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missmarveledsblog · 2 months ago

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Flumpy ( jake seresin x reader) part 8

summary : the moment he was dreading came jake got his deployment papers , terrified since this is first time he's been in love while on deployment , he self sabotages everything maybe even losing the best thing he's ever had in his life can he make it right in four weeks before he's to leave for three months

warning : angst . jakes a bit of a dick in this one ( don't kill me ) hurt

a.n. : i know i said last part would be part 8 but i can't leave it at that so i'll be posting new parts over the next few days <3

The hard deck was busier than usual as it was convention season meaning people all over the US and even abroad coming to san diego trying to get a room and good night out experience while they were there . many woman and men flocking in as a chance to bed a man in a uniform like it was a universal bucket list goal . This used to be a prime time for jake seresin like his own personal christmas in the past to bed these women with no expectations of anything else giving they would be go by end of the weekend back to where ever they came from . But now it was different it was just another weekend at the hard deck since he got the girl of his dreams even if said girl was currently dressed up as some game character having an intense argument or “ discussion” with fanboy about some sci fi show he’s never seen or was it a game he was unsure after half hour . He wasn’t going to lie when he discovered his girl was a major nerd fully into the whole dress up thing was probably the hottest thing especially when it was his beautiful girl . her wig long forgot tuck in his truck safely but the costume she had on made him strain in his pants most of the night . the downside of it was he wasn’t the only one that thought she looked good , guys asking if they could take picture with his girl , his flumpy well it brought out the jealous side in jake . he watched every time she went to the bar or if she was playing pool how the eyes lingered on her a little too long . he found himself standing behind wrapping his arm around her waist , placing kisses on her neck letting them all see she was his not that she was complaining at all .

It also didn’t help he got those dread papers that told him he was to spend three months away from the woman he love. He never had this before , he never gotten to the stage with women to wait for him while he was deployed , he was going to let her enjoy the weekend let her have her fun , he could tell her while she was so excited and so happy it would crush her. But he wouldn’t be lying if it wasn’t driving him more crazy knowing he’d be away for three months and guys would be looking at her like that when he’s not around it wasn’t that he didn’t trust her , he didn’t trust his fellow men . the dagger squad would be there to be there for her , it was just all new for him and it scared the hell out of him .

She loved convention week truly she got to let her nerd side run free and even more so having a friend like fanboy to join her and an amazing boyfriend who hyped her up even if he’d no clue who the character was . what she didn’t like though was the base bunnies that came from all over looking at her man like he was some sort of prize to attain . how their hungry eyes tried devour him when he was playing darts or heading to the bar . she couldn’t blame them though jake in his uniform was drool inducing material . how big his arms looked almost straining in the khakis or how he stood tall like a tree but at end of the day that was her tree . winning her debate with fanboy she sat with nat as the guys teamed up on game of pool , the weird addition to the squad and one man she didn’t see coming was kyle. Turns out he wasn’t such a bad guy after all just a dumb guy trying to make an impression but learning a lesson and knowing the right way to go about thing or was it the brunette beside her that had him changing his ways . like a different man altogether to prove he was worth a chance he and nat hit it off . took them all awhile to get used to come around especially jake but even he ended up giving the guy a chance . the two watched their men team up against fanboy and payback on the pool table shamelessly ogling their men and they weren’t the only ones .

“ god if they don’t stop i think i may end up in a cell tonight” y/n huffed eyes glaring around the bar.

“ down girl , nothing to worry about plus jakes been staking his claim all night and kyles not far behind him but it is slightly annoying” nat agreed.

“ ugh i need a drink you want one?” she hopped off stool .

“ nah but the boys look like their beers need a refill” .

“On it lieutenant trace” she saluted making nat snort out laughing.

It was hard to manoeuvre almost bumping into everyone on the way . she finally reached the front of the bar almost dramatically as penny came over taking her order she sat waiting for the drink feeling someone bump into her harshly .

“ hey watch it asshole… mark?” her head tilted seeing an old college buddy last she heard he was across the pond .

“ hey short stuff what you doing here” he cheered almost lifting her up in a hug.

“ erm i could say the same thing mr i moved to the uk” she laughed.

“ my husband got transferred to a firm here in san diego so boom here we are” he chuckled .

“ i knew it lizzy and kelly thought i was full of shit but the gaydar is never wrong” she jumped excitedly.

“ i mean it was very obvious i don’t know how i was blind myself to it” he rolled his eyes .

“ well i went through something like that myself .. i mean not sexuality but i was totally blind to see my boyfriend was in love with me … long story” she snorted .

“ oh well since we should meet up for coffee and share the long storie , here put your number in and we’ll sort the detail” he smiled handing her his phone.

“ who hell is talking to , why is she taking his phone ?” jake frowned watching the scene transpire usually his rational side would chalk down to something reasonable but he never seen this guy before nor has she mention a friend in the hard deck and he knew all her friend hell the were sitting with him in that moment.

“ ask her and you’ll see its nothing” phoenix rolled her eyes knowing it was nothing.

“ dude looks like a male model or some shit” kyle spoke up .

“ not helping newbie” fanboy winced. Jake was pissed the attention she’d been getting all day and night pissing him off , maybe he wasn’t thinking right or maybe it would be easier not to have her waiting for him , to worry about if he was going to be coming back or not . it was stupid idea but maybe it was the right one .

“ hey jake thought i might find you here” a voice purred .

“ hey cassie not the time” he huffed she was probably the only regular he had when it came to convention time.

“ looks like i came right time , you look all tense maybe we could head to my hotel i can help you out” she smiled fingers dancing up his chest .

“ yeah not happening “ a voice called pulling her hand away .

“ and why wouldn’t it sorry little girl i got here first and we go way back” cassie smiled clinging to jakes arm.

“ i’d suggest you get yourself off my boyfriend before you get a reservation in the hospital lady” y/n almost growled.

“ wasn’t your boyfriend when you were getting that dudes number” he scoffed.

“ doesn’t seem like your boyfriend want me to leave” cassie smirked as y/n furrowed while jakes made no way to move the woman. Why wasn’t he moving the woman from his arm.

“ actually i was going to ask you to come to dinner with that dude and his husband during week but i can see your busy, can’t believe you thought i would do something like that to you ” she placed the drinks down and grab her coat and bag rushing through the crowd not caring who she hit on her way .

“ shit y/n wait ..get off me “ he moved pushing through the crowd realising this wasn’t the right idea it wasn’t even close to the right idea. By the time he got out of the bar she was long gone , pulling his phone out trying to call her but it just kept going to voicemail . he just maybe fucked up the best thing that had happened to him all because of his own fears and stupidity . his head hung low he called a cab to take him home try and see if he could fix the whole mess that’s even if she would hear him out.

She felt sick to her stomach , how could he not trust her , how could he think she would do something like that to him when she spent majority of her time showing him he was the love of her life maybe he was bored with her. Maybe after it all he just wasn’t ready to be in a committed relationship god she felt so stupid and even worse they lived together how the hell was she going to navigate it all . she couldn’t even think of that now everything hurt from a migraine to the feeling of her heart hurting like it that tramp at the bar took it from her chest and stomped on it . maybe they rushed into things and he changed his mind on how he feels now she was crying in the back of an uber while the poor driver didn’t know what to say he probably thought she was a nut job in her costume and make up that was definitely down her face now. Her phone kept buzzing and beeping between jake and nat calling her non stop . she text nat to let her know she got uber home and she’d ring when she was better as for jake she didn’t even bother to text or ring him well she did telling him to leave her alone.

The moment she got home she headed straight her room thankfully roo was out or else it would be world war three in the house she knew that much for sure . she grabbed the clothes jake left in her room and through them into the hall before locking her bedroom door heading to the shower needing to wash away the night , hoping the hot water would help relax her now tense muscles so she could go sleep . she was too mentally exhausted to even bare confronting him . she heard the front door open , she heard the footstep running down the hall , she heard the banging on her door and his pleading to talk to him .

He felt sick seeing his thing thrown to the floor , the door to her room locked and it broke his heart when he could hear her crying . he did that , he hurt her because he was a coward . self sabotaging the best thing that he ever had . he felt his own tears coming falling down his cheek , he felt his back hitting the door and sliding to the floor hoping this was some sort nightmare he was going to wake up from . he would wake and she would be wrapped in his arms and yet he knew it wasn’t the case he knew he truly well and truly fucked up . but he wasn’t going to give up til he made it right , show her he made a stupid mistake his deployment was four weeks he could do it right?.

part 9

taglist : @harrysgothicbitch @djs8891 @darksparklesficrecs @emma8895eb

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sailorgundam308 · 8 months ago

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Random ppl saying Karlach is “conventionally” attractive must live in an alternative reality I’m unaware of.

Is she stunning? Yes. But she does NOT fit into conventionally beauty standards for women (yes, even after her face change from EA).

Say you see a woman of color, way WAY taller than the average - let’s say 1.90m tall. She is visibly bulkier, has thick thighs, prominent abs. Wider shoulders than average.

Then, her skin (which again, isn’t white), is covered in marks. Scars, tattoos, discolorations and other “uneven” tones and textures.

On top of that, her entire right side is covered in ‘hideous’ burnt skin tissue. From her fingers to her ribs and half her chest.

But not all. She has metal pins and bits protruding from her due to some medical procedure you’re not familiar with.

And she might have facial scars too. On her very non-white facial features. Imagine she’s not only Asian - but the “wrong” kind of Asian (aka the darker side of Asia- not the mainstream-approved Japan or Korea). Maybe she’s even from the South Pacific islands.

Her hair is thicker, choppier.

And, beyond her appearance, she curses. She laughs loudly. She doesn’t act demure or quiet or feminine. She’s unapologetic about it, too. Proud of being physically stronger than most.

What an affront.

That is all to say… yes, she is stunning (to me and many of us). She’s especially more stunning BECAUSE she’s so off the scale of conventional beauty for women. You might have lived in a beautiful social bubble where women like Karlach are considered the prettiest there are, but even so, that’s not what the world at large sees as ideal beauty - for any gender, but more so for women.

That’s one of the big reasons I’m so into Karlach (and also why I have always had a soft spot for laezel too). They stick out like a sore thumb but they dgaf.

And to top it all, it’s one extra reason for me to ship the shit out of her and Astarion.

Astarion isn’t the conventional male handsomness but he does fall in a wider category of male beauty. He is the most popular male character and attracts both male and female fans.

I like him to fall for characters that would be considered way off the mainstream beauty scale. One thing I haven’t seen yet and want to do one day is make a half orc character to pair with him. Because fuck yes. And also because for me, Astarion does understand where beauty standards lay, but that lost meaning to him long ago. He’s capable of being petty and shallow but when push comes to shove, that’s not it for him.

Again, another reason as to why I’d think he’d fall head over heels for Karlach despite himself.

But yea. Going back to my point, no matter that WE think Karlach is pretty, cute, beautiful and gorgeous. That’s us being ::cough:: superior. But it doesn’t make her mainstream digestible beauty material (that’s lame shadowheart lol - sorry guys, sh is so boring to me).

Which in turn makes Karlach even more precious to me (and her and Astarion in love even more special 🖤).

Thats all the rant, for now.

#bg3 #karlach #astarion x karlach #baldur's gate 3 #karlach x astarion #hellspawn #starlach #astarlach #fireblood #bg3 opinion #opinion #rant ish

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saintsenara · 8 months ago

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I need your thoughts on aunt petunia/rita skeeter

thank you very much for the ask, anon!

and i think... hot. entirely on "incredibly niche moments in british pop-culture" grounds...

by which i mean, when i try to imagine what rita looks like, she always takes a form vaguely similar to a journalist named samantha brick, who went viral in 2012 when she published an article in the daily mail entitled why do women hate me for being beautiful?

brick's article was typical, boring misogyny - and so was the response to it, which all centred on the idea that she didn't actually have any right to call herself attractive - but the relevant point here is that i can guarantee that petunia hate-read it literally a thousand times, that she told anyone who'd listen that she thought brick was a delusional tart who should stay away from other people's husbands [especially when they're fine british beef, like vernon], and that she was secretly quite jealous of brick for proclaiming loudly that she thinks herself beautiful.

the way that jkr uses physical appearance - and, especially, the way that women we aren't supposed to like are described either as fat or as unfemininely thin - has always annoyed me [even though i recognise it's a trope borrowed from many of the children's literature influences upon the series].

when it comes to petunia, so much of her physical description is intended to hint at her villainy. that she's unfemininely tall and thin, that she has a harsh, slightly equine appearance serves as a visual metaphor for her lack of the feminine characteristics the series considers admirable - she's cold, unnurturing, brittle, sterile, nosy, obsessed with how she's perceived, performative, cowardly, and so on. lily - with whom she's always contrasted - is a good woman - the ultimate mother - because she's real. and she's also - as the text tells us on several occasions - beautiful.

but if one wants to be more sympathetic, petunia's brittleness can be read instead as fragility. after all, she's a woman who - by the time she's twenty-four at most - is caring for two toddlers [one more than she was expecting], has lost her parents and sister, appears to be at home all day without much social support, is hyper-focused on not embarrassing a husband who appears to be quite a few years older than her by fucking up the class performance he expects but she's not completely familiar with... the list goes on.

what this must do to petunia's understanding of her own embodiment is really interesting to me. the entirety of the person she presents to the world is a fiction - she's a working-class girl with a sister who was a witch, who lives behind a thoroughly mundane and middle-class mask. this concealment will have an impact on how she understands herself as a physical creature - the petunia dursley she's created will not sweat or cry or shit or have body hair or devour or laugh until she can't stand or take or bleed or want or fuck.

and so, when she's alone and the mask comes off, can she think that the real woman who lurks underneath - whose body does all of these things she tries to hide - is beautiful?

i imagine petunia as being prone to a sort of obsessive, corrosive jealousy in her attitude towards women who are more defiant of social convention - especially women who reject the expectation that they will be meek, humble, self-deprecating, and demure.

which brings us onto...

rita skeeter is another character whose physical description in the text is something i think it's important to unpick. she's an example of the second technique which jkr uses when describing women the narrative doesn't wish us to be sympathetic to - that their gender expression has an exaggerated, hyper-feminine aesthetic.

jkr clearly thinks that this aesthetic is unnatural - in that it only belongs to women who have to play up a pantomime of femininity because they are improperly feminine in any "innate" way. dolores umbridge's girlish, pastel looks, for example, are horrifying because the person beneath them is sociopathic in her cruelty to children.

with rita, i am always struck - especially given the turn jkr has taken in recent years - that she is described in goblet of fire as someone with a hyper-feminine aesthetic which fails [in the text's eyes] to mask that she is physically unfeminine.

she is described as having "hair ... set in elaborate and curiously rigid curls that contrasted oddly with her heavy-jawed face", and "thick fingers [which] ended in two-inch nails, painted crimson", and "large, mannish hands", and she's caked in make-up, and she likes her accessories with a slightly tacky vibe.

she's described - in short - in ways which are intended to make her seem ridiculous [cheap, brassy, mutton-dressed-as-lamb] within the confines of how the text [and the world] thinks cisgender women should properly perform femininity.

but she's also described in ways which suggest that we're supposed to think that she looks like someone who is not a cisgender woman trying - and failing - to "pass". the text is of the tedious opinion that we should think less of her because of this.

but fuck that!

what i like about rita is the fact that she takes this treatment by the text and... doesn't give a shit about it. she's loud and eye-catching and caustic and rude and grasping and a complete hack. what you see with her is what you get - nobody thinks she's a good or impartial journalist, including her, and she simply doesn't care! and she thinks she looks hot as hell while doing it. after all, she has her quill describe her as an "attractive blonde". harry thinks that's an offensive suggestion - but she doesn't have to.

do i think rita is a straightforwardly admirable person? no. do i think that she doesn't mask and conceal her insecurities from the world? also no.

but i think she has that self-belief which petunia would pretend she thought was disgusting but which she secretly envied rita for. and i think this - someone like petunia, repressed and concealed, meeting someone who has no shame in immoderation and who gives them permission to exist greedily - is a trope which always hits.

do i think it would last? no. i think it's a wild fling and then they go their separate ways - and i also think, as i know i say ad nauseam, that this matters. the harry potter series thinks of love as something which endures for years in solemn silence, which sacrifices and which suffers.

but sometimes love is a week of getting your nails done, sunning yourself in a leopard-print thong bikini, being trashy and immodest and demanding, and eating ice-cream out of the navel of a blonde who doesn't give a fuck what people say about her. nothing more, nothing less.

good for them.

#asks answered #asenora's opinions on ships #unhinged and deranged ships #and also a defence of immoderation in gender expression #fuck jkr we ball

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anncanta · 16 days ago

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Mirror, mirror on the wall

Fandom: Dracula (2020)

Characters: Dracula, Agatha Van Helsing

Relationship: Dracula/Agatha Van Helsing

Rating: Teen and up audiences

@alma37 @hopipollahorror @moremoveslessannouncements-blog

Read on AO3

Or read below

‘What happens if I win this game?’

‘I beg your pardon?’

Agatha leaned forward and rested her hands on the table.

‘We both know this is not just a chess game. I don't know what you have in mind, but the fact is …’ she glanced briefly at the pieces. ‘You are clever, cunning and competitive. But that is not the case here. You took me from the convent – kidnapped me – and brought me here. You could have locked me in a box, you could have raped me or tortured me –’

‘Agatha, your expectations exceed my wildest –’

‘Yet you offered me a game of chess. And I want to know why.’

There was silence for a few seconds.

‘The fact that I am here is enough to consider you the winner,’ said Agatha.

‘Are you so sure?’

‘Yes.’

For a while, Dracula silently looked at the table, the chessboard, the waves of hair falling over her shoulders.

‘Maybe I am not,’ he said suddenly.

The room changed so abruptly that Agatha did not have time to understand anything.

…They were standing on a castle tower, on a small platform, and far below them stretched the valley, the forest, and the river.

Agatha went to the parapet. She rose on her toes and looked over the edge. Jonathan must have jumped from here.

‘This is that very tower,’ Dracula said from behind her shoulder, confirming her guess.

‘Do you want to show me my future?’

Agatha turned around.

‘I don't know what I want anymore.’

He stood in front of her, very close, and the sunlight touched his face. Agatha was surprised to discover that he had long eyelashes. She raised her hand and touched his cheek.

‘It's not real,’ she said.

‘No, of course not.’

Agatha nodded.

‘Then kiss me.’

…

‘What happens if I win this game?’

The pieces were all mixed up. Agatha's lips were burning.

‘I'll lose,’ Dracula smiled.

‘I couldn't wish for more.’

***

The Demeter arrived at Whitby Harbor right on schedule. After making the last entry in the logbook, Captain Sokolov put it in a drawer and left the cabin. The autumn sun that greeted him on deck was cold and unfriendly, but after long weeks of sailing in fog, the captain was glad to see it.

Everything was fine, he assured himself. The voyage had gone well. No storms, no incidents. The passengers were happy, the cargo had been delivered safely.

And yet something was bothering him, stubborn and persistent. Elusive, like a pebble in a boot.

‘How many passengers did we have?’ Sokolov asked Valentin, standing nearby, looking at the rigging and ropes, muttering something under his breath.

The old sailor frowned.

‘Six. Three men, a child, and two women,’ Valentin spat discontentedly on the creaking boards.

The captain nodded.

‘Six.’

He waved away the images of a tall man in a black top hat and a thin woman in a nun's robe that appeared in his head.

When the captain went ashore, he no longer remembered them.

‘And the king had a daughter, with skin as white as snow and lips as red as blood,’ said Agatha, watching the captain's retreating figure. Dracula, who had followed her down the gangway, threw a warm cloak over her shoulders.

The sun had almost disappeared behind the horizon, gilding its edge.

Dracula leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

‘I heard she was the most beautiful of all. No woman could compare with her. I think that's why her name meant “morning dawn.”’

#bbc dracula #dracula 2020 #count dracula #dracula bbc #agatha van helsing #dragatha #dracula netflix

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amitiel-truth · 5 months ago

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Trick the Devil (Part 2)

Where does the Jujutsu Society get their dough?

(Not proof read, too lazy, lore dump)

Part 1

"The Seven Sponsors, it's unknown if they're cursed users or not, but what's known is that they are one of the most prominent members in Society as a whole, a group of people who promised secrecy of the Jujutsu World and fund our conquest in vanquishing curses as long as we keep the World of the Non-Sorcerers safe as best as we could.

They used to go under one single surname, until the heir women of their clan broke off, and married off into prestigious families, the main 3 are the Daigo's, each perspective head handles Pharmaceuticals, Police, and Military.

the Sada's, their territory is Shinjuku, not only do they have control of the brothels, but they're a great source of information, especially when getting dirt on certain politicians.

the Yoshikawa's, they handle the Entertainment Industry, but there are rumors their control runs deeper than what they Televise.

the Yamazaki's, they handle businesses of excess, such as restaurants, shopping centers, and banks.

lastly, the Chiyoya's, their main focus are Integrated Resorts, a hotel with a casino, together with conventional facilities such as entertainment, shows, theme parks, luxury retail, and fine dining. they're the ones who give the biggest funds amongst the seven of them."

"So you three better be on your best behavior! Usually, they only invite the most prominent Sorcerers to their Yearly Appreciation Party, but this year they're expanding their invites, better look good while you're at it." Yaga explains to them after their suspension, Shoko was a bit peeved off for Gojo getting her smoke confiscated, but not a little bit of replacement cigs to satiate her anger.

Satoru yawns in exaggeration, sitting cross-legged on his chair, looking and sounding bored out of his mind "Why do we have to attend something so boring? I could be doing so many things than attending some stupid party..."

"Like getting into a date with Chiyoya" Satoru thinks to himself, letting out a small snicker.

"This year isn't just about the Appreciation Party, they're introducing their Heirs that will soon take over the old Sponsors." Yaga added.

"And one of them is the girl you fought, Gojo Satoru, so you better prepare an apology speech!"

For a moment, Satoru appears somewhat serious, but the moment he hears that Chiyoya will be there, a mischievous smirk spreads across his face. "Oh? is that so?"

"You should have said so from the start. the only parties I'm going to are the ones that she's in." He remarks with a hint of flirtatiousness in his tone, which got him a bit of discipline on the head after finally getting excused.

"Satoru, didn't I warn you not to fool around with that girl?" Suguru asked, as they began walking to their dorms to get ready.

Satoru rolls his eyes "Listen Suguru, if I see an opportunity to have fun, I'm going to take it. Besides, I can't really help myself when it comes to gorgeous women now, can I?" He smirks cheekily

"What do you see in her anyway? I get that she's pretty and all, but she doesn't seem like your type, tall and slim, she doesn't even have any curves to show off, not that's wrong or anything" Suguru tries his best to sway his best friend's attention from the Heiress, something about her doesn't sit right with him

Satou appears slightly annoyed at Suguru's comment "Damn it Suguru, not every girl has to have the exact same kind of figure for me to like them" Satoru crosses his arms, pouting

"Well, it's not just her beauty that catches my attention, despite not even being a Sorcerer, she's an incredible hand-to-hand fighter...it's quite attractive, honestly." Satoru admits, a small blush creeping onto his cheeks as he thinks about Chiyoya, making Suguru gasp in shock.

"Are you serious about this one, Satoru?" Suguru asked, watching his friend's reaction

Satoru's blush deepens slightly at Suguru's question. "I...might be. Usually, women bore me pretty quickly but...this one seem different somehow. I feel this weird, indescribable draw to her...it's hard to explain, but I've never felt this way about anyone else before" He confesses, a hint of vulnerability in his voice.

"Like a Non-Sorcerer equal?" Suguru points out, curious about his sudden interest

Satoru nods, looking thoughtful as he contemplates Suguru's question "Yeah...I guess you could say that, In a way, Chiyoya represents something refreshing and new for me, something that isn't directly connected to this whole cursed society. She feels like a breath of fresh air in a world that reeks of sorcery."

He pauses for a moment before continuing "She makes me feel...alive in a way that I've never felt before. It's exhilarating and terrifying, all at the same time."

Suguru looks at him in shock, raising an eyebrow "You saw a pretty girl with deep pockets who managed to hold you off for at least half an hour...and she got you this whipped? This is a moment in History."

Satoru scoffs, rolling his eyes "Oh please, 'whipped'? Let's be serious now, Suguru. I'm not some fool for just any pretty girl with money. Chiyoya is different, she has this...undeniable allure that I just can't seem to resist. It's not just her physical appearance or her wealth that draws me in, It's her entire presence. She's confident, strong-willed, and captivating, in a way that I can't help but feel completely drawn to."

"Yep, definitely whipped" Suguru confirms, continuing to walk to their dorm.

Satoru sighed heavily, but he couldn't help but chuckle at Suguru's teasing "Fine fine, you got me. I may be a little, teeny bit, slightly whipped for this girl. but can you blame me? She's unlike any woman I've ever met before. She's...intoxicating." Satoru mutters a small smile forms on his lips as he remembers how confident Chiyoya looked at him during their sparing match

"So much so that she managed to threaten you into pulling out your domain?" Suguru points out.

Satoru's expression softens slightly as he recalls the sparring match "It wasn't just the fact that she managed to corner me, It's her confidence, determination, and fearlessness. She was willing to face down the Strongest Sorcerer of the Modern Age without even as much as a cursed weapon. I have to admit, it was pretty damn impressive...and incredibly attractive."

Suguru's face looks judgemental "Whatever Mr. Whipped, just make sure to not cause a scene at the Party"

"Well this is quite a grand place" Shoko commented, looking around the place in a simple black cocktail dress.

"What did you expect? all of the Sponsors are gonna be here, of course, it's gonna be grand" Suguru replies to Shoko in a black suit, but Satoru only looks around blankly, already used to the Luxurious surroundings, he only had one thing in his mind.

" Ah, there's those finger foods, come on let's get some." Shoko points as they begin to walk towards the table, clearly this party is for an older audience.

"Hey, you think they'll let us drink alcohol here?" Suguru asked Shoko eyeing the waiter passing around the champagne but they all became background noises to Satoru, he only had one person in his mind as he tried to look for her.

until he found her.

the Heiress conversing with a group of people, 6 of them in fact, all varying in different personalities, refreshingly, Chiyoya wears a blue halter backless white beaded trumpet gown, showing off her slim and tall figure, her hair tied in a small bun.

Satoru's breath hitched as his eyes landed on Chiyoya, his heartbeat quickened slightly in his chest. She looks ethereal "Damn...she looks even prettier than before." He thinks to himself, watching her interact with the group.

As Chiyoya covered her mouth to stifle a laugh, another man suddenly walked up to her, wrapping his arms around her waist and making Satoru clench his fist.

"Who does this jackass think he is? Touching her without her permission? It was clear that she was uncomfortable with the display" Satoru thought, instinctively sneering as he took a step to walk up to them.

"Oi, what do you think you're doing?" Suguru stops him with a hand on his shoulder, managing to snag a flute of champagne on the other.

Satoru turns to Suguru, a mixture of anger and disappointment evident on his face. "What does it look like I'm doing? That jackass has his hands all over her when she clearly doesn't want him to. I'm about to put him in his place" Satoru shrugs off his hand before trying once more to march up to Chiyoya.

"You can't just jump to conclusions, what if that's her date?" Suguru asked, as Chiyoya began conversing with the man, her smile spells indifference.

"That's her DATE!?" Satoru scoffed, irritation evident in his voice "She doesn't look very pleased to be in his presence, not to mention he's forcing himself onto her" Satoru pointed out before gasping, the man suddenly kissed her neck out of nowhere.

"He just suddenly kissed her neck! No one who has a date with her would do something so disrespectful!"

"Satoru, you're being dramatic, why are you even obsessing over her? you aren't even a thing." Suguru points out, unsure how to waver through his best friend's burst of emotions

Satoru takes a deep breath, trying to control his emotions as he looks at Chiyoya once more. "You're right, Suguru...I don't know why I'm feeling this way about her. she's just a girl I had one sparring match with... it's just...she gets under my skin like no one else does. there's something about her that I can't explain, that makes me want to protect her, care for her...even if she doesn't feel the same." Satoru frowns, looking at the floor in defeat

Suguru looks at him in worry, before sighing, "Satoru, just enjoy the party, okay? that's why we're invited here, remember?" Suguru says as the initial six people began walking away, but one stayed for a bit, a teenage boy wearing a black kimono. he whispers something into Chiyoya's ear while her date is conversing with someone else on his phone, the teen seems to have the same aura as Chiyoya, but more authoritative.

Satoru reluctantly agrees, forcing himself to focus on the party instead of his feelings for Chiyoya. "Yeah, you're right. We're here to enjoy ourselves, not get caught up in some girl's business. Let's just have fun tonight and forget about everything else." Satoru nodded, taking a glass of champagne from a passing waiter.

"Good, just have fun tonight." Suguru agrees, turning to look at Shoko who enjoys herself with champagne and finger food.

As the teen in the kimono finished whispering to Chiyoya, she nodded before pulling on her date's arm, a seductive smile on her lips, leading him outside the venue into the Hallway. Satoru knows it's not his business.

"Satoru?"

But he can't help himself.

Like a Sailor to a Siren, Satoru follows her giggles through the Hall, whispers play against his ear, as he continues following them, until he hears something odd.

was the gurgling?

The sound led him into a private room, where he saw Chiyoya's date slumped against the wall, his throat slit open, his blood pooling onto the floor.

"Oh...I've failed..." Gojo flinches as he quickly turns his head to where the voice is coming from, there he sees Chiyoya standing next to the body, a bloody knife in her hand, dripping onto the floor.

"Oh well, there's always next time." Chiyoya shrugs, unbothered by her actions.

Satoru's expression doesn't change as he witnesses a crime before him, he should either be horrified or disgusted, and threaten to report her to the authorities...yet he's completely unfazed by the gruesomeness of her actions. somehow his idea of her doesn't waver, it only gets more intense.

"Let me guess, that man wasn't really your date." Satoru asked, walking over the blood to get closer to Chiyoya, his eyes never leaving her.

"No, not really, but he proclaims he was cause he's a big shot son of a mining company, too bad his business is going under because Mr. Yamazaki bought them all out, now he clung onto me like a last resort, too bad he's one of the chosen uninvited guest." Chiyoya answers, cleaning her knife with a handkerchief.

Satoru raises an eyebrow, intrigued by Chiyoya's words, It seemed she had a specific target in mind, and he couldn't help but feel a strange sense of admiration for her quirks.

"Chosen, you say? Is that what that man in the black kimono whispered to you at the party?" He asked, leaning against the wall beside her.

Chiyoya looks at him, her smile never leaving her lips. "You mean one of the Heirs? Daigo-san?" Chiyoya asked, pocketing her knife back onto her blue clutch.

Satoru nods, his gaze never leaving hers. "Yes, him. I saw how he spoke to you, and then you suddenly pulled your so-called 'date' here. Seemed like you had a clear plan."

He leans closer to her, his voice lowering to barely a whisper. "You're quite intriguing, Chiyoya, a blossoming woman with a killer smile and a deadly charm, I can see why I'm so enchanted by you."

Chiyoya looks at him blankly, before scoffing. "You just saw me murder a man in cold blood, yet you're still enchanted by me? you sorcerers sure are strange."

Satoru chuckles, a small smirk playing on his lips. "What can I say? I've always enjoyed the darker things in life. and watching you work...It's an art form, really. There's a certain allure to your ruthlessness that speaks to the dangerous side of me."

He steps closer to her, his voice sultry and mesmerizing. "I have to admit, I find danger and chaos quite...enticing."

"And who's to say you're only saying that? what happens if you go behind my back and report me to the Police?" Chiyoya asked, tilting her head, clearly not drawn to Satoru's attraction, but she didn't seem worried if he did.

Satoru laughs heartily, finding her question amusing. "You really think I'd report you to the police? You truly underestimate me, Chiyoya. I have no interest in something as mundane as reporting you. Why would I snitch on a creature as magnificent as you?" Satoru asked, reaching out to trace her jawline, his touch should send shivers down her spine.

"Besides, I have much more interesting things in mind."

"And what would that be?" Chiyoya asked, her eyes unyielding, pink hues clashing with blue ones.

A mischievous glint sparks in his eyes as he leans in closer, his lips hovering millimeters away from hers. His voice drops to a seductive whisper.

"I have the sudden urge to test my limits and see just how far you're willing to go, Chiyoya. I want to push every boundary, explore every hidden desire you possess. And I'm eager to see how far this dangerous game of ours will take us, my dear. Are you ready to dance with the devil?" Satoru asked, his eyes widening in anticipation.

"Let's play a game, shall we?"

"Oh, What kind of game?" Chiyoya asked in interest but her pink hues show indifference, but he has her attention.

"A game of trust and thrill. We'll take turns daring each other to do things, starting with small, harmless challenges, but gradually getting more daring. We'll push each other's boundaries until we reach our limits."

He leans closer to her ear, his breath warm against it. "The first one to tap out losses."

as Satoru backed away, all he saw was that she was already looking at him, interested "What is the Prize and Punishment?"

Satoru's eyes gleam mischievously, excitement coursing through his veins. He hadn't expected her to agree so quickly, his touch feather-light, leaving a trail of tingles on her skin. "Let's make it interesting. The Prize for the winner will be anything they want, no strings attached. As for the punishment...let's say the rules of the game state the loser has to do whatever the winner demands, within reasonable bounds, of course."

"It sounds to me you have an agenda of bringing up this deal, Gojo-san...a dark desire." Chiyoya points out with a smile, her stare unwavering.

His eyes gleam almost sinisterly, a small smirk tugging at his lips. He fixes a stray hair to the back of her ear. "My darkest desires, you say? I have many, but let's list a few."

Satoru turns to look at her, sky-blue eyes full of hidden desires. "To taste your lips...to explore the depths of your mind...to push my limits and see just how far you'll let me go" he murmurs as he suddenly remembered that her 'date' kissed her neck, leaning in to place a kiss of his own over it, making his point.

Chiyoya looked at him blankly with a small smile on her lips, before a group suddenly flooded into the room. "Oh, the cleaners are here" Chiyoya backed away from Satoru, as one of them approached her.

"Mistress." cleaning her hand.

Satoru watches the interaction between Chiyoya and the cleaners, a hint of surprise in his eyes. He knew she was privileged, but this level of service seemed excessive even by his standards. His gaze lingers on her, taking in every graceful movement she makes, admiring her poise and control, realizing how meticulous she is, he would have thought these cleaners were also part of the venue's staff with their uniforms.

"You must go back to the party, now, Mistress, they are just about to be the Heirs of the Sponsors" The cleaner stated after cleaning her hand.

"Very well then, I'll leave everything to you" Chiyoya stated as she began to leave, as the cleaners began bagging the body.

"Gojo-san, do you plan to stand there for the whole party?" Satoru snaps out of his trance as Chiyoya addresses him, a small smile never leaving her lips.

"I was planning to admire the view just a bit longer. you look captivating as always, it's hard not to stare." He strides towards her, a confident smile on his face.

"I was just admiring your work here one last time before it gets cleaned up, but remind me to stay in your good graces with how capable you are."

"Dully noted." Chiyoya smiled as they began to walk through the halls back into the party.

As they began to walk back into the party, Satoru cast glanced at Chiyoya, studying her demeanor closely. He couldn't help but feel intrigued by her composure; her movements so fluid, her grace so captivating. It was almost as if she was completely unaffected by the events that just occurred only a moment ago.

His mind raced with questions but he knew better than to bring them up immediately. After all, he was the one who initiated this little endeavor of theirs, and he wasn't about to ruin the excitement so soon.

"You're quiet, that's very unlike you, why? Have I pushed you to the limit already, Gojo-san?" Chiyoya teases, her pink hues glancing up at him.

Satoru chuckles, and a low, velvety sound reverberates through the air. "Oh, my dear Chiyoya, If you think I've reached my limits already, you underestimate me. I was simply savoring the moment, observing the intricate web you weave with each step you take."

His gaze meets hers, a small smirk playing on his lips. " Besides, I couldn't help but be captivated by your beauty. Sometimes silence is the only appropriate response to admiring such an ethereal specimen"

"I bet you say that to every girl you come across, Gojo-san." Chiyoya points out with a teasing scoff.

Satoru let out a hearty laugh, his eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and mild irritation, he had known that remark was coming. She was as sharp as a tack, and he loved it.

"Ah, you got me there, Chiyoya. You're not wrong to assume that I say that to anyone I find attractive. But there's something about you; your fierce independence, your unapologetic nature, and the way you refuse to be caged that draws me to you."

Chiyoya chuckles before walking up a bit further front, her hands behind her back as she leans forward "Why? Do you wanna tie me down, Gojo-san? Turn me into one of your pretty armrests?" Chiyoya asked, tilting her head.

Satoru's eyes, a sultry smile on his lips. The way she teased and toyed with him sent a shiver down his spine. He loved it. Her boldness, her wit, and her charm were all a dangerous addiction he didn't want to get rid of. He walked closer, closing the distance between them.

"Oh, Chiyoya, as tempting as that sound..." Satoru caresses her cheek.

"It would be a grave sin to reduce you into an accessory" Satoru stated, admiring her eyes.

"And why is that?" Chiyoya presses, wanting to hear his reasoning as he looks at her with admiration and desire.

"Because My dear, you're a force to be reckoned with. Your power, your confidence, your unapologetic nature..they're all qualities that I find incredibly attractive. I have no desire to chain you down or clip your wings. No..." He moved closer, pinning her onto a wall, his words filled with raw honesty.

"I want to watch you soar."

Chiyoya simply continues to look at him, her smile growing sinister under his gaze. "That's what you saw in me? We've barely met, and we've only interacted for half an hour at best, What if I'm not the kind of person you perceive me to be?"

He chuckles lowly, his eyes unwavering as he meets her gaze head-on "Oh, Chiyoya, the beauty in life is discovering the unexpected hidden layers, uncovering the unexpected truths hidden beneath the surface. You may not be exactly who I perceive you to be, and that's precisely what excites me. The thrill of discovering the true nature behind your mask, and understanding the depth of your character that's all part of the dance." He reaches out, brushing a stray strand of hair away from her face once more.

Chiyoya simply stares at him as he slowly leans towards her.

"I advise you not to fornicate in the halls, Chiyoya Satsujin, if you value our names." a voice interrupted them, it was the teen in the black kimono, upon closer look, he had long black hair tied into a high ponytail, golden eyes looking at them with authority.

"Ah! Daigo-san! Did you come out here just to get me? you shouldn't have!" Chiyoya gently pushed away Satoru as if they weren't doing anything wrong, smiling innocently.

Satoru raises an eyebrow at the newcomer, amused by the interruption. "Well, look who decided to join the party. Daigo, was it? Quite the entrance you made there. Am I interrupting something important, or just your attempt to ruin the fun?"

"Who is this?" Daigo asked, turning his gaze to Chiyoya.

"The Strongest Sorcerer of the Modern age, I met him at Jujutsu Tech, he's quite an interesting character." Chiyoya introduces, making Daigo look at him blankly.

Satoru's smirk widens as he meets Daigo's gaze, his eyes gleaming with a mix of confidence and mischief. "Interesting, huh? Well, I'll take that as a compliment. Gojo Satoru, the honored one, at your service." He gives a small bow, the motion filled with mockery.

one Daigo couldn't care for "For your information, you are interrupting something important, they're about to introduce us, Chiyoya." Daigo turns to Chiyoya, staring blankly at her.

"Huh? Why didn't you say so? Let's go! Let's go!" Chiyoya pulls on Daigo's wrist, leading him back into the party, seemingly forgetting Satoru.

"Satoru, where have you been!? you just upped and disappeared!" Suguru found Satoru walking back into the party, a bit peeved that he'd quickly forgotten.

"Nothing much, just getting to know people, look, it's starting" Satoru diverts his attention as the lights go down.

"May I have your attention, please?" Mr. Chiyoya spoke through the mic, his welcoming smile contrasting his daughter's.

"From the three Heads of the main clan, I introduce Daigo Kuragami, Daigo Tenpi, and Daigo Tsukikage."

Three teens stood under the spotlight, the first one with long black hair and golden eyes, wearing a black kimono with a blank face. Daigo Kuragami.

The next two look to be twins, a boy and a girl both wearing black and white suits that invert them, their short black hair is adorned with high lights, the boy has a green highlight on his bangs while the girl has red highlights with two streaks on the back of her hair, both stares at the crowd blankly with golden eyes. Daigo Tenpi (The Boy), Daigo Tsukikage(The Girl).

"From the Sada's, I introduce Sada Ragyo." A very beautiful girl, long brown hair adored her back with her bangs colored in pink, her seductive pink hues are very different from Chiyoya's very own, as she wore a black sleeves dress (Sada Ragyo)

"From the Yoshikawa's, I introduce Yoshikawa Mondo." A short brown haired boy with bright green eyes, he wore an extravagant suit that makes him almost out of place. (Yoshikawa Mondo)

"From the Yamazaki's I introduce Yamazaki Yamasaki." A giant, like a sumo wrestler, stands under the spotlight, wearing traditional clothes (Yamazaki Yamasaki)

"And From the Chiyoya's, my very own Heir, Chiyoya Satsujin." The blonde-haired girl stands under the spotlight, her charming smile displayed for all to see, as her pink hues stare blankly at them, her white and blue dress glittering under the light, giving her an ethereal flare

May they bring prosperity for both the Non-Sorcerers and Sorcerers world" Mr. Chiyoya introduces, as the Sorcerers invited to the event clapped their hands, the Heirs bowing in unison

"These Heirs wanted to give their Appreciation to you Sorcerers for protecting the world, so, they've prepared a little performance for all of you, may you enjoy this turn of events" As Mr. Chiyoya suddenly announced a Performance, the Heirs all got into positions, most of them walking up to an instrument, but Chiyoya walks up to the center of the stage, picking up a mic

Intrigued by the unexpected announcement, Satoru's interest is piqued. The prospect of a performance from the Heirs of the Seven Sponsors is a rare opportunity. As Chiyoya walked to the center, he couldn't help but feel a flicker of anticipation. He waits intently, curious to see what kind of performance Chiyoya will unveil.

A Piano and Violin began their intro before a strum sharp of a drum began, and an Organ resonated with the harmony

"Ah, si je pouvais vivre dans l'eau

Le monde serait-il plus beau

Nous pardonneras-tu, ô chère mère

L'eau dans son courant fait danser nos vies

Et la cité, elle nourrit

Ainsi que toi, mon doux amour"

Chiyoya began singing in French, setting a melancholic tone of the song.

As the instrumental break commenced, Satoru couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration for the talents of the Heirs. Each one of them added their own touch to the music, creating an eclectic mix of sounds that somehow blended together perfectly. The inclusion of the blow horn further enhanced the harmony, adding a unique and unexpected element to the performance. He couldn't help but feel immersed in the music, his gaze focused on the stage where Chiyoya stood, captivated by her mesmerizing presence.

"Non, le grand amour ne suffit pas

Seul un adieu fleurira

C'est notre histoire de vie, douce et amère

Moi, je suis et serai toujours là

À voir le monde et sa beauté

Et ça ne changera jamais, jamais"

As the performance reaches its final moments, Satoru's eyes widen in astonishment as Ragyo's voice joins in perfect harmony with Chiyoya's. Their combined talents create a symphony of sound that fills the room with a melancholic and bittersweet feeling. The dual voices blend perfectly together, adding depth and complexity to the performance. As the music comes to an end, Satoru can't help but feel a sense of awe and admiration for the incredible talents of the Heirs and their captivating display of artistry

All of the Heirs began to stand up and began walking up to Chiyoya, side by side, they held hands and bowed in respect to all of the Sorcerers in the room.

A round of applause erupts throughout the room, filling the air with a sense of appreciation and admiration for the Heir’s performance. Satoru, along with the other Sorcerers in attendance, cannot help but clap enthusiastically in recognition of the incredible talent on display. The Heir’s synchronized bow, a humble gesture of respect for the Sorcerers who were present, further adds to the overall atmosphere of mutual understanding and gratitude between the two worlds.

"May you all enjoy the rest of the Celebration" Mr. Chiyoya announces, as everyone dispersed, enjoying themselves in the event

"Wow, that was...wonderful." Suguru mutters, before turning his head to Satoru.

"Hey, how are you-Satoru, don't" Suguru stops him as he notices Satoru staring at Chiyoya, conversing with the rest of the Heirs.

"But Suguru!"

"No buts! we talked about this" Suguru looks at him sternly, as Satoru looks at him blankly, before smirking at him.

"Sorry Sugu, but I can't pass up this one." Satoru replies as he pulls a random girl from a crowd.

"Hey, my friend over here thinks you're hot." Satoru introduced before he began running off.

"Satoru!-"

"Wait, really?"

leaving him to deal with a girl of his own.

As Satoru made his way to Chiyoya, he overheard snippets of their conversation, snippets that piqued his curiosity even further. Determined to make his presence known, he approached the group, stopping nearby and clearing his throat to catch Chiyoya's attention

Chiyoya's head turns towards Gojo, before smiling at him

"Ah! Gojo-san, what a pleasant surprise, I was just talking about you" Chiyoya stated, an elegant smile on her lips

A small smirk tugged at the corner of Gojo's lips as he heard Chiyoya's words. He couldn't help but find the situation slightly humorous and interesting. Crossing his arms across his chest, he replied with his usual nonchalant tone

"Oh really, and what exactly were you saying about me?"

"That you were the one who saw me kill the uninvited guest" Chiyoya nonchalantly answers, shocking Satoru at how open she was to that subject

"So...you've gotten sloppy?" Daigo Kuragami asked, disappointment flashing through his golden eyes

"Aw, don't be like that, Daigo-san, how was I supposed to know he was gonna follow me?" Chiyoya asked, pouting

Despite the initial shock at Chiyoya's nonchalance, Satoru couldn't help but respect her honesty. He nodded in response to her statement and replied with a smirk

"Indeed, it seems like I did witness a very interesting moment. And I must say, your choice of "uninvited guest" was quite a bold one."

He couldn't quite gauge the dynamics in the group just yet, and Daigo's disappointment only added to his intrigue

Daigo looks at him blankly, before turning to Chiyoya

"Whatever happens, you take care of the fallout out" Daigo stated before standing up from the table, with the rest of the Heirs standing up, following him, before Sada Ragyo winked at Satoru, following behind the rest, leaving Chiyoya'

"So, did you enjoy the performance, Gojo-san? Chiyoya asked, tilting her head

Satoru regained his composure and responded with a teasing chuckle

"Oh, I must say, the performance was certainly entertaining. But I could hardly focus on anything besides you. Your talent and beauty on that stage were quite captivating, so myself."

"Really now?" Chiyoya asked, chuckling

"Alright, let's get into business, why did you seek me out, Gojo-san?" Chiyoya asked, getting straight to the point

Satoru, slightly taken aback by Chiyoya's straightforwardness, couldn't help but smirk. He always appreciated when someone got straight to the point

"Ah, always straight to the point, I see. Well, I must admit, I couldn't resist the opportunity to speak with you further. You have this mysterious aura that draws me in. And I couldn't deny the fact that I wanted to understand your clan, and by extension, you, better. Perhaps you could indulge my curiosity?"

"And how exactly will you quell that need?" Chiyoya asked once more, looking at him blankly with a smile on her lips.

Satoru took a moment to consider her response before responding, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips

"I suppose that depends on how you would like to go about it. Perhaps a cup of tea or coffee. Or if you'd prefer something more adventurous, there's always the option of going on a midnight stroll through the gardens. You know, for a more intimate conversation. The choice is yours."

"Are you asking me on a date, Gojo-san?" Chiyoya asked, unphased at the thought

A small chuckle escaped Satoru's lips at Chiyoya's question. He couldn't help but admire her directness and confidence. "Why, yes, I suppose I am. So, what do you say? Shall we have a night out, explore the city together, and perhaps get to know each other on a more personal level?"

"That's too bad, I can't go tonight or tomorrow, I'm quite busy" Chiyoya turns down the offer, apologetically smiling at him.

Satoru felt a bit disappointed at Chiyoya's rejection, but he also couldn't help but find her busy schedule intriguing. It only added to the mystery surrounding her, and his curiosity grew even more

"Oh, that's a shame. Perhaps another time then. But tell me, Chiyoya-san, just how busy can someone be to turn down a date with the strongest sorcerer in the Jujutsu world?"

"Perhaps I'm turning you down to see if you'd pursue me" Chiyoya answers, a blank smile on her lips, her eyes challenging him.

A flicker of surprise crossed Satoru's features at Chiyoya's challenging response. He had not expected her to play such a bold move. But he was undeterred. Satoru chuckled lightly before responding, a mischievous glint in his eyes

"Oh, so you're testing my determination, are you? Well, I must say, I do love a challenge. You have my word, Chiyoya-san—I won't rest until I've proven myself worthy of your time. Consider me your persistent suitor from this moment on."

" 'Chiyoya-san'... that's new, usually you'd only call me Chiyoya" Chiyoya points out, smiling at him

Satoru couldn't help but chuckle at Chiyoya's observation. He hadn't realized that he had subconsciously added honorifics to her name. It slipped out so naturally. He shrugged, a playful grin on his lips

"Well, I guess it's just a testament to how much I respect and admire you. But I must admit, Chiyoya, it rolls off the tongue a lot better than 'Chiyoya-san.' Wouldn't you agree?"

"And Satsujin doesn't?" Chiyoya asked, referring to her given name, meaning murder

It made him curious as to why she's named that way

Satoru nodded in agreement, a smirk playing on his lips. He couldn't deny the fact that her given name, Satsujin, had a certain darkness to it. It intrigued him even more

"Oh, it does indeed. Satsujin is quite an interesting name. But, if you don't mind me asking, is there any particular reason behind it? The meaning seems a bit... ominous, don't you think?"

"It's not just me, my Father also has quite the name" Chiyoya answers, before her gaze turned to her Father, conversing with the current Sponsors

"Chiyoya Akui" Akui meaning Dark Intent

Satoru's curiosity grew even more at Chiyoya's words, and his gaze followed hers to her Father, Mr. Chiyoya. Her Father's name, Chiyoya Akui, held a certain mysterious weight to it as well.

"I see. It seems that the theme of names in your family is quite intriguing," Satoru mused, a small smirk on his lips. "Dark Intent, indeed. I wonder if there's something deeper behind the choice of those names."

"Back in the olden days of Japan, children at birth were given a temporary name to prevent dying, because it's believed that demons steal children with pretty names until they're given a permanent name at the age of 4" Chiyoya explained before turning to look at Satoru

"But to our case, it didn't matter what age, children of Chiyoya's were always taken the day after having their permanent name, a demon seemed to always watch us...lying in wait..." Chiyoya mutters, her eyes staring blankly at Satoru

"That's why we have quite the names from birth throughout our lives, the only hindrance it brings is it's quite hard to advertise to the masses with that kind of name" Chiyoya answers with a smile on her lips

Satoru listened intently to Chiyoya's words, a mix of intrigue and disbelief on his face. He had never heard of such a belief before, and it was hard to tell if she was joking or being serious. However, the gravity of her tone made him lean towards the latter

"That's quite a unique tradition and a rather dark one at that," Satoru responded, a slight shiver running down his spine. "And demons...is that another part of the tradition, or do you really believe in its authenticity?"

"It wouldn't hurt to follow such traditions, unless, you wish to see me die" Chiyoya teases, smiling blankly at him

Satoru raised an eyebrow at her response, slightly taken aback. He couldn't tell if she was being serious or just toying with him.

"Oh, so you'll die if I don't take this seriously, huh? That's a harsh consequence," He said with a hint of amusement. "I guess I have no choice but to take your traditions seriously if it means keeping you alive, Chiyoya."

"How so?" Chiyoya asked with a playful smile

Satoru returned her playful smile with one of his own. He couldn't deny the fact that he was enjoying her teasing. He leaned in slightly closer, a mischievous glint in his eyes

"Well, for starters, I guess I'd have to protect you from any demons lurking around, wouldn't I? Can't have anything happening to the beautiful heiress of the Chiyoya Clan," he said, his voice dripping with a flirtatious tone.

Chiyoya chuckles, shaking her head "If I were to have been given a normal name, what do you think my name would have been?" Chiyoya asked

Satoru hummed thoughtfully, his eyes roaming over Chiyoya's appearance as he considered the possibility. He couldn't help but imagine how different she would have been if she had a more normal name.

"Hmm, if you had a normal name, let's see...with your beauty and delicate features, I could see you having a name like Yua or perhaps Hibana," he suggested, his gaze locking with hers. "Though I must admit, there's something quite captivating about your given name, Satsujin."

"What appeal did you find from it?" Satoru took a moment to consider her question, his fingers gently tapping against his chin as his gaze drifted upward in thought.

"Well, the name Satsujin itself has a bit of darkness to it, and that definitely adds to its intrigue," he mused. "But it's not just about the name in itself, it's how you bear it. There's a sense of mystery and power in the way you wear the name Satsujin. It speaks... strength, resilience, and a hint of...danger."

"I didn't know these kinds of words would come from the Strongest Sorcerer" Chiyoya points out, smiling at him

Satoru chuckled at her remark, a playful smirk on his lips.

"Oh, I'm full of surprises, Chiyoya," he responded, his gaze never leaving her. "Being the strongest sorcerer doesn't mean I lack a bit of poetry in my heart. I appreciate beauty and intrigue, and you, my dear, have plenty of both."

Chiyoya looked at him blankly, sizing him up, making a decision in her head, before smiling "alright, you got my attention" Chiyoya reached over to her clutch, pulling out a calling card

"This is my personal phone number, be careful not to leak it, I'm free on Saturday, see you then" Chiyoya hands him over the business card.

Satoru's smile widened at her words and the gesture of the card. He accepted it with a nod and slipped it into his pocket.

"I'll be sure to keep it under wraps," he said, his eyes gleaming mischievously. "And rest assured, I'll keep our rendezvous on Saturday a closely guarded secret. Can't let anyone else claim the privilege of spending time with the captivating Chiyoya."

Chiyoya chuckles, standing up before flattening her dress "See you by then, Gojo-san, enjoy the rest of the party" Chiyoya said before turning to leave, walking up to her Father

Satoru watched as Chiyoya walked away, his gaze lingering on her figure until she reached her Father's side. Excitement coursed through his veins as he glanced down at the number scribbled on the business card.

"Chiyoya Satsujin," he muttered softly to himself, a small smile on his lips. "This is going to be an interesting weekend."

#jjk #gojo satoru #love story?#angst #jjk angst #oc #she's not nice #Spotify #severe angst #gojo satoruxoc?#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x oc #TrickTheDevil!AU

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illogicalconclusions · 2 days ago

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This is so pedantic and me being annoying but I’m getting into an argument on Reddit because the Beatles sub had a post asking which Beatle was the most conventionally attractive and everyone was saying Paul.

Like, yes Paul was the cute Beatle and to many the most hot but that’s because he specifically didn’t align with conventional beauty standards for men. He had a small button nose, round jaw, long eyelashes, etc., all things that are stereotypically feminine attractive traits. I’m not saying Paul isn’t attractive obviously he is/was I won’t even argue that he wasn’t the most attractive even though I don’t personally agree because like obviously he has a huge fan base of men and women alike who want to get him pregnant.

But that doesn’t mean he’s the most conventionally attractive!!! A lot of people LOVE big noses, but the beauty standard is a small nose. Just because a lot of people love a big nose doesn’t mean you could say Ringo is the most conventionally attractive because that’s not how it works.

Like if we’re going by conventional beauty, I think it has to be John. He’s literally got a Greek statue like face, great jawline and nose, was tall and broad. If you want to be horrible and use alphabro/incel language, he’s even the only Beatle that didn’t have a negative canthal tilt. Like, he is that man! He is conventional male beauty incarnate.

#George could also be in the running for most conventionally attractive #what with his jaw line high cheek bones and lithe body #but he also spent the early years of fame barely out of the awkward teenage phase #he was still acne-prone and had crooked teeth #so it’s gotta be John.

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laceyjane44 · 1 year ago

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GaaSaku 2023 Day18

Prompt: Secret Relationship/Masquerade

“Do not go too far, dear,” her mother scolded. “You must dance with a few of your bachelors this evening.”

“But, Mother,” her daughter whined. “The youngest among them is six years my senior, and the oldest would be comparable to dancing with Uncle!”

With a flick of her wrist, her mother folded her fan closed, using it to point at her daughter. A bejeweled and feathered mask, pinned perfectly to her hair and wrapped in a vibrant green silk, covered her mothers face though it was unable to cover the intensity of her glare. “And his fortune is comparable to that of a duke,” she hissed under her breath. “You are the only child of our name, and your uncle heads the family; without marriage, you’ll get nothing when your father and I are gone.

“I can manage my–”

“We cannot allow your youth to waste away while the prospect of your future remains destitute.” There was no room for rebuttal; there never was. “Understand?”

Sakura lowered her gaze, her voice quieting. “Yes, Mother.”

Another flick of her wrist, her fan was open again and she was waving the curled tendrils of her updo away from her face, the ballroom could be stifling at times. “Good, you behave as though you’d prefer a convent.”

“No, Mother.”

Observing her daughter for a moment, she sighed and waved a hand. “Go, mingle with the rest of the young women, perhaps they can assist you in narrowing down your choice. Duke Uchiha’s second son is quite the suitor, catching his attention would benefit the entirety of House Haruno.”

Sakura curtsied to her skirt and dipped her head. “Yes, Mother.”

With that, her mother; standing so straight and so refined, turned impeccably on a heel and joined her husband for the upcoming waltz. Sakura gripped her fan in her gloved hand, her mask feeling itchy against her face, her dress too ornamental and heavy for her liking, even her jewelry felt especially weighted today.

The grand hall was alight with the glow of the many sconces, candelabras and the chandeliers sparkling above. Music and dancing filled the space, a breathtaking display of fashion, etiquette, and beauty. The Masquerade ball, hosted by the palace and second only to royal celebrations, from the lowest of barons to the highest of grand dukes; all were in attendance, and all hid their faces for the chance to play the pauper and the stag.

Dress unlike her usual colors, mask that hid her face, and being one of the lowly barons’ daughters herself, she hadn’t needed a disguise for anonymity, her name and standing alone ensured no one – save for those who knew of her unique hair color – would distinguish her. She’d been approached by a few young men, though unfortunately for them she had recognized them despite their attire and had navigated her way out of a dance with them all thus far. Her mother had noticed, however, and she found her chances of avoiding the unwanted attention better on the terrace.

With a shawl wrapped over her arms and the heels of her shoes quietly clacking as she exited the hall, she climbed the grand staircase to the second floor where she hoped a balcony could be left empty for her. A guard stood near the terrace doors, and as she passed through into the evening air, the soldier didn’t even turn to glance at her. The door shut behind her, the sounds of the orchestra and the dancing sounded so far away now, only the starry sky and glowing moon were witness to her retreat. The gentle evening breeze of summer enveloped her as she leaned on the stone railings overlooking the central garden below, she had begun to wonder if he was even going to show –

“They’re relentless, aren’t they?”

Sakura gasped, spinning around spying a man stood near the door. He was a tall man, broad shoulders, crimson robes draped over his shoulders and belted at the hips with the ornaments of his nation. Even though that lavish and extravagantly embroidered fabric draped over his head and obscured his features, he hadn’t gotten memo of deception. Anyone to glimpse the exposed skin of his chest through his robes or see the adornments strung about his attire would have known of his name.

Her heart sprung to life within her chest, like a songbird with visions of freedom just beyond the bars of its cage, and she went to him. “Gaara!” she breathed as she leaned into him and he slipped his arms around her; strong, warm, and he always squeezed her more than the bachelor lords had ever dared to.

He lifted his arm and drew her to his side, the robe he wore inviting her into the warmth that always kept close to him. She shivered, in part because the air always felt colder when he was near, as if the sun of his homeland had followed him to this kingdom, and in part because of how the unabashed nakedness of his skin – no matter how modest – set her flesh alight.

“I loathe to have kept you waiting,” he said, ducking his head to whisper at her ear. She shivered at his breath along her neck.

“Did your session with the King go accordingly?” she asked, a life and an excitement breathing into her each time his deep blue eyes locked with her own.

Gaara nodded, admiring the beauty hugged against him, and he couldn’t help but tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, then continue to tickle her neck to deepen that color on her cheeks. “Exceedingly so,” he boasted, always proud of his achievements through his skills in diplomacy. “My siblings and I will bring news of enriched trade and commerce to the Sultan upon our return. The end of this conflict will belong in your history books,” he teased.

“Your father will be pleased with you?” she asked, her own eyes searching his for the signs of truth behind his response.

“Yes,” he agreed, smiling at the way her face lit up at telling of his victories. “And he will likely offer me reward,” he continued, his gaze traveling down her figure to the attire that had been weighing her down all evening.

He could never wrap his head around their peculiar customs of dress in this land, the women especially. Hoop skirts and corsets, stays and petticoats, all they did for him was cover up the beauty of feminine form, one that his people were wont to praise and admire. Though, he had caught on to certain customs, and he could not be caught unaware of the one currently employed by the flame of his heart.

The colors he often wore were too dark for a complexion such as hers, she was a fair woman, with pale skin and light hair, though he noticed some familiar accents on her gown this evening. When he had spied her in the ballroom, ascending the stairs to the terrace as if beckoning him to follow, the burgundy color of her eye mask and the accessories of the same hue called out to him across the crowded ballroom. “Who are you matching this evening?” he asked, his hand at her waist slipping up her boddice and enticing a blush on her cheeks. “I haven’t seen any men wearing this color.”

Sakura peered up at him before the intensity of his gaze caused her to look away. She brought her fan up to her lips, tapping it against her chin. “Have you seen a mirror?”

He didn’t answer, though something about the way that he held himself shifted slightly, and soon the hand at her waist was guiding her to turn toward the door again. “Come,” he invited her. “I wish to dance with you.”

Sakura nodded, quieting her heart and stealing her will; she had expected this, she was counting on it even, and it was precisely why she had attempted to match his color. Perhaps a dance with him would give tell of their romance, maybe her suitors would take that smart step back she’d been begging of them, or finally be able to kiss him and not be obscured by shadows to do so.

They entered the ballroom and descended the stairs, a few masks tilted their way, curious as to why they matched though she knew no one questioned their identity.

“Do you see my sister?” he asked when he leaned down. Sakura scanned the floor below, finding the familiar blonde surrounded by the usual number of men that followed her. She nodded. “What do you think of her attire?”

“She is stunning as always,” Sakura replied with a smile, though she had sung the praises of his sister’s style to him before. “Even among the nobles attending, her visage and apparel are radiant beyond compare.”

Gaara smiled, the draping of his robes obscuring his face as he and his family had forgone the traditions of masks in leu of what their own wardrobe contained. On the dance floor, Sakura took her place in his arms, her eyes shining up at him though he wished that embellished mask hadn’t obscured her feature from him.

“When I return home,” he began as they started their dance; her hand in his, his palm molded to her hip. “I will have secured a name for myself outside of the throne’s succession.”

Sakura nodded, her heart fluttering. He had come here for that very reason; to be an ambassador for his father, to show his support to his sister as the heir to their family throne, and to ensure that he had no need for such a seat in order to make himself known and respected. She had been awed by his willpower and conviction, he’d been so bright and well spoken; the moment she met him was the moment that all other suitors fell short and were found lacking. She didn’t want to think of what would become of her after his return, this illation and happiness she had found was nothing more than a dream she would ultimately wake from, and when she did; he would be gone.

She smiled as she looked down, bittersweet and hoping the mask would catch any tears to fall. They had never been meant for one another, they came from different worlds, and even though she had tried insisting on the very same from beginning, she had fallen so deeply for him, for the way that he admired her in all that she was, and all that she wished to become.

“I hope your journey is a safe one,” she said, unable to lift her gaze, certain that her eyes would betray her.

Gaara twirled her around, basking in the jealous looks and sidelong glances from the men she’d spurned in favor of him, and bent down to speak softly in her ear, rasping his voice in the way he knew would excite her. “I always thought you would be beautiful in Sunesion robes.” Just as he had hoped; goosebumps.

“You have?” she managed to say, her voice almost lost among the sweeping crescendos of the orchestra.

“The vision of you in such a way has a habit of keeping me awake,” he admitted, enjoying the way her features flushed when he wooed her.

He hadn’t known if she had fallen for his appearance or his eccentricity, for his mannerisms or his foreign alure as a man that had journey across the kingdoms from the far away sands and mystifying dunes. He did know, however, that he was not above using any of these qualities to his advantage when vying for the heart of his conquest. He could be bold if she needed, he could romance her if she preferred, he could lay waste to her suitors in combat as were his own customs; it didn’t matter, so long as she continued to choose him.

“I will send for you,” he spoke quietly to her, the vibrancy of her green eyes shining at him from behind her mask as she caught his gaze. “Deeds, dowry, land,” he listed, admiring the way she hung off his every word. “Your family can have it all, so long as they give me you.”

She couldn’t speak at first, her lips parted in stunned disbelief, and he mused that if she didn’t use them momentarily, he gladly would. Soon her brows pulled together beneath her mask, her shock burning away to hesitation. “You jest,” she accused, resisting the urge to turn from him. She needed to see his eyes as he answered, he could lie to anyone else with that iron stare, but he’d never done so to her.

“Only if this be your refusal,” he countered, his heart skipping a beat as he offered her escape from this dalliance they’d fallen into together. He’d chase after her if she ran, and he’d fight for her, if need be, but he had hoped that she would welcome his proposal. “Though, if it isn’t,” he said, his fingers plucking the pins affixing her mask in place. He removed it from her face, allowing him to drink in her beauty as the drapery of his robes slipped down his shoulder as he did so, and she took in the fullness of his features as if the rest of the world had fallen away. “I’d be tempted to steal you away.”

“Must you send for me?” she asked, her pulse thrumming in her veins, her thoughts now filled with visions of a foreign land and a man to love her there. Her hand rested on his shoulder gripped the fabric of his robes, scanning his face and succumbing to the softness of his gaze. “Can you not take me?”

Gaara smiled and shook his head. “Let me build a place for you,” he urged her, brushing a strand of hair out of her face and she frowned. “I want to do this right.”

The song was coming to an end, their dance concluding, and even as the music began to fade and their steps slowed, Sakura could hear nothing but his professions, could see nothing but the truth in his eyes, and could feel nothing but the desire for more of him.

“What of my suitors?” she challenged.

Admiring the way her expression reflected the racing thought within her mind, Gaara closed their dance amidst the pairs of couples swaying to the subsiding tune. He could feel the eyes on them as their dance ended, gazes hidden behind a sea of ambiguity, and he knew precisely how to thwart the abundance of admirers vying for her hand. He slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. “Kiss me,” he said. “Be mine.”

Sakura leaned in, pressing herself against him and encircling her arms around his neck when he bent down to her. She nodded; she’d been his since the day she met him, had fallen for him more deeply with each time they spoke, and henceforth she wouldn’t hide her love for him. “Yes,” she agreed, eyes fluttering closed as their lips met during the crowded masquerade ball, their faces bared and their intentions known.

Forever.

Thanks for reading!

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaceyJane

FanFiction: https://www.fanfiction.net/u/2120361/WiccadBaltane0501

#gaasaku #sabaku no gaara #ao3 #fan fest 2023 #gaasaku fan fest #sakura haruno #gaara #gaaraxsakura #naruto au #sakugaa #period au #masquerade ball #lovers

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nicolesixxbooks · 1 year ago

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13 - Killing Jars

Killing Jars

Jack… The light feminine whisper called through the darkness. Help me, Jack…

I need you.

Jack groaned, getting up from his warm bed despite the protests of his tired body, the urgent and fearful beckoning leading him onward.

Help me, Jack. It continued to beg. Help me, please. Please, please help me, Jack.

The cellar was full of jars. His wife’s growing obsession over canning had started innocently enough, just a few seasonal jams and sauces, but it had grown into a tall pickled archive of vegetables and meats. It was cold in the cellar tonight. Jack could even see his breath frosting over the glasses as he made his way through the stacks of rot and brine.

There, sitting on its own empty case of dust and cobwebs, was a single monarch butterfly. It was a stunning and unearthly creature and Jack let out a gasp despite himself, hesitating in slight awe before drawing near. Her wings were the most brilliant pale blue Jack had ever seen and they transfixed him almost hypnotically as she fluttered around helplessly within the jar.

Help me, Jack. She whispered, the pale frosty vapor of his own breath hanging between them and chasing small crystalline veins of ice up her glass. I need you.

Jack nodded, gently gripping the jar and untwisting the top, watching awestruck and shivering as she flew forth and flitted about, finally returning to land on his trembling pale cheek with the softest of kisses.

Thank you, Jack. She whispered into him, letting him feel the power and soft femineity of her true form. And now I need something else.

“What?” Jack asked, in that moment both her eager champion and slave.

Free me…

Blood, red and slick spilled from the prostitute’s stomach. She had pale saggy skin, marked from age and poor elasticity. She might even have children, waiting like stray kittens for her to come home and prepare them whatever constituted as breakfast in her strained heroin-soaked mind. Jack pulled the knife out, reveling in the shocked little look in those wide painted eyes before she buckled over, clutching weakly at the escaping pool of blood.

She came then, beautiful blue wings gently landing amongst the crimson and burrowing deep inside. The streetwalker cried out, spasming and thrashing against the pavement, her head and eyes rolling back as she convulsed in the orange-lit alleyway.

Then the hooker stopped and lapsed into silence.

Jack glared bitterly as she crawled out from the corpses mouth, fluttering her wings to shake off the blood of the rejected form before coming back to him.

The bodies continued to pile up between them as he searched yearningly for the right vessel, the proper host to once again give her form. Jack needed to save her, needed to make her whole, to make her real.

To free her…

…and yet.

“This isn’t working.” Jack choked, another blood-soaked night ending back at home in the quiet of his room. Too quiet, his wife away on another sales convention, his spirit lover still denied form.

“Nothing works.” He wept bitterly, hurling his knife at the floor like a sullen child, tears bleeding at the corners of his eyes in wet hot frustration. “So many women, not one of them worthy of holding you. Of freeing you.”

Hush. She whispered, kissing at his tears in the darkness without form, turning them into frosty trails of ice. I am patient, so must you be, Jack.

The temperature dropped, and Jack let out a breathy, foggy gasp as his belt slowly undid itself before him, his pants dropping to the floor as he was thrown back and paralyzed to the bed, his invisible paramour now taking full control.

He slept well after his own release, slept, and dreamed of butterflies.

Jack was growing more and more certain his wife had been the vessel they had needed all along. He watched her daily now, buzzing about the kitchen as she grilled him about another week’s activities he had missed. Buzzing, every part of her was the buzz of an insect these days, never standing still, never slowing down long enough to be a real woman. She took her form for granted, the softness of her flesh and hard curves of her body wasted as she flew about him, about the world. The itch to simply force this woman still festered within him, like infected blood or puss needing to be punctured and released.

Needing to be freed.

Even in sleep she was restless, a terror in the bed. Their love making had been passionate, ravenous as always, full of energy that she now continued to burn tossing and turning before him as he loomed nakedly over her at the foot of the bed. The knife was a cool calm gleam in the dark, his breathing paced and ragged, his member hard and erect as he climbed onto the bed and straddled her.

Jack’s wife woke in a groggy disposition and quickly he smothered her mouth with a heavy hand, slicing the knife through her throat and holding her there until she finally went blissfully still beneath him. He gasped, falling back on his knees and wiped the blood off of his face as he panted desperately.

She came, gracefully slipping into the jagged tear of his wife’s throat and then back out causing Jack to utter a painful howl, not of remorse but of impatience.

“No one.” He roared in despair. “No one is good enough. How can these corpses not want you? Can they not see everything you would be offering them? Your beauty? Your light?”

“How can they not love you?” He asked brokenly.

“I do.”

Jack swallowed nervously.

“Take me.” He breathed. “I offer myself.”

“I want you.” He begged, holding his head back and opening his mouth wide.

She flew into him, a choking rush of gagging and freezing wings, then she was within him, writhing and coursing about as he convulsed and thrashed on the bed.

Sweat clung to his brow, and chills raked at his spine as he breathed raggedly.

“Cold.” He breathed foggily into the air. “So cold.”

Jack felt his own hand brush his cheek, as the other stroked his inner thigh. He moved to cover it with the hand at his cheek, and the hand at his thigh squeezed it in loving response.

So long have I waited for a body. She whispered silkily within him, using his own hands to navigate her newfound exploration of his flesh. I have such plans for us, Jackie-Boy.

But for now… She stated huskily, his own hand finding and teasing the growing rigidness of his sex.

Let us just work on warming you up.

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onekisstotakewithme · 2 years ago

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for the writing meme, i'd love director's commentary on as much of the last section of "Beautiful to Take a Chance" as you'd like to provide! that's one of my favorite of your fics

I didn't know! Good old "Beautiful to Take a Chance," I'd be glad to offer director's commentary on this story 💜

Apologies in advance if this is like, less than coherent, the story is four years old... 😅

(but to spare everyone else, I'll do it under a read more)

Okay so it's obviously just a basic 5+1 structure, and this is actually a fic I don't think about very often! 😅

It starts with snuggling because I'm a soft-ass bitch at heart.

There are actually more parts to this universe, backstory pieces that demonstrate how Hawkeye has come to be this way (involving Carlye, primarily, and how she's the root of some of his insecurities.)

“Where do you get off always telling me I’m…” He chokes on the word. “Is that supposed to be funny? Cause if you look closely you may notice I am expressing zero mirth.”

This part particularly - Hawkeye doesn't believe he's beautiful. The whole story is kind of inspired by Alan being mildly self-conscious, and by Hawkeye not looking like a conventional "hero".

“See, there you go again!” Hawk says. “Look, pal, I’ve looked in the mirror a handful of times in my life, and I can tell you, it’s never Gene Kelly looking back at me.”

Why did I pick Gene Kelly? Because at the time I was mildly obsessed with Singin in the Rain. Although, personally, I prefer Donald O'Connor.

ANYWAY EVERYONE SHOULD TELL HAWKEYE HE'S PRETTY.

“Well why didn’t you lead in with that?” Hawk asks, certain he’s bright red by now. “I’d have believed you much sooner if you’d brought up sex.”

Don't you love when he says something upsetting and means it? I do. But like Hawkeye reducing himself to a tired old lech (this is particularly on my mind at the moment having watched That's Show Biz the other night. Hawkeye ties his worth to being good in bed.

Idiot.

“Too long nose. Too many limbs that are too long and gangly. I look like a stick insect. The wrong face.” Hawk gestures to himself. “Extra fat in the wrong places and skinny everywhere else. A small cock.”

And here's where i confess something: i don't like that last line. At the time I wrote this, the server I was in LOVED Hawkeye having a small cock and I kind of ran with that based on their influence. On my own merits, I wouldn't have written that because it feels cliche to me, a way of making him the "woman" in his and BJ's relationships. So anyway, this is an average Hawk cock truther blog.

“Yeah,” Hawk says. “In the same way Igor is a gourmet chef.”

On your left, you'll see me never missing the chance to take a jab at Igor, who I irrationally dislike.

“Shush.” BJ says, giving Hawk a searching look. “Your face is just right, dummy. Maybe your nose is long, but it gives you character that Gene Kelly could only dream of. Skinny arms and legs, so what? The food’s bad and you happen to be tall. I’ve heard women - and men - like that.”

Someone commented this on the fic i believe - and I agree wholeheartedly - that it's important that BJ doesn't dismiss how Hawkeye feels. He acknowledges those feelings and then proceeds to say that he loves them. That matters to me at least (also my nose is slightly too big so <3 )

“No,” BJ murmurs. “It’s the curve of your ear, and the silver in your hair, and the scar you have from falling off your bike when you were six, and the blue of your eyes and the scar on your lip… you’re beautiful, Hawkeye.”

I'm quite proud of this line! (most of the time I look back at older writing and go 'ehhh what's so special about it' but this line...)

anywayyyy I love them. Thank you!

#asks #director's commentary #thank you prax <3 #me seeing this ask doing the bryan cranston meme 'me?' as in YOU've read my fics? 🥺

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puppmeo · 11 months ago

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Painted my religious rave experience

#it was my first ever rave there were so many tall beautiful women i love lesbians i love women #i love women #rave #raving #con alt delete #cad 2023 #con alt del 2023 #convention #music #art #digital art #lesbian #butch lesbian #high posting #bummed a cigarette off the Beatles they took my lighter its okay they deserve it gave people edibles i love humanity #i love community i love life i love women i love lesbianism i love headbanging i love edibles i love raves #i love people

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gaeilmeta · 4 days ago

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She worked at “Our House”. I was at the “Downtown” residence. They were two of six normalization-oriented community-based group homes run by Main Street, Inc. Main Street was established during the period when the maltreatment scandals of state-run mental hospitals were being exposed in the media. As a result, mentally and/or developmentally disabled folks, for so many years cruelly warehoused and maltreated in large state facilities, were being discharged and creating enormous needs for community placements and care. Main Street’s unique charter mission contended it could service many of even the most severely afflicted in community-based settings.

We first encountered one another when a particularly difficult male client had been placed at the Our House facility. Uncooperative and sometimes combative, the all-female staff at Our House felt he was beyond their ability to manage. Because I had some past success with combative clients, the agency director transferred me over to see whether I might be able to improve matters.

My initial reaction upon our formal introduction had to be immediately seized and dragged back to its dungeon cell hidden deep within the recesses of my sadly salacious mind. To me at least, she was that striking. It took maximum clenching strength to keep my jaw from dropping to my clavicles. So fearful my prurient reverie would be obvious, I shook her hand mechanically and quickly turned away frantic to seek refuge in the first distraction I could find.

(continued below)

Keep in mind to visualize each of the celebrities I’m about to mention the way they would’ve appeared in their early twenties. Begin with Cyndi Lauper as a predominant base. Next, chisel down Cyndi’s roundish facial structure somewhat in favor of the sharper features of say an Amy Adams. Then lightly dab with Jodie Foster’s boyish, girl-next-door appeal. To finish, add a pair of piercing blue eyes and close-cropped strawberry blonde hair, with emphasis on the strawberry, though she did often dye it platinum. That’s about the closest image I can conjure.

Carole King’s lyric “It's too late baby, now it's too late.” became a mantra of sorts for me; singing the line, humming it, playing it over and over in my head. It was all I had to try to convince myself that she had to already belong to somebody. If I could do that, I might have a reasonable chance of arresting my infatuation and possibly prevent it from being embarrassingly plastered all over my face on a daily basis. I mean we were co-workers, not a circumstance for the kinds of inappropriate urges that were ricocheting around inside my head. It was incumbent upon me to maintain a proper workplace manner.

When I first overheard her referring to a boyfriend Travis, it came as a devastating blow to my fantasies, but in practicality also as a welcomed relief. There, I had an answer to my dilemma. Just as I had realistically suspected, she was of course otherwise encumbered, unobtainable, beyond reach. With a coping tool like that stuck in my work belt, I’d have at least some chance at maintaining a professional pretense. Unfortunately, the small comfort of thinking her involved didn’t last long.

After allowing a few prudent days to lapse, I strategically probed the staffer with whom I had earlier overheard her speaking. I soon learned that she had naturally pursued modeling, done advertising shoots, made appearances in a few local television commercials and was called on intermittently by a handful of agencies to be among the “pretty women” paid to pose and mill about celebrations, festivals, conventions, product shows, etc. She was continuing to model off and on, but the work was inconsistent and she had hit a barrier of sorts. “Just not tall enough....”, was preventing her from getting the kind of referrals that could advance her into the right circles. She was being paid comparative peanuts and, along with the curse of beauty, there was always the tedious fending off of unseemly proposals from escort services, low-level pornographers and other bottom feeders lurking in the dugouts of modeling’s minor leagues. Apparently, she was about to abandon her hopes of parlaying modeling into an on-camera career of some sort. Her best chance had evidently come and gone when she didn’t get a call back from the “weather lady” audition. Moreover, without the money to retain a top agent things simply weren’t likely to break her way. Those were her problems, whereas the blockbuster news for me was finding out that her Travis relationship had been terminated with prejudice many months prior. Yeow! So she was without a significant other. That meant back to fretting about how the hell I was ever going to manage a proper workplace posture?” But hold on, wait for it.... the whole situation soon got way worse.

Main Street, Inc. was expanding. Another group home was being added in the spring. It was projected to become the agency showcase, proving even the more difficult dually diagnosed, i.e. developmentally disabled and psychiatrically disturbed, could be treated in a community setting. It seemed the head office regarded us among their standouts. I was recruited to be manager of the new endeavor and she was assigned as assistant manager. My busted balls! We were going to be working together more closely and more consistently than ever. I’d need every ounce of any “professionalism” I could muster. Oh fucking boy! Here we go!

April dissolved into a blur of preparation. May and the first few weeks of June were nightmares of all-consuming efforts to arrange psychiatric, medical, medication, transportation and workshop schedules for four particularly afflicted physically, mentally and developmentally disabled adults, and of course to settle and reorient them. That required the hiring and coordination of a 365/24/7 team of four full-time staff, two overnight workers, ancillary supports and any interns we could scavenge. Astoundingly, despite ever-present potential for failure and countless bouts of herding cats and chasing chickens, it all came together. I also evidently did well enough at concealing my perpetual craving to jump her bones since there was no feedback I could detect from any quarter that remotely suggested awareness of my less than wholesome inclinations.

#anecdote #romance #meeting

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rjalker · 1 year ago

Text

The Diamond Necklace, by Guy de Maupassant.

from The Complete Original Short Stories of Guy de Maupassant

2,850 words long.

The girl was one of those pretty and charming young creatures who sometimes are born, as if by a slip of fate, into a family of clerks. She had no dowry, no expectations, no way of being known, understood, loved, married by any rich and distinguished man; so she let herself be married to a little clerk of the Ministry of Public Instruction.

She dressed plainly because she could not dress well, but she was unhappy as if she had really fallen from a higher station; since with women there is neither caste nor rank, for beauty, grace and charm take the place of family and birth. Natural ingenuity, instinct for what is elegant, a supple mind are their sole hierarchy, and often make of women of the people the equals of the very greatest ladies.

Mathilde suffered ceaselessly, feeling herself born to enjoy all delicacies and all luxuries. She was distressed at the poverty of her dwelling, at the bareness of the walls, at the shabby chairs, the ugliness of the curtains. All those things, of which another woman of her rank would never even have been conscious, tortured her and made her angry. The sight of the little Breton peasant who did her humble housework aroused in her despairing regrets and bewildering dreams. She thought of silent antechambers hung with Oriental tapestry, illumined by tall bronze candelabra, and of two great footmen in knee breeches who sleep in the big armchairs, made drowsy by the oppressive heat of the stove. She thought of long reception halls hung with ancient silk, of the dainty cabinets containing priceless curiosities and of the little coquettish perfumed reception rooms made for chatting at five o'clock with intimate friends, with men famous and sought after, whom all women envy and whose attention they all desire.

When she sat down to dinner, before the round table covered with a tablecloth in use three days, opposite her husband, who uncovered the soup tureen and declared with a delighted air, “Ah, the good soup! I don't know anything better than that,” she thought of dainty dinners, of shining silverware, of tapestry that peopled the walls with ancient personages and with strange birds flying in the midst of a fairy forest; and she thought of delicious dishes served on marvellous plates and of the whispered gallantries to which you listen with a sphinxlike smile while you are eating the pink meat of a trout or the wings of a quail.

She had no gowns, no jewels, nothing. And she loved nothing but that. She felt made for that. She would have liked so much to please, to be envied, to be charming, to be sought after.

She had a friend, a former schoolmate at the convent, who was rich, and whom she did not like to go to see any more because she felt so sad when she came home.

But one evening her husband reached home with a triumphant air and holding a large envelope in his hand.

“There,” said he, “there is something for you.”

She tore the paper quickly and drew out a printed card which bore these words: The Minister of Public Instruction and Madame Georges Ramponneau request the honor of M. and Madame Loisel's company at the palace of the Ministry on Monday evening, January 18th.

Instead of being delighted, as her husband had hoped, she threw the invitation on the table crossly, muttering:

“What do you wish me to do with that?”

“Why, my dear, I thought you would be glad. You never go out, and this is such a fine opportunity. I had great trouble to get it. Every one wants to go; it is very select, and they are not giving many invitations to clerks. The whole official world will be there.”

She looked at him with an irritated glance and said impatiently:

“And what do you wish me to put on my back?”

He had not thought of that. He stammered:

“Why, the gown you go to the theatre in. It looks very well to me.”

He stopped, distracted, seeing that his wife was weeping. Two great tears ran slowly from the corners of her eyes toward the corners of her mouth.

“What's the matter? What's the matter?” he answered.

By a violent effort she conquered her grief and replied in a calm voice, while she wiped her wet cheeks:

“Nothing. Only I have no gown, and, therefore, I can't go to this ball. Give your card to some colleague whose wife is better equipped than I am.”

He was in despair. He resumed:

“Come, let us see, Mathilde. How much would it cost, a suitable gown, which you could use on other occasions—something very simple?”

She reflected several seconds, making her calculations and wondering also what sum she could ask without drawing on herself an immediate refusal and a frightened exclamation from the economical clerk.

Finally she replied hesitating:

“I don't know exactly, but I think I could manage it with four hundred francs.”

He grew a little pale, because he was laying aside just that amount to buy a gun and treat himself to a little shooting next summer on the plain of Nanterre, with several friends who went to shoot larks there of a Sunday.

But he said:

“Very well. I will give you four hundred francs. And try to have a pretty gown.”

The day of the ball drew near and Madame Loisel seemed sad, uneasy, anxious. Her frock was ready, however. Her husband said to her one evening:

“What is the matter? Come, you have seemed very queer these last three days.”

And she answered:

“It annoys me not to have a single piece of jewelry, not a single ornament, nothing to put on. I shall look poverty-stricken. I would almost rather not go at all.”

“You might wear natural flowers,” said her husband. “They're very stylish at this time of year. For ten francs you can get two or three magnificent roses.”

She was not convinced.

“No; there's nothing more humiliating than to look poor among other women who are rich.”

“How stupid you are!” her husband cried. “Go look up your friend, Madame Forestier, and ask her to lend you some jewels. You're intimate enough with her to do that.”

She uttered a cry of joy:

“True! I never thought of it.”

The next day she went to her friend and told her of her distress.

Madame Forestier went to a wardrobe with a mirror, took out a large jewel box, brought it back, opened it and said to Madame Loisel:

“Choose, my dear.”

She saw first some bracelets, then a pearl necklace, then a Venetian gold cross set with precious stones, of admirable workmanship. She tried on the ornaments before the mirror, hesitated and could not make up her mind to part with them, to give them back. She kept asking:

“Haven't you any more?”

“Why, yes. Look further; I don't know what you like.”

Suddenly she discovered, in a black satin box, a superb diamond necklace, and her heart throbbed with an immoderate desire. Her hands trembled as she took it. She fastened it round her throat, outside her high-necked waist, and was lost in ecstasy at her reflection in the mirror.

Then she asked, hesitating, filled with anxious doubt:

“Will you lend me this, only this?”

“Why, yes, certainly.”

She threw her arms round her friend's neck, kissed her passionately, then fled with her treasure.

The night of the ball arrived. Madame Loisel was a great success. She was prettier than any other woman present, elegant, graceful, smiling and wild with joy. All the men looked at her, asked her name, sought to be introduced. All the attaches of the Cabinet wished to waltz with her. She was remarked by the minister himself.

She danced with rapture, with passion, intoxicated by pleasure, forgetting all in the triumph of her beauty, in the glory of her success, in a sort of cloud of happiness comprised of all this homage, admiration, these awakened desires and of that sense of triumph which is so sweet to woman's heart.

She left the ball about four o'clock in the morning. Her husband had been sleeping since midnight in a little deserted anteroom with three other gentlemen whose wives were enjoying the ball.

He threw over her shoulders the wraps he had brought, the modest wraps of common life, the poverty of which contrasted with the elegance of the ball dress. She felt this and wished to escape so as not to be remarked by the other women, who were enveloping themselves in costly furs.

Loisel held her back, saying: “Wait a bit. You will catch cold outside. I will call a cab.”

But she did not listen to him and rapidly descended the stairs. When they reached the street they could not find a carriage and began to look for one, shouting after the cabmen passing at a distance.

They went toward the Seine in despair, shivering with cold. At last they found on the quay one of those ancient night cabs which, as though they were ashamed to show their shabbiness during the day, are never seen round Paris until after dark.

It took them to their dwelling in the Rue des Martyrs, and sadly they mounted the stairs to their flat. All was ended for her. As to him, he reflected that he must be at the ministry at ten o'clock that morning.

She removed her wraps before the glass so as to see herself once more in all her glory. But suddenly she uttered a cry. She no longer had the necklace around her neck!

“What is the matter with you?” demanded her husband, already half undressed.

She turned distractedly toward him.

“I have—I have—I've lost Madame Forestier's necklace,” she cried.

He stood up, bewildered.

“What!—how? Impossible!”

They looked among the folds of her skirt, of her cloak, in her pockets, everywhere, but did not find it.

“You're sure you had it on when you left the ball?” he asked.

“Yes, I felt it in the vestibule of the minister's house.”

“But if you had lost it in the street we should have heard it fall. It must be in the cab.”

“Yes, probably. Did you take his number?”

“No. And you—didn't you notice it?”

“No.”

They looked, thunderstruck, at each other. At last Loisel put on his clothes.

“I shall go back on foot,” said he, “over the whole route, to see whether I can find it.”

He went out. She sat waiting on a chair in her ball dress, without strength to go to bed, overwhelmed, without any fire, without a thought.

Her husband returned about seven o'clock. He had found nothing.

He went to police headquarters, to the newspaper offices to offer a reward; he went to the cab companies—everywhere, in fact, whither he was urged by the least spark of hope.

She waited all day, in the same condition of mad fear before this terrible calamity.

Loisel returned at night with a hollow, pale face. He had discovered nothing.

“You must write to your friend,” said he, “that you have broken the clasp of her necklace and that you are having it mended. That will give us time to turn round.”

She wrote at his dictation.

At the end of a week they had lost all hope. Loisel, who had aged five years, declared:

“We must consider how to replace that ornament.”

The next day they took the box that had contained it and went to the jeweler whose name was found within. He consulted his books.

“It was not I, madame, who sold that necklace; I must simply have furnished the case.”

Then they went from jeweler to jeweler, searching for a necklace like the other, trying to recall it, both sick with chagrin and grief.

They found, in a shop at the Palais Royal, a string of diamonds that seemed to them exactly like the one they had lost. It was worth forty thousand francs. They could have it for thirty-six.

So they begged the jeweler not to sell it for three days yet. And they made a bargain that he should buy it back for thirty-four thousand francs, in case they should find the lost necklace before the end of February.

Loisel possessed eighteen thousand francs which his father had left him. He would borrow the rest.

He did borrow, asking a thousand francs of one, five hundred of another, five louis here, three louis there. He gave notes, took up ruinous obligations, dealt with usurers and all the race of lenders. He compromised all the rest of his life, risked signing a note without even knowing whether he could meet it; and, frightened by the trouble yet to come, by the black misery that was about to fall upon him, by the prospect of all the physical privations and moral tortures that he was to suffer, he went to get the new necklace, laying upon the jeweler's counter thirty-six thousand francs.

When Madame Loisel took back the necklace Madame Forestier said to her with a chilly manner:

“You should have returned it sooner; I might have needed it.”

She did not open the case, as her friend had so much feared. If she had detected the substitution, what would she have thought, what would she have said? Would she not have taken Madame Loisel for a thief?

Thereafter Madame Loisel knew the horrible existence of the needy. She bore her part, however, with sudden heroism. That dreadful debt must be paid. She would pay it. They dismissed their servant; they changed their lodgings; they rented a garret under the roof.

She came to know what heavy housework meant and the odious cares of the kitchen. She washed the dishes, using her dainty fingers and rosy nails on greasy pots and pans. She washed the soiled linen, the shirts and the dishcloths, which she dried upon a line; she carried the slops down to the street every morning and carried up the water, stopping for breath at every landing. And dressed like a woman of the people, she went to the fruiterer, the grocer, the butcher, a basket on her arm, bargaining, meeting with impertinence, defending her miserable money, sou by sou.

Every month they had to meet some notes, renew others, obtain more time.

Her husband worked evenings, making up a tradesman's accounts, and late at night he often copied manuscript for five sous a page.

This life lasted ten years.

At the end of ten years they had paid everything, everything, with the rates of usury and the accumulations of the compound interest.

Madame Loisel looked old now. She had become the woman of impoverished households—strong and hard and rough. With frowsy hair, skirts askew and red hands, she talked loud while washing the floor with great swishes of water. But sometimes, when her husband was at the office, she sat down near the window and she thought of that gay evening of long ago, of that ball where she had been so beautiful and so admired.

What would have happened if she had not lost that necklace? Who knows? who knows? How strange and changeful is life! How small a thing is needed to make or ruin us!

But one Sunday, having gone to take a walk in the Champs Elysees to refresh herself after the labors of the week, she suddenly perceived a woman who was leading a child. It was Madame Forestier, still young, still beautiful, still charming.

Madame Loisel felt moved. Should she speak to her? Yes, certainly. And now that she had paid, she would tell her all about it. Why not?

She went up.

“Good-day, Jeanne.”

The other, astonished to be familiarly addressed by this plain good-wife, did not recognize her at all and stammered:

“But—madame!—I do not know—You must have mistaken.”

“No. I am Mathilde Loisel.”

Her friend uttered a cry.

“Oh, my poor Mathilde! How you are changed!”

“Yes, I have had a pretty hard life, since I last saw you, and great poverty—and that because of you!”

“Of me! How so?”

“Do you remember that diamond necklace you lent me to wear at the ministerial ball?”

“Yes. Well?”

“Well, I lost it.”

“What do you mean? You brought it back.”

“I brought you back another exactly like it. And it has taken us ten years to pay for it. You can understand that it was not easy for us, for us who had nothing. At last it is ended, and I am very glad.”

Madame Forestier had stopped.

“You say that you bought a necklace of diamonds to replace mine?”

“Yes. You never noticed it, then! They were very similar.”

And she smiled with a joy that was at once proud and ingenuous.

Madame Forestier, deeply moved, took her hands.

“Oh, my poor Mathilde! Why, my necklace was paste! It was worth at most only five hundred francs!”

#long post #short stories #Rjalker reads The Complete Original Short Stories of Guy de Maupassant #public domain characters #public domain stories #public domain #The Diamond Necklace

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