hands down your face.

Yeah, okay. Problem kind of (maybe) avoided for now. You’d just have to hope for the best.

You grunt, “Okay, I need a nap.”

And then you take that nap. As is your right.

─────

You’re jarred from sleep a few hours later by the sound of a continuous series of buzzing, and glare sleep crusted eyes up at your blurred ceiling fan.

Mindy had better not be calling you for some contrite shit again, like helping her beat Chad at whatever late night game they’d decided to occupy their twin insomnia with at — rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you look at your phone — eleven pm.

Honestly though, who else would be ballsy enough to start rapid texting you like this in the goddamn middle of the night? The other girl knew you went to sleep around nine on school nights, but Mindy did whatever she—

It feels like your heart stops beating as your Face ID unlocks your phone and you finally read the messages. Ones sent from what looks like a throwaway account with a handle you don’t remotely recognize.

The particular messages, on the other hand, are horribly familiar.

Unknown:

- Mindy I’m telling you! - She keeps disappearing during the kills and then coming back all twitchy - Why aren’t you answering? You were all for looking into this shit earlier - Mindy! - I know you love Tara and they used to date or whatever but you know I’m right. - She’s probably Ghostface - Come on girl I’m being serious - •••

Wide eyed, you can’t do anything but watch as another series of messages are sent.

Unknown:

- you think I’m some bitch faced little girl - well I’ll show you

And just like that you hear the power in the house cut off and watch with stilted breath as the service bar at the top of your screen goes down.

Immediately afterwards a message pops up on your phone to inform you that you’ve lost service even.

Shit.

You blink at your screen for another few seconds, brows furrowing, before whipping your head up to look around your room. Flashes of Tara battered to hell in the hospital and the memory of Sam telling you all about the attempted attack on her at that very same place, mere hours after Tara had been checked in, fill your brain to the brim.

Mind feeling stuffed with static you let out a harsh breath through your nose, hand squeezing hard onto your device, and take a glance out the broken blind in your window to clock that there for sure wasn’t a power outage happening anywhere else but at your house.

So someone was definitely fucking with you.

Fuck, you gotta think.

How the killer even got the dm’s you sent if they weren’t Amber wasn’t a question for now, but how you’d get out of this mess certainly was. With your younger sibling down the hall from you, and your parents still out of the house clubbing, there was only one other person you had to worry about.

Now you just had to figure out how to get to them without tipping off whoever the hell else was also in your house.

Hold on.

You never checked who exactly it was you’d been texting before.

Opening Snapchat, you simultaneously tumble as quietly as possible from your bed, only briefly getting caught up by your blanket tangling around your legs.

When you check you see that, yup, it was Amber’s account (who’s handle was now ridiculously similar to Mindy’s and was only saved on your phone in the first place because Mindy had asked you to send her one of your summer assignments from this year to copy).

Goddamnit.

“Why me?” you whisper; but truly, you should’ve made sure you were talking to the right person if you were going to start making fucking murder accusations.

This shit was on you.

Teeth grinding, you stuff your phone into the pocket of your shorts then start crawling around the floor till you can begin prying open your door. Opening it as far as you know it can go before it starts creaking then inching yourself the rest of the way into the hall.

Sure you had a problem if this wasn’t some elaborate prank — which you doubted, but the possibility was always there considering the kind of assholes you went to school with — but you couldn’t jump out of your window and just leave your sibling to die.

It’s when your mission is about halfway accomplished, and you’re nearly to your sibling's room, that you hear a creak.

You freeze alongside it. Breathing with your mouth slightly open to minimize the amount of noise you’re making.

Should you just make a run for their room? Should you duck back into yours? Should you shout their name and hope for the best?

In your periphery a flash of white streaks across the dark abyss that is the rest of your house.

Then, you’re only allowed enough time to start the beginnings of a scream before you’re being thrown into the hallway wall, cutoff exclamation choking in your throat and something blunt and heavy slamming into your forehead before you can catalog anything but the sound of fabric billowing in a rush and the feel of hands grabbing at you.

The shout you let out at the second hit is muffled by a gloved hand slapping over your mouth, the impact stinging your face and making your eyes water.

In that same motion your attacker catches you by the hip, hauling, and combined with the force they barreled into you with that’s all they need to make you trip backwards.

You slam into the wall with an ‘oof,’ but your attacker hardly pauses before using their body to flatten yours against the wall and force your wrists together in front of you.

As you’re blinking the spots from your eyes and trying to make out the person in the darkness a metallic click sounds through the air. All you can do is flinch as two icy, metal bands are cinched around your wrists in quick succession and your vision finally adjusts.

The metal locking together pinches at your skin but there’s so much else going on that you don’t even grimace, too busy trying to find your breath after the sight in front of you stole it.

A face. White, screaming in agony, and floating in the shadow like something straight out of Munch’s worst nightmares.

There’s a Ghostface mask less than a foot away from you.

Real and unavoidable and close enough for the starkness to hurt your eyes against the blanket of night all around you.

In Woodsboro it's a familiar sight, whether on the screen during local stabathons and tv edits at home or in costume shops around any one of the many killing spree anniversaries or Halloween.

Up close as it is to you in this scenario, however, it almost doesn’t feel real.

The mask is tilted in a way that feels like the person behind it is examining you; like a dissection. A hand sprouts from the darkness and shifts it back straight over the person’s face, however, and instantly your worry is no longer an assumption.

If you’d thought before that the tilt felt violating, the full force of Ghostface’s direct gaze actually on you feels heavy enough to strip flesh.

Like acid dripping past your throbbing head, over your face, and down the upper half of your body.

From how crooked the mask was you’d guess that’s what hit you, what’s caused the drowning thump thump pounding through your skull and the stinging sensation traveling across your forehead.

The freak had head butted you.

Slow as you can, you shift your head to the side — hoping there isn’t a streak of blood against the wall left in your wake — just enough to press your temple into the cool wall with a groan.

It’s then Ghostface’s head truly tilts and you get to know what the weight of their curiosity really feels like.

The movement itself is silent, but the click of a tongue and the hand that comes up to press over your forehead is not.

At the first touch of covered fingers to your dark skin your blood practically flash-freezes in your veins.

Gritting your teeth against your possible concussion you make a valiant attempt to meld into the wall, but a hand making itself remembered once more on your hip keeps you from fully running away, and the other reaching for you doesn’t relent.

“You’re so pretty like this, Y/n,” Ghostface’s modulated voice says, deep and smooth, as your assailant pushes on the sore area where your temple meets the wall until you turn to face them again; their tongue wrapping possessively around the call of your name without hesitation. “Submitting for me.”

“Jesus,” you whimper, shaking against the insistent feel of their thumb rubbing against the angry vein showing on your temple. “How do you know my—?”

“—Uh uh,” their overbearing timbre cuts in as they pull themselves closer to you, “keep asking questions like that and you’ll ruin the surprise.”

What fucking surprise? Did this asshole plan on dragging this out all night?

Could you figure a way out of this mess by then?

Biting the inside of your lip, you meet the abyss of a gaze in front of you in spite of the chill it sends down your spine. Try to think past the sensation of spiders crawling through your bloodstream that Ghostface’s generous touch elicits.

You swallow, saliva thick past the budding lump in your throat.

“Can you stop?” you force out.

The killer freezes.

You nearly pass out trying to keep yourself from recoiling or apologizing or both by holding your breath before they finally talk again.

“Why? You don’t want me to be concerned?”

Concerned?!

“I don’t,” you say, lips stiff.

What you wanted was to have this over with, not whatever twisted brand of care this Ghostface operated on.

A beat passes where you think they’ll keep pressing, maybe make a point of knocking you again, but then they…stop. Slim hands retreat from your space entirely and down to the killer’s sides.

You doubt their hands will stay still for long, though, and you haven’t thought up how you’re gonna get around them yet — call for your sibling to go get help, maybe?

You cut your eyes at the ghostly specter, at their height and intense focus on you, and remembering the speed they’d ambushed you with earlier you reconsider.

Risking your sibling’s life over a hunch that you already weren’t confident on wasn’t happening. There was no part of you that believed you’d stand a chance at overpowering this Ghostface long enough for no one but you to get hurt.

Something glints in the corner of your eye and you come out of your head with a start. There’s a knife in the killer’s hand now, twisting and twirling around deft fingers before their gaze swings back to you and the blade swings out to lazily point your way.

“Planning?”

“No.”

They laugh, likely not trusting your answer for a moment.

“Fine. Don’t tell me. We can play a game instead.” They pivot once, angling their body towards the door closest, and your heart skips a beat. “I spy with my little eye something that squeaks and creaks and leads to fresh meat.”

And just in case you managed to miss the killer’s meaning, they use the tip of their knife to point towards your sibling’s closed bedroom door twice in a motion too similar to stabbing for your liking.

“What do you think?” they ask, and take a slow deliberate step to the door right afterwards.

“Don’t!”

Lunging across the space Ghostface has made between you, you grab hold of their wrist with trembling hands and bite the proverbial bullet.

The “Please,” comes falling out your mouth like water, and only a tinge of something sour follows it.

Ghostface doesn’t do so much as twitch when they glance back at you, though, shoulders shaking under the cloak.

“‘Please’,” they repeat, roiling laughter clear even through the distortion, “but I thought you didn’t want my concern?”

“I’ll scream,” you counter, pushing past the sinking in your gut to bring your other hand up to form a double clamp around the killer.

Bottomless perpetually gaping eye cutouts stare back at glistening ebony brown eyes for one breath— four, until you yank.

There is no plan when you rush past them, just the sinking feeling that something was going to have to give soon and the knowledge that you’d be damned if it was the person in the room you're running to.

Your hand is on the doorknob, your sibling’s name on the tip of your tongue, when a sound cracks through the air. Your leg buckles, there’s a pressure at the back of your knee, the heat of another body latches onto your back, a hand claps over your mouth, and then you’re tipping over.

Ghostface brings you down with so little fanfare you’d be embarrassed if you had the wherewithal. Wrestles your flailing ass to the floor right in front of the door and keeps you down with their legs pinning your hips.

It’s not until you hit the floor that everything catches up with you.

Heat like you’ve never known screams from the bend of your knee like a piping kettle, and the wail that scratches its way up your throat when you instinctively try to get away by gaining purchase on the tile with your injured leg leaves you shaking into the floor.

With a chuckle your attacker shushes you, gloved hand made wet from your drool and tears patting against your open mouth.

“Shhh.” They shift back and you whimper at the feel of every millimeter of movement that even that small motion forces your foot to make. “You wouldn’t want your little sibling to hear, would you?”

The voice modulator makes the question sound even more taunting and the deep timber of it curls your toes — the twitch making your left leg burn — coming from so close to your ear.

Gloved fingers run along the serrated edges of the hole in your cracked knee where the knife’s still embedded, circling the pounding back of your leg until shivers rack up your body.

The touch is light.

You want to saw your leg off so you never have to deal with even the memory of the feel of it ever again.

“I’d hate to have to deal with them if they come to investigate the strange noises, yeah?” Ghostface says, pausing right afterwards.

It’s a prompt if you’ve ever heard one. They even lift their hand from your leg.

Mind whirling with thoughts of the blood seeping out the sides of your knee to stain the floors and the agony emitting from the stab wound, it takes you a few seconds to answer.

You force your words out past your shaky lips eventually, however. The stuttering agreement tasting like ash on your tongue.

“Good girl,” the modulated voice damn near coos in response, and part of you wishes you’d gotten stabbed through the ears instead.

There’s shuffling from above you, the sounds of fabric slipping over something barely registering over the rushing of blood through your ears.

You’re bleeding—

You’ve been stabbed—

Fuck, your leg is on fire—

Without an ounce of remorse deft fingers press down on where the back of your knees’ been stabbed through again, hand holding tight to the side of your leg, and a whimper falls unbidden past your lips.

Breathy, throaty, feminine laughter sounds right beside your ear as your killer settles over you.

Soft lips brush the shell of your ear and wispy black locks of hair fall into your peripheral.

“I guess it was me after all,” a voice you recognize croons, barren of any modulation.

Holy shit, Mindy had been right.

“A- Amber…?”

Your voice is small where you get it out from between pants for breath, leg throbbing hard enough to cut your focus completely.

Nothing feels real except for the throbbing, not the floor beneath you or the drool running down your chin.

“Mhm,” she giggles, breath ticking the side of your neck and making you shiver. It only takes a second for her to shiver back, breathe against your skin stuttering when she groans and presses down harder on your wound. You mewl and can feel exactly how Amber’s smile spreads. “Aww, just like that, Hun. Now we’re getting to the good part.”

Amber rises up from over you and then relentlessly grabs ahold of your shoulders and has you twist around until your upper body is facing her, and fifty percent of your concentration has to go to keeping your lower body in the opposite direction than the rest of you so you don’t aggravate your knee anymore.

Hair wild and damp with sweat atop her head the smile she gives you is all teeth in the faint moonlight that halos her face.

“Bet you’re reconsidering who you got close to now, huh?”

You grit your teeth, trying and failing to get enough leverage so you can spit in her face.

At the angle she’s forced you into her weight over your hips was more effective than you’d thought, though. Spitting from where you were would only serve in getting you smacked in the face with your own saliva.

“Gah— fuck! It’s not Mindy’s fault you’re a fucking sociopath,” you say behind clenched teeth.

You wonder if your friend would care if you died. Would Mindy cry when your death was announced? Would she immediately suspect Amber again? Confront her?

You’d been the one to comfort her when the news about Tara had come through before Chad could get to you guys. She’d struggled for a few minutes before a few tears had trickled down her cheeks, tears that she’d wiped away with a personal vengeance until you took one of her hands and wove your fingers together. Mindy had given you this wide look you’d never seen before, hazel eyes lost, before finally letting herself sob curled up to your side with her hand in yours. Did you hold that same amount of space in her mind, though?

In her heart?

Amber clicks her tongue, and instantly you’re reminded that whether Mindy and you could’ve ever been more than friends won’t matter anymore. “Wrong answer, Sweetie,” she says, and without another word rips the knife from your body in one pull.

Just barely you manage to stop the scream you want to let out by clamping down on your lower lip, teeth completely bypassing putting an indent into the skin and instead cutting directly through the plush of it as you buck uncontrollably against Amber.

Chest heaving and with tears sprouting in your eyes and beginning to pool, you watch for her next move and are heartbroken to say you aren’t disappointed.

With a flourish she brings the knife up to your face. You watch it with wide shaky eyes, heart sounding louder than your labored breaths in your ears.

The sharp side of the blade runs feather light down the side of your face, her gaze intent on it. On how the silver contrasts with the little streams of blood it leaves in its wake against your dewy brown skin. On how your lashes flutter anxiously, and the muscles in your face twitch beneath her touch.

“I didn’t mean that,” she says softly. She shifts the blade so that she can splay the flat of it over your mouth and purses her lips, eyes glittering and crazed and a little hurt. “I meant that you should’ve picked me, Sweetheart. I like you. And I like that you were thinking about me so much you figured me out. If you had just picked me I would’ve spared you,” she whispers last, face closer to yours now, before leaning in to press a kiss to the other side of the blade over your quivering lips.

The scent of your own blood makes your stomach roil, but the feel of her breath fanning your skin and the ecstatic expression that takes over her face when she leans away to lick her lips forces a sob from you.

Shuddering, you look up at her, a tear finally breaking free to roll down your face.

There is no one to hold you when you break.

Amber giggles, the flash of her teeth bloody.

“Just let me do it,” she whispers, voice low as she moves to run the warm tip of the knife down your side. “Be good for me, be mine this once, and I won’t go into that room and paint those walls red with your sibling’s blood.”

And so you cooperate; biting down into your forearm as muffled cries and wails tear up your throat. Amber plunges the blade deep, hits organs and cracks through bone with low grunts, and each stab feels like a little more of your soul drifting away.

You jolt, she adjusts her weight to accommodate your pained reaction like it’s practiced. You bite down so hard you break skin, teeth sinking into your body and feeling like masochistic relief that at least this pain was your own doing, she leans over to lick around your teeth with a groan. She gives and you take and you don’t scream out loud.

What a perfect victim you’ve made.

The tears never stop flowing from your eyes. So much salt they begin to burn alongside the bite in your arm that’s steadily mixing with blood and snot, and the entire rest of your body that’s near indistinguishable apart from the pain.

Nothing feels real except for the way Amber rides out your death spasms and the never ending stream of pleas to keep yourself silent that have long since turned into a sequenced tune in your head that you’re already forgetting.

As Amber’s honeyed taunts follow you under you know without debate that you have never known pain so intimate as what she’s brought upon you, and nothing so tender as death’s incoming embrace.

At least your younger sibling would be okay.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!! I tried posting this yesterday, but it wasn’t showing up under any of the tags so I’m trying again. ❤︎

I missed some shit when editing for sure, but I will come back to catch them later. I also don’t know how I feel about the way this flows, but maybe I just need to not look at it for a bit idk.

So the reader-insert may not have actually died here, but I don’t know for sure just yet. I would like for the second part to be a GF!Mindy x Reader-Insert x Jealous!Amber type deal though.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!

[debtofdeception-if]

The PTA mom makes me realize there's a good opportunity for MC to go full mother hen at the henchmen. This nonthreatening individual with a huge messenger bag full of first aid kits and snacks and water and epi pens and inhalers and sunblock and shit. Delicately cleaning wounds. Giving psychological torture tips drawn extrapolated from parenting books.

Please imagine someone about to stab a poor bastard to extract information and MC gently hold their wrist and goes "wait sweetie, this knife is too sharp, it will go cleanly and not do too much damage. *pulls out cloves of garlic* Cover the blade with it's juice. It'll hurt like a bitch ☺️"

Y’all need to stay out of my notes, for real 😂. Do you have access to my google docs? 🤨

[airytaurus]

my unpopular astrology opinions/observations to ig🍄🤗

y’all wanna talk about scorpios being very sexual and promiscuous/horny etc. but those fire and air signs thooo especially air signs they will literally tell everyone every detail about who they hooked up with or just their sex life in general

libra moons are way more out of toned with their emotions than gemini and aquarius moons sometimes

speaking of moon signs earth signs are also I noticed are more detached and stoic when it comes too other peoples emotions or just emotions

I feel like sagittarius is the funniest out of the other two fire signs but they also take things too far so can’t say to much about them lmaoo

scorpio moons are more likely to have deeper and intense emotions than any other moon sign

I think someone with a taurus 5th house could express their creativity and art through food mainly baking and just aesthetics

having a air/water 10H/midheaven could have a career in psychology , therapy , forensic science etc. something that helps the community or people as a whole basically

someone with a scorpio/pluto influenced 11th house could be very interested in dark stuff like true crime , or just anything that has to do with investigation/detective work

moon-venus aspects could be someone very intuitive , emotional and sensitive in relationships and may date someone off of how they would emotionally pursue you

virgo/scorpio/aries/libra mercury people are the main ones who dish what they can’t take

mars-ascendant/mars 1st house people look mad or angry I definitely think it’s because of the prominent brows but regardless they just look pissed off

air mercury people like too do and talk about multiple things at once and even write/talk about their every thought because they need something to do always or just to feel heard

anytime I see a person who is trending for doing some weird shit or saying something outta of pocket even very odd I just know they have either aquarius or sagittarius placements maybe even gemini

scorpioplacements can be into the more darker aesthetics, style and cancer could be into more cottage/softcore style and with Pisces definitely a style they think matches the vibe/energy that day

moon-mercury people may base their opinions and judgments off of feelings and intuition and not real facts

every person I’ve seen who is really pretty/handsome is or has libra placements

people I’ve noticed have relatively larger 🍒 have some type of cancer placements

having someone who has a lot of Venusian energy in their chart are the ones who will have perfume , extra makeup and accessories in their purse/car and I love ittttt

saturn- mercury people could be obsessed with talking/knowing about history or knows a lot of things that are old plus they have a very mature mind and a way of thinking

[itsrlymine]

HAI BESTIE ITS 🪐💜 AGAIN!!!

omg ur post abt not calling it desires bc it’s already yours so wtf are you desiring… EXACTLY!!! LITERALLY THAT!!

I always had this sort of cognitive dissonance when it comes to talking abt like the concept of wanting something and “trying to get it” when in all reality you don’t want something you already have.

Also I wanted to mention this little trick I use to help for people who have a hard time or just aren’t used to affirming something to themselves if they’re too caught up in the “3D” or whatever!! For all y’all ‘logical’ people this might work for you

Basically I spew out a list of stuff that I know are undeniable fact and include whatever it is I manifest in that list so my brain will receipt it as a fact as well! There is a psychology term for this where your brain will categorize something based on the surrounding information/context but I forgot what it was called LMAOO

Essentially I tell myself something along this:

“The sky is blue. I have a phone. I breathe oxygen. I have 2 living parents. I’m sitting in my apartment with (partner) rn. I graduated highschool. Grass is green. I’m good at art. it’s snowing outside right now. I’m a millionaire. My sister is 14 years old. I ate scrambled eggs for breakfast. Water is made up of one hydrogen atom two oxygen atoms. I know how to braid hair. I’ve got a huge following on social media. My friends are (insert names), I love my friends. I’m friends with (celeb.) ice is cold. Fire is hot. I have a masculinely androgynous body. My family is accepting of queer people. I am Arab. My family isn’t religious.”

Etc etc, it really helps me feel comfortable with understanding how it is FACTUAL I have it regardless of what the 3D shows me or not!

( something I find so funny is how since i deal with psychosis, in my episodes I tend to think of everything as fake and a simulation. and though I’m not having an episode I still think of the 3D and 4D with that lens bc this shit is just a slow ass loading simulation fr! Like I already changed and clicked and did whatever I changed but it loads slow as hell so although I’m not seeing the changes I know it’ll show up bc it has to)

babes.... when i tell you i do the same exact thinggggg! I list out facts that I know with ones that align with what I've manifested to prove to myself that I don't have to feel any inherent thing, just be and think as the person who has something they wanted. It's so great and just shows you how everything is truly just our assumptions of them.

[sherewrytes]

ꜰʀᴀᴄᴛᴜʀᴇᴅ Gojo x Black Fem reader 5

↳ Satoru Gojo x f! black reader

In Tokyo's underground music scene, Exxor is on the verge of global fame, but beneath the glitz, emotions run wild. Lead singer Satoru Gojo shines in the spotlight, while bassist Suguru Geto battles his dark past and unspoken love for Y/N, a rising fashion designer. Their shared history is fraught with tension, especially now that Y/N is falling for Gojo. As her career catapults her into the global fashion arena, old feelings resurface, threatening to unravel the band and their fragile friendships. Can they navigate the chaos of fame, or will their secrets tear them apart?

Genre: Romantic Drama, Psychological Fiction

Content warnings:

Substance Abuse, Toxic Relationships, Unrequited Love, Mental Health Issues, Slight drug use

Playlist

Masterlist

Comment if you wanna join the taglist

Chapter 5:

Suguru's POV

I took the nameless girl back to my place. We didn’t talk much—there wasn’t really a need to. It was mechanical, detached. Just bodies moving together with no real connection. Afterward, she fell asleep almost immediately, sprawled across my bed as if she owned it.

I couldn’t sleep. My mind was too loud, drowning me in everything I tried so hard to avoid. So, I grabbed a cigarette, headed to the balcony, and lit up. The first drag hit like a wave, momentarily numbing the edges of my thoughts.

Leaning on the railing, I pulled out my phone and started scrolling Instagram, anything to distract myself. That’s when I saw it.

Gojo’s private account. Not the public one for the band—the one he used for his personal life, where he posted the real shit. A carousel of pictures stared back at me.

The first one was of him and Y/N. She was laughing, her head thrown back, her hand gripping his arm like he’d just said the funniest thing in the world. He looked smug, his sunglasses pushed up onto his head, his arm slung casually around her shoulders.

The next picture was of Y/N and Zavier, her usual photographer, reviewing shots on his camera. She looked radiant, her smile soft and genuine. The kind of smile I hadn’t seen from her in a while.

The last one? It was just Gojo, holding one of her designs—a jacket with intricate detailing, her signature all over it.

The caption read, “Creative genius at work"

🎨✨ Obsydian’s finest. Can’t wait for y’all to see what she’s cooking up.”

I stared at the photos, my chest tightening with every swipe. My cigarette burned down to the filter, but I didn’t notice until the heat nipped at my fingers. I cursed under my breath, stubbing it out on the balcony beside me.

What the fuck was I doing? Sitting here, miserable and spiraling, while she was out there thriving. With him.

I hated how jealous I felt. How bitter it made me to see her smiling with Gojo like that. I hated that I couldn’t get her out of my head, no matter how many times I tried to bury her with meaningless hookups and cheap highs.

But most of all, I hated myself for letting it get this far. For pushing her away when all I wanted was to pull her closer.

I tossed my phone onto the table and ran a hand through my hair, exhaling a shaky breath. The city lights stretched out before me, but they felt cold, distant. Just like everything else in my life.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, I wondered if I’d ever feel whole again—or if I’d already lost the one person who made me feel that way.

I got a text from YN saying model rehersals are starting soon Su.. need you. I sighed and took another drag trying to clear my head

I stared at the text, the words glowing on the screen like a spotlight on my internal mess.

Model rehearsals are starting soon, Su. Need you.

She always did that—used that nickname like it meant something, like it didn’t cut me every time. I sighed and took another drag from my cigarette, letting the smoke fill my lungs before exhaling slowly. The nicotine was supposed to help, supposed to calm me down, but it wasn’t doing shit.

My thumb hovered over the keyboard, thinking of something to say. Something casual. Something that wouldn’t give away how badly I wanted to show up, to be the one she could count on.

But my head was spinning. The carousel of Gojo’s photos was still burned into the back of my mind, the easy way he fit into her life, her world. The world I’d pushed myself out of because I was too much of a fucking coward to figure out what I wanted—or maybe because I already knew and didn’t think I deserved it.

I leaned against the balcony railing, staring out at the city. The wind felt sharp against my skin, but I welcomed it. Anything to cut through the haze of emotions I couldn’t name and didn’t want to deal with.

Sure I’ll be there soon, I eventually typed back. Simple, straight to the point. No emotion.

I hit send before I could overthink it, but my chest still tightened. She needed me, and I hated how much that meant to me. Hated how easily I folded when it came to her.

I took one last drag, stubbing the cigarette out in the ashtray before heading back inside. The girl from earlier was still passed out on my bed, oblivious to everything.

I grabbed my jacket and my car keys, glancing at her one last time. I didn’t feel anything—no guilt, no attachment, no regret. Just a hollow emptiness that followed me out the door and into the night.

If I couldn’t figure out how to let her go, the least I could do was keep pretending I could handle staying.

Her text hit me harder than I wanted to admit. I stared at the screen, her words sinking in.

Stop smoking. I know you're up smoking these hours. How are you supposed to sing lead one day if you smoke out your lungs? I responded with a simple roll-eye emoji, not in the mood to argue. Her next text came almost instantly: Gojo was great tonight for the shoot, but I missed having you there.

That one lingered, the words burning into my mind like the cigarette I just put out. I missed having you there.

What did that even mean? Was it just work, or did she mean more? Did she even realize what she did to me with texts like that? Probably not. She was just being her—casual, sweet, and so fucking oblivious to how much space she took up in my head.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair and leaning back against the wall of the balcony. The city was quiet, the kind of quiet that didn’t feel peaceful, just empty.

I typed back: Good for him. Seems like you don’t need me as much these days.

I hesitated before sending it. It felt…petty. But fuck it, I was feeling petty.

I hit send and immediately regretted it, but I didn’t try to take it back. If she wanted to dance around Gojo being her go-to guy now, then I wasn’t going to sit here pretending it didn’t bother me.

The response didn’t come right away. It didn’t come at all for a few minutes, and I started pacing, regretting every word I’d sent. But then my phone buzzed again.

Don't be like that, Su. You know no one does it like you.

And just like that, I was back where I always was with her—caught somewhere between wanting to hold onto her and wanting to push her away.

The girl from earlier stirred behind me, and before I could react, her arms wrapped around my waist. She pressed against my back, her warmth almost jarring after the cold night air.

She looked up at me with a sleepy smile, her eyes half-lidded but playful. “What are you doing out here all alone?” I sighed, letting my phone drop onto the balcony railing. I wasn’t in the mood for small talk or lingering moments, but she was here, and maybe I could use the distraction.

“Round 2?” I asked, tilting my head toward her, my voice flat but suggestive.

Her smile widened, and she nodded. “If you can keep up.” I chuckled dryly, pushing off the railing and letting her lead me back inside. The cigarette stubbed out beneath my foot, the city’s cold fading as the door shut behind us.

I didn’t want to think about YN’s text or Gojo’s damn photos. I didn’t want to feel the ache in my chest every time her name crossed my mind. Tonight, I could drown it all out. At least for a little while.

I woke up alone. Thank God. The sheets were a mess, and my head felt heavy, but at least I didn’t have to deal with awkward small talk or pretending to care about someone else’s morning plans. I stretched, cracking my neck as I rolled out of bed and shuffled toward the bathroom.

After relieving myself, I brushed my teeth, splashed cold water on my face, and stared at my reflection in the mirror. My eyes were bloodshot, and the faint smell of last night’s cigarettes still clung to me. Lovely.

I grabbed my phone off the counter and unlocked it, seeing a text from Kento. "I'm downstairs. When you wake up, bring your stupid ass down here." I frowned, running a hand through my messy hair. Kento never showed up unannounced unless it was serious.

Pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, I trudged downstairs to the living room. Sure enough, there he was, sitting on my couch like he owned the place, scrolling through his phone with a cup of coffee from my machine in hand. “You’re making yourself at home, I see,” I muttered, my voice still hoarse from sleep.

Kento looked up, his expression unreadable as usual, but there was something in his eyes that told me I wasn’t getting off easy today. “Sit down,” he said, nodding toward the chair across from him.

I groaned but did as he said, slumping into the seat. “What’s so urgent you had to invade my space before breakfast?” Kento leaned forward, setting his coffee down on the table. “We need to talk about YN. And before you even think about dodging, you’re going to listen.”

My jaw tightened, but I didn’t argue. I knew better than to try to out-stubborn Kento. Kento sighed heavily, rubbing the bridge of his nose like he was trying to massage away the frustration. He shifted in his seat, his eyes narrowing slightly.

"Shoko's been asking questions ever since YN showed up at rehearsals. Gojo's been asking me questions, too. You need to sort yourself out with her, Suguru," he said, his tone calm but firm. "She's moved on."

I felt a jolt in my chest. The words stung harder than I expected. I crossed my arms tightly, trying to shield myself from what I knew was coming.

I didn't want to hear it, but I couldn’t exactly shut it out either. "And so what?" I snapped, trying to push the ache out of my voice. "I’m just supposed to forget her? Forget everything? Forget that I… that I’ve loved her for years, Ken. Years."

I watched Kento’s expression soften, but his gaze didn’t waver from mine. He didn’t respond right away, like he was measuring his next words. I hated when he did that, like he was picking apart my emotions with the precision of a surgeon. Finally, he spoke again, his voice lower, quieter.

"She doesn’t love you," he said, bluntly, but there was hesitation there. "Fuck… I mean, not like that."

I froze. For a moment, my world seemed to stop, and all I could hear was the ringing silence in my head. The words echoed around my brain, bouncing off the walls, settling somewhere deep where I didn’t want them.

She doesn’t love you.

It felt like someone had knocked the wind out of me. I wanted to yell at him, to tell him he was wrong, but I couldn't. He wasn’t wrong, I knew it. I had known it for a while now, but hearing it out loud made it hurt in ways I couldn't explain.

I stood up abruptly, "Thanks, Ken," I said through clenched teeth, trying to keep my voice from breaking. My hands were shaking, but I kept them at my sides, gripping my fingers into fists to stop it. I didn’t want him to see me like this.

Kento’s face softened slightly, and he opened his mouth like he was going to say something else, but I didn’t wait to hear it. I turned and walked toward the stairs, my footsteps loud and deliberate. The urge to escape was overwhelming, like if I stayed in the same room with him for another second, I might snap.

"Suguru, wait," Kento called, his voice lower now, more concerned. I didn’t turn around.

But I couldn’t stay. I couldn’t look him in the eye when I knew he was right, when I knew the truth that I had been running from. She moved on, and I was still stuck here, pretending like things could be different. Pretending like I could be different.

The stairs creaked under my feet as I made my way up, the weight of everything pressing down on me. I just needed space. Space to breathe, to think, and to figure out how to deal with the fact that I wasn’t the one she chose. That I had lost her, maybe even before I realized it.

When I finally reached the top of the stairs, I slammed my bedroom door shut behind me. I stood there for a second, hands on the door, breathing heavily. It was like the walls of the room were closing in on me, and I couldn’t get away fast enough. But I had no idea where to go from here. No idea how to fix this.

The silence in the room felt suffocating. I collapsed onto the bed, not bothering to take off my clothes or my shoes. My phone buzzed in my pocket, but I ignored it. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. Didn’t want to hear anyone’s words of encouragement or advice.

I was tired of hearing people tell me to move on, as if it were that easy. But deep down, I knew they were right. YN had moved on. And I… I was still stuck here, lost in something I could never get back.

I closed my eyes, squeezing them shut, trying to block out the thoughts that kept swirling in my head. She doesn’t love you. She’s moved on. You’re just holding on to something that was never yours to begin with.

I knew Kento was just trying to help, but right now, all his words felt like salt in a wound that wouldn’t heal. I rolled over onto my side, burying my face in the pillow, trying to drown out the noise, the pain, the confusion. I wanted to shut it all out. I wanted to forget about her, but the harder I tried, the more she lingered in my mind.

And no matter how much I told myself to move on, a part of me would always be stuck in the past, holding on to something that was never meant to be.

YN POV

I left the band’s recording studio, clutching my bag tightly, and made my way to the Obsydian set, trying to shake off the lingering tension from earlier. There was always something heavy about being in the same room as Suguru these days, but I couldn’t let that distract me. Work came first.

By the time I arrived at the shoot location, my team was already buzzing around, setting up lights, backdrops, and props. It was organized chaos, and I thrived in it. Gojo showed up shortly after, still grinning from ear to ear like he hadn’t just left band practice.

“Thanks for filling in at the last minute, Satoru,” I said as he approached, his white hair catching the afternoon light.

“Anything for you, boss,” he teased with a wink.

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t help the small smile tugging at my lips. “Alright, let’s get you ready.”

Just as I was about to lead him to the changing area, Utahime walked in. She gave me a polite nod, her dark hair pulled back neatly, her makeup already done to perfection.

“Utahime, hey! Perfect timing,” I said, gesturing for her to follow.

The changing area was set up with racks of clothes meticulously organized by look and accessories laid out on a table. I handed Gojo his first outfit: high-waisted distressed pants in a rich navy blue. The pants were avant-garde to the core, with exaggerated, asymmetrical distressing that revealed hints of a sleek black fabric lining underneath. They flared slightly at the bottom, creating a dramatic silhouette, and the structured high waist featured asymmetrical stitching and a bold metallic clasp closure.

As Gojo changed, I handed Utahime her look. Her top was a reddish mesh fabric that was light and airy, almost gauzy, with a high turtleneck that framed her face beautifully. The fabric had an abstract, textured pattern that played with transparency and opacity, giving it depth. The cropped length stopped just above her waist, revealing just enough skin to make a statement. Her pants matched the avant-garde aesthetic, crafted in a muted reddish-brown hue with pleated detailing that flared slightly at the ankles. Together, the look was bold yet ethereal, fitting perfectly with the vision I had for the shoot.

Gojo stepped out first, shirtless, his tattoos on full display. They snaked across his chest and arms, a mix of abstract shapes and intricate line work that complemented the edgy vibe of his pants. He struck a pose, smirking as he ran a hand through his white hair.

“Looking good, Gojo,” I said, adjusting the waistband slightly and stepping back to examine the overall look.

“Looking good? Y/N, I look incredible,” he replied with a grin.

Utahime emerged next, her outfit soft yet commanding. She walked with quiet confidence, her movements deliberate. I adjusted the hem of her cropped top, making sure it fell just right, then stepped back to admire the two of them together.

“You two are going to kill this shoot,” I said, gesturing for them to head toward the set.

Gojo slung an arm casually around Utahime’s shoulders as they walked, and I followed behind, already envisioning how the shots would turn out. This collection needed to be perfect, and I knew I could rely on them to bring my designs to life.

The shoot kicked off with Gojo and Utahime working through their first looks effortlessly. Choso, my go-to photographer, was already snapping away, his camera clicking rapidly as he directed them with ease. His eye for detail was unmatched, and I trusted him completely to capture the mood of Obsydian’s latest collection.

We moved quickly, cycling through outfit after outfit. I adjusted every detail obsessively—tightening a strap here, smoothing a hem there. Gojo transitioned into a tailored yet deconstructed jacket in deep charcoal, paired with layered pants featuring cascading fabrics in muted tones.

Utahime shifted into a sleek dress with exaggerated sleeves and asymmetrical slits, the deep emerald fabric draping like water against her frame. They posed together and separately, their chemistry palpable and perfect for the avant-garde energy I wanted to convey.

As Choso lowered his camera after one particularly stunning shot of Gojo smirking into the lens, he turned to me with an expectant look.

"Alright, these look great. But…" he paused, glancing around the set, "where’s Geto? Wasn’t he supposed to be here?"

I sighed, already anticipating the conversation. “He couldn’t make it tonight,” I said, keeping my tone neutral as I fussed with a rack of accessories.

Choso tilted his head, not buying my casual dismissal. “Couldn’t make it, huh?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “You two good? He never misses a shoot.”

I glanced up at him, biting the inside of my cheek. Leave it to Choso to zero in on the tension. “It’s nothing,” I replied quickly. “Just scheduling conflicts. That’s why Satoru’s here filling in.”

Choso let it go, for now, turning back to his camera. “Well, these two are killing it,” he said, gesturing toward Gojo and Utahime, who were laughing about something between takes.

“Yeah,” I muttered, watching as Gojo playfully tugged on Utahime’s sleeve, making her roll her eyes in exasperation. They were doing great, no doubt, but something about Suguru’s absence felt… off. He had always been the centerpiece of Obsydian’s campaigns, the perfect embodiment of the brand’s avant-garde ethos. His presence was unmistakable, and without him, it felt like something was missing.

I shook off the thought and clapped my hands to get everyone’s attention. “Alright, people, let’s move to the next set! Gojo, Utahime, you’re changing into Look Three. Choso, I want some tighter angles for this one—focus on the textures.”

Choso nodded, his focus back on his craft, and I busied myself preparing the next looks. But in the back of my mind, Suguru lingered like a shadow I couldn’t quite shake.

After wrapping up the shots for Look Three, I called for a break. The team scattered—Gojo plopped onto the nearest couch, scrolling on his phone, while Utahime wandered over to the snack table. I took a moment to review the photos Choso had taken so far, nodding in approval as I flipped through them.

The sound of heavy footsteps drew my attention, and I turned to see Nanami strolling in, followed closely by Toji.

I placed my hands on my hips, fixing Toji with a mock glare. “You were supposed to be here earlier,” I scolded.

Toji, ever the nonchalant one, rolled his eyes as he approached. “You know Megumi gets funny about me leaving him at home,” he said, a smirk tugging at his lips.

I crossed my arms. “You could’ve brought him.”

Toji chuckled, stepping closer and wrapping an arm around my waist with an air of casual familiarity. “Next time, sweetheart,” he said smoothly, the smirk never leaving his face.

Gojo, seated nearby, let out an exaggerated cough, drawing all eyes to him. “Am I interrupting something?” he quipped, raising an eyebrow as he glanced pointedly at Toji’s arm around me.

Toji just smirked wider, clearly enjoying himself. “Relax, Satoru,” he drawled, giving me a quick squeeze before letting go.

Nanami, ever the pragmatist, rolled his eyes at the theatrics. “I was bored, so I’m here,” he said, his tone flat as he plopped down on the edge of the set, his sharp eyes scanning the room.

“You two just came to hang out or what?” I teased, brushing past Toji to grab a bottle of water.

“Toji came to be a nuisance,” Nanami deadpanned. “I came to see how the shoot was going—and maybe keep an eye on Suguru.” At the mention of Suguru, my stomach tightened slightly. “Suguru isn't here,” I said, keeping my tone as even as possible.

Nanami raised an eyebrow but didn’t press. Toji, meanwhile, leaned against the wall, his gaze lazily drifting over the set. “You know,” he said, his tone light but laced with mischief, “I could fill in for Suguru. I’d look damn good in one of those outfits.”

Gojo snorted. “Yeah, let’s get you a crop top, Toji. That’d be a sight.”

The room broke into light laughter, the tension easing for the moment. But as I glanced over at the rack of clothes meant for Suguru, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of his absence all over again.

Toji rolled his eyes dramatically, crossing his arms as he leaned back against the wall. “For your information, Satoru, I model for Obsydian,” he said, his smirk dripping with mock superiority.

Gojo raised an eyebrow, leaning forward with an amused grin. “Oh yeah? When’s the last time you walked a runway, Toji? Or are you just the backup guy for Y/N when Suguru’s too busy being broody?”

Toji shot him a sharp look, his smirk never wavering. “Actually, I’ve been featured in her campaigns more than a few times. Y/N knows quality when she sees it.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at the banter, shaking my head as I grabbed a fresh water bottle from the snack table. “Alright, alright, don’t drag me into this. Toji’s been great for a few shoots,” I said, raising a hand to settle the tension. “But let’s not pretend you’re Suguru’s replacement, Toji.”

Toji shrugged, unfazed. “Never said I was. I just know I pull it off just as well as he does.”

Nanami groaned quietly from his spot on the couch, rubbing his temple. “Can we not turn this into a competition?”

Gojo leaned back, flashing a grin at Nanami. “Oh, come on, Kento. You know you secretly enjoy the chaos.”

Nanami fixed him with a deadpan stare. “I don’t.”

Utahime, who’d been quietly munching on a granola bar, finally chimed in. “Honestly, I think Toji would look great in some of these pieces. We could throw him in Look Five and see how he does.”

Toji’s smirk widened as he pointed at Utahime. “See? Someone here recognizes talent.”

I shook my head, laughing softly. “Alright, Toji, if you’re so eager, maybe we’ll give you a look. But if you mess up my vision—”

“—I won’t, I never do.” he interrupted smoothly, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

Gojo groaned playfully. “This is gonna be good. I need to see Toji trying to strike a pose.”

The energy in the room lightened, everyone chuckling at the banter. But as I glanced over at Nanami, I caught the faintest flicker of concern in his expression. He wasn’t here just for fun, and I knew it.

But for now, I let it go, focusing instead on the shoot and the chaos Toji was undoubtedly about to bring.

Toji laughed heartily, his grin wide as he leaned casually against the wall. “Aye, aye, let’s not forget I was the first model outside your personal favorite, Suguru. We all know you both used to—”

“Anyway!” Kento exclaimed loudly, cutting Toji off before he could finish. “Y/N, what new items are you dropping? I need some fresh pieces to add to my collection. I’ve had your stuff since inception.”

I gave Kento a grateful look for redirecting the conversation. Toji’s smirk only deepened as he raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright, I’ll behave,” he said, though his tone made it clear he had no intention of doing so.

“Well,” I started, walking over to my work table where swatches of fabric and sketches were scattered. “I’ve been working on a collection that leans even further into avant-garde streetwear. Think exaggerated silhouettes, distressed layers, and experimental materials. I want it to be bold but wearable—like a statement that doesn’t scream, just whispers confidently.”

Kento nodded, his interest clear. “Sounds right up my alley. What’s the color palette?”

“Monochrome for the most part,” I explained, holding up a few fabric samples. “But I’m adding pops of deep jewel tones—emerald, amethyst, maybe even a little ruby red. Something that stands out but doesn’t overpower.”

Utahime walked over, brushing her hands off after finishing her snack. “Are you doing any accessories with it? Because I loved the leather harnesses from your last line.”

“I am,” I said with a nod. “I’m thinking oversized belts, experimental bags, and maybe some modular pieces that can transform depending on how you wear them.”

Gojo, who had been scrolling on his phone but clearly listening, glanced up. “Do I get any exclusive pieces for being such a dedicated stand-in model?” He gave me a playful wink.

“You’ll get whatever I give you, Satoru,” I said with a smirk, making everyone chuckle. “But don’t worry, I’ve got something in mind for you.”

Toji interjected, crossing his arms. “And what about me? If I’m gracing your campaign again, I better get first dibs.”

“You’ll get a thank-you and maybe a jacket,” I teased, rolling my eyes. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Toji.”

Kento cleared his throat. “I’m serious about placing my order early, Y/N. You know how quickly your pieces sell out.”

“I’ve got you covered, Kento,” I said warmly. “You’ve always been one of my biggest supporters.”

As the conversation shifted back to the shoot, I felt a sense of ease settle over the room. Despite the underlying tension that came with juggling professional and personal dynamics, moments like these reminded me why I loved what I did—and the people who made it all worthwhile.

The shoot was back in full swing, the energy in the room shifting as everyone found their rhythm again. To Gojo’s visible surprise, Toji was absolutely killing it on set. Despite his bulky, heavily tattooed frame,

Toji moved with a surprising grace, hitting poses that no one expected from a guy who usually looked like he belonged in the middle of a bar fight rather than under the lights of a photoshoot.

Choso, our photographer, was eating it up. “Toji, hold that! Perfect, now tilt your head just slightly—yeah, like that. Beautiful.”

For one particularly dramatic shot, Toji decided to up the ante. He grabbed a random object—what looked like an old book prop from a previous shoot—and, to everyone’s horror, lit the edge on fire. The faint glow from the flames cast an eerie but undeniably striking light across his features.

“Another light source,” Toji said with a grin, casually holding the burning book like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Toji!” I yelled, storming over as the rest of the room froze, caught between awe and panic. “What the hell are you doing? Are you trying to set my studio on fire?”

He only laughed, his deep chuckle echoing through the space. “Relax, princess. I’ve got it under control.”

“You’ve got nothing under control!” I shot back, grabbing a fire extinguisher from the corner and spraying the flames down. “I swear to God, if you burn anything in here, I’ll make sure you never work with me again.”

“That’d break my heart, Y/N,” he said mockingly, clutching his chest like I’d just struck him. “You know you’d miss me.”

Gojo, watching from the sidelines, shook his head, half-amused and half-exasperated. “You’re insane, Toji. But I have to admit, that shot was kind of badass.”

Choso, still clicking through the photos, nodded in agreement. “I mean, he’s not wrong. That lighting was phenomenal. I’ll tone down the flames in post.”

I shot Choso a glare. “Don’t encourage him.”

Utahime sighed dramatically from her spot by the makeup table. “Why is it always chaos when Toji’s around? Every time.”

“Because he’s Toji,” Kento muttered dryly, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall. “And Toji thrives on chaos.”

Toji shrugged, clearly unfazed. “What can I say? The camera loves me.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to gather my patience. “Just get back to your poses and no more fire, Toji. I mean it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said with a mock salute, his grin still firmly in place as he sauntered back to the set.

As much as I wanted to stay annoyed, it was impossible not to laugh. Toji’s antics might drive me insane, but they also brought a certain energy to the shoot that was hard to replicate. Still, I made a mental note to triple-check everything he brought on set from now on. With Toji, you could never be too careful.

Toji, ever the troublemaker, casually lit a cigarette as he lounged in his next outfit—an avant-garde ensemble that somehow made him look both rugged and sophisticated. The smoky tendrils curled around him, adding to his brooding aesthetic. Choso snapped a few photos, clearly loving the vibe, but I wasn’t having it.

I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms. “Toji, you’re not smoking on my set.”

He smirked, leaning back against the prop wall like he owned the place. “What’s the big deal? Adds to the aesthetic, doesn’t it?”

“The only thing it’s adding is a headache for me. Put it out.”

Instead of complying, he gave me a mischievous look. “Alright, I’ll make you a deal—come pose with me, and I’ll put it out.”

I scoffed, already shaking my head. “Not a fat chance, Zenin. This isn’t about me; it’s about you doing what I asked.”

He chuckled, taking a slow drag from the cigarette, the ember glowing faintly in the low light. “You’re no fun, princess. Afraid you might steal the spotlight?”

I stepped closer, hands on my hips. “Afraid you’ll end up in the trash if you keep testing me.”

Gojo, who had been watching the exchange with a grin, decided to chime in. “You know, Y/N, maybe you should take him up on it. Would be a killer shot.”

I shot Gojo with a withering glare. “Don’t encourage him.”

Kento, from his spot by the snack table, let out a long-suffering sigh. “Toji, just put it out before she actually murders you. We all know she’s capable.”

“Alright, alright,” Toji finally relented, stubbing the cigarette out on the edge of a metal prop. “You win this round, Y/N. But I’m holding you to that pose someday.”

“Keep dreaming,” I muttered, turning back to the rack of clothes for the next look.

Toji laughed, his deep voice echoing across the set. “You’re going to miss me when I’m gone, princess. Don’t deny it.”

“Gone where? The psych ward?” Utahime muttered under her breath, earning a round of laughter from everyone except Toji, who pointed at her with mock offense.

The shoot continued, chaotic as always, but with Toji behaving—relatively speaking. I had to admit, as frustrating as he was, the man could model. But next time, I’d make sure to ban cigarettes, fire, and whatever else he thought might “add to the aesthetic.”

As the crew began packing up, I sat on one of the lounge chairs in the corner of the studio, exhausted but satisfied with how the shoot turned out. The clock on my phone read 1:07 a.m., and I realized I still had a lot to plan before Paris Fashion Week. I leaned back, rubbing my temples as my phone vibrated with a notification.

It was a reply from Suguru: "Sure I’ll be there soon."

I studied his response for a moment, the few words feeling oddly distant. He was always like this lately—short replies, minimal engagement. I frowned and tapped out another message, my fingers hesitating for only a second before pressing send.

"Stop smoking. I know you're awake smoking. How are you supposed to sing lead one day if you smoke out your lungs?"

It didn’t take long for the typing indicator to appear, followed by his reply: "🙄"

I let out a tired sigh, my lips twitching into a small, amused smile despite myself. Typical Suguru—avoiding anything remotely serious with an emoji.

"Texting Suguru again?" Gojo’s voice broke through my thoughts. I glanced up to see him leaning against the wall, his phone in hand as he reviewed the photos he’d just taken for his socials.

"Yeah," I replied, not bothering to hide it. "Model rehearsals and fittings are coming up. I need him to start getting his act together."

Gojo chuckled, setting his phone down on the counter. "Good luck with that. Suguru only does what Suguru wants. I’m surprised you haven’t just swapped him out for someone less… complicated."

I shot him a look. " He’s irreplaceable. He brings something no one else can."

"That something being a whole lot of drama?" he teased, his signature grin spreading across his face.

I shook my head, choosing to ignore his comment as I focused back on my phone. Gojo might not have been wrong, but I wasn’t about to admit it. Suguru might be a handful, but he was also the face of my brand—and for better or worse, a part of my life I wasn’t willing to let go of.

I stared at my phone, waiting for the typing indicator to appear, but it didn’t. His last reply lingered on the screen:

"Good for him. Seems like you don’t need me as much these days."

A pang of frustration twisted in my chest. Suguru always had a way of turning things into a self-pity party when he felt threatened. I sighed, leaning back in my chair as the weight of his words settled over me.

I typed out a response carefully, my fingers hovering over the keyboard before pressing send:

"Don't be like that, Su. You know no one does it like you."

For a moment, I held onto hope that he’d reply. The minutes stretched on, the empty notification bar mocking me. Eventually, I let out a resigned sigh and set my phone down.

Gojo walked over, noticing the change in my mood. “Still nothing?”

I shook my head, not trusting myself to say much.

He plopped down in the chair next to me, slinging an arm over the back of it. “You know, for someone who keeps saying he’s not interested, Suguru sure acts like the jealous boyfriend.”

I rolled my eyes. “He’s not jealous. He’s just… complicated.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Gojo said with a smirk, though his tone held a hint of seriousness. “You always make excuses for him.”

I glanced at him sharply, but the playful glint in his eyes softened the edge of his words.

“I’m not making excuses,” I said, a little defensively. “I just know him better than anyone else.”

“Maybe,” Gojo replied, leaning forward. “But do you ever think about how much you put up with just because it’s Suguru? If it were anyone else, you’d have let them go by now.”

I didn’t have an answer for that. Instead, I grabbed my bag and stood up, brushing off his words as best as I could. “I’ve got fittings to finalize tomorrow. You should head home, Satoru. It’s late.”

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Just don’t work yourself into the ground, Y/N. Paris Fashion Week or not, you still need to sleep.”

“Goodnight, Satoru,” I said pointedly, ignoring the knowing smile he gave me.

As I walked out of the studio and into the cool night air, I couldn’t shake the feeling of unease lingering in my chest. Suguru’s silence felt heavier than usual, like there was something he wasn’t saying—and I couldn’t help but wonder if Gojo was right.

[a-concert-just-for-me]

Okay in response to this post I’m going to “Erm Ackshully 🤓☝️” y’all’s arguments (but really, this is for shits and giggles and I find y’all’s ideas and this conversation so interesting!!!)

(And logically, yes, I know the show wants you to believe that Hunter’s just immediately scarred/has no pain because they likely didn’t want to fit a healing arc into their limited storytelling time. I get it. I do. I’m just making the argument why it would be easy to argue that they are actually open wounds/why I feel like if they were going to do this arc, they should have considered giving a fraction of the proper weight to to the horrifying consequences of such a severe injury.)

Okay so without further ado! We have Hunter pre-Belos. When we look at him, his original scar is on the left side (his right cheek, but I’ll use left for our argument from now on for simplicity’s sake)

Next, we have Belos leaving Hunter’s body. Notice how the big goop scar on the left side overtakes the original left side scar.

In addition, the small scar on the right is shown to be caused by Belos’s goop.

Therefore, I think it’s safe to say from this double evidence that the scar on the right isn’t just an animation error of his original scar being on the wrong side.

Keep this in mind for later!

Next, here’s Hunter after Belos leaves his body. Note the size, color, and shape of his scars here:

“Calaiti,” you might say to my argument, “Flapjack healed him! That’s why his scars aren’t open wounds and/or why they don’t cause him pain!”

OBJECTION! Evidence:

Remember when I said to remember that one photo? Here’s where that comes into play. Hunter’s scars before and after Flap reviving him have been shown several times to be the same size, shape, and color. Absolutely nothing changes!!! They look the same before and after consistently!!!

Also, notice how Flap’s magic only ‘heals’ the left side of his face and neck. The small scar on the right doesn’t light up at all. Then, the left side scars STILL match the ‘unhealed’ wound on the right after Flap dies!!! Shouldn’t there be a visual difference between the healed and unhealed wounds, then?

I’ll admit, this whole section of the episode has a bunch of animation mistakes. See an example below, where the animators forgot the scars on Hunter’s ears during this scene. Therefore, you could use the argument that the animators just forgot to draw the right side lighting up during the revival sequence if you feel so inclined. Sure!!!

BUT to that, I’ll propose this thought: If the animators wanted to show that Flap was actually healing the scars, wouldn’t it be visually more telling to have the scars be darker and/or bigger before Flapjack reviving him, and lighter and/or smaller after, to show there was some kind of resulting change there? Just because they lit up during the revival sequence doesn’t necessarily mean that was Flap healing him. Visually, again, they look exactly the same consistently before and after Flap ‘heals’ them.

~~~

Moving on to the argument of why Hunter doesn’t have any pain after all this, sure, maybe Hunter was running off adrenaline and the pain hits him later. I suppose that’s fair! Doesn’t mean I like it!!! Doesn’t mean I think he shouldn’t have received medical attention even though he said he was okay!!! If we have time for a whole Hexside arc, I think even if he was in shock (which would likely come with a whole host of medical issues which he is not shown to have imo! (Look up ‘burn shock’)), they should have at LEAST insisted on checking him over instead of taking his word that he’s okay!!! He would have been pissed about it lol but idc, show them sitting his ass down and having a healer look at him to show as writers, you’re treating this life-changing injury with the seriousness it deserves.

And if they didn’t feel like doing it before the Belos fight, I would have even accepted them making time to acknowledge the physical and psychological trauma of TTT somewhere else in the last episode. The most we get is Hunter looking sadly at Willow reuniting with her parents before Darius comes along and starts talking to him. It feels like a huge missed opportunity to skip over any negative consequences or closure for Hunter. We just skip to him being healed and happy with no further lines in the show, and that’s a shame to me!

Anyway, thank you for coming to my TED Talk on me defending my goofy headcanon thesis and why I (seriously) think this whole scene should have been handled with a bit more care and consideration to realistic consequences of such an injury.

(This is still my favorite episode though 🤭)

[nightcolorz]

Have been actually shocked by the takes of Louis and Armand’s relationship dynamic that I have been seeing in which people act like Armand’s subservience is manipulative and evil.

As someone who was also a victim of grooming in my youth (though obvs not like Armand level of traumatic events bc good lord that boy cannot catch a break) I always found Armand to be a really compelling character, and I loved how they were handling the psychological impact of his abuse on his relationships within the show and they all felt very relatable to a degree. I was like mind blown by the way they handled how Louis and Armand’s pasts related to each others and thought it was super clever and it made me go “holy shit” in a way that a tv show hasn’t made me go in a long time. Though I can see where some of the takes are coming from, it has been really disheartening as a victim of grooming to see people dismiss Armand’s behavior when he’s with Louis as purely a form of manipulation on Armand’s part or a fun silly sex thing 😭😭😭

YES ANON FR!!! also very disheartening and genuinely offensive to me how some ppl talk about Armand and his trauma (also am a victim of grooming lol). I’ve talked about this before, but the way ppl r saying with their full chests that Armand is being manipulative in his trauma responses is like actually fucked up, and it’s low key triggering to me 😭. Just bcus armand manipulates ppl doesn’t mean he is *always* manipulating ppl omfg 💀💀 some nuance pls I beg of u.

to me it seems very clear that Armand falls into subservience and behaves as the victim bcus the abuse he experienced was the closest he ever felt to feeling like he understood what he was doing and understood what he was needed for. For a lot of victims of grooming their abuse can cause them to feel safe in those types of abusive dynamics bcus it’s familiar to them, which def seems to be how it is for Armand. Armand feels constantly lost and confused and by being a slave again he returns to a time where he knew what he was, when he had someone there to tell him what he was. And it comes off very clearly to me that Louis sees this in Armand when Armand tells him about his trauma and (as he’s also in a vulnerable position) realizes that he can use Armand’s pattern of submitting to servitude to his advantage. Which!!! That is objectively fucked up im sorry 😭 and I’m tired of being in a fandom where ppl r acting like just bcus Louis is a likeable sympathetic character and Armand does mistreat Louis also, that means Louis isn’t capable of mistreating Armand. Bcus it sounds like when ppl make those excuses that they r saying sexual exploitation like that is ok 😭. Just bcus Armand agrees to and participates in it doesn’t mean Louis isn’t knowingly exploiting the trauma of a vulnerable person 😭 and it doesn’t make it ok. Like we can find it fun and sexy, but the “face down in the coffin” scene was still borderline non con sensual 😭 yknow what I’m saying? You can like Louis as ur fav and discuss how Armand is shitty to him without acting like it’s ok for Louis to pretend to be Armand’s abuser as he orders him around like an animal so he’ll do what he wants. This is an incredibly complex dynamic with two very fucked up characters who hurt and abuse each other out of fear, and some of u can’t handle that nuance 😭.

and I understand not being able to grasp the nuance of Armand’s character, it took me like a year to fully wrap my head around him. He’s got a lot going on and it’s hard to understand why he behaves the way he does, especially if you haven’t experienced sexual trauma or grooming. But just like, y’all have to remember that it can come off as pretty shitty and bad faith to interpret a character like this as always being evil all the time. Ur reducing someone very complex and ur making some borderline offensive (also borderline racist but that’s a different rant) implications

thank u sm for the ask anon ur so right and I relate so hard to ur annoyances ❤️❤️

[xwilting-willowx]

Old blog got termed; starting new

New Intro!

About me!

୨୧ 18 (aug 19th)

୨୧ Psychology major, Child development minor

୨୧ ISTP-T

୨୧ Midwest US (EST)

୨୧ Voice Actor (recreational for now)

୨୧ Likes: Lana Del Rey, Older men, Love & Deep Space, Matcha, Sleep Token, Pinterest, Thirteen, Coloring, Hole, Making music, Ethel Cain, Stuffies, Skins

୨୧ Dislikes: Trump supporters, actual pedophiles, genuine misogynists, and more things I can’t think of

About my blog!

୨୧ Online Diary

I post whatever I want, from silly little life updates to kinky stuff! This is an 18+ blog so if you are a minor please do not follow me!!! I won’t be upset if you like any of my non sexual posts but if you follow or interact with sexual content I will block you!!!

Kinky Stuff!

My interests since this is what most of y’all are here for <3

Disclaimer: I will not respond well if you hit me up immediately with something sexual, I am human too and my ability to be sexual fluctuates. Be kind.

I’m definitely one who aims to please, if you have a kink you’d like to bring up that isn’t on these lists that’s okay too!!! Just let me call you dad and I’ll be happy 🥰

୨୧ Favorite Kinks: Age gap, Size, Voice (especially deeper voices and/or accents), DDLG, Teacher x Student dynamic, Abuse, CNC/somno, Degradation

୨୧ Limits: Scat, Pregnancy kinks, Illegal shit, Raceplay, etc etc

Tags!

🎀 = Yearning/Older men SFW

🧸= Venting

☁️ = NSFW

�� = Diary/Personal Posts

🤍 = Girlblogging

💬 = Asks