#the latter two dont really have any meaning tho. i just liked how it sounded.

[unfo11owmelol]

Ive changed my username so many times by now that I dont even know them all anymore 😂

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | oneshot smut [18+]

title. around the clock

Hooking up with your little brother’s babysitter? That sounds more like a bad porno than a sensible decision.

ᰔ pairing. babysitter/boxing au - underground boxer & babysitter!gojo x college student!reader (f)

ᰔ summary. when underground boxer gojo satoru becomes a little strapped for cash, he gets a day job as a babysitter for a five-year-old kid named yuuji who most definitely has adhd (but that’s besides the point). the kid’s mom gave gojo two rules, and two rules only: don’t accidentally kill my son, and do not flirt with my daughter. he’s pretty sure he’s got a good hold on the former, but he’s got no self control over the latter.

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem!reader, smut, casual sex, lil bit of fluff, lil bit of crack, slight age gap (reader’s 22 & gojo’s 27), cum play, creampie, unprotected sex, praise kink, slight degradation, gojo is a sleazebag that cares?, sort of porn-coded smut except there’s a lil bit of lore so it’s kinda porn w plot, uhh having sex with risk of getting caught, gojo beats people up at night & then plays father figure to a 5 y/o during the day, mentions of violence/alcohol/drugs/blood/cigarettes

ᰔ word count. 12.6k

a/n. hiiii friends jeez it feels like FOREVER since i've posted some good ol' smut (still has plot tho xd)...hopefully you enjoy n see ya at the bottom! lmk if i missed any warnings! if you asked to be tagged but didn’t get tagged it’s bc you have your tags off aaa :( even when some ppl tried to fix it i still couldn’t tag them i’m sorry!!

alsoooooo so very much love to @starmapz for beta reading this for me :”) really helped me w my posting nerves haha. she is also a wonderful jjk author pls go check out her works!! 💕 ART CREDITS: @/3-aem

➸ masterlist

2:34 pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): heyy um i’m sorry if this comes off kinda rude i just am kinda bad with this but i was wondering if you could text my mom for questions about yuuji’s care instead of me?

2:46pm Gojo Satoru: Oh 2:46pm Gojo Satoru: Yeah, sure

2:34 pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): sorry i know my mom doesn’t know much ab how to take care of him bc i was the one that took care of him for a while but i just really want to separate myself from that guardian role now that i’ve transferred to NYU yknow? :/ i think it’s not my place anymore. i just wanna be big sis now haha

2:46pm Gojo Satoru: I get it. Sorry if I was making you uncomfortable with my texts

2:48pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): no no not uncomfy by it, thanks for looking after him. it’s just i’m kind of busy n stuff so it can be distracting 

2:49pm Gojo Satoru: Ok, got it

2:52pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): and it was kind of an issue with his last babysitter

2:53pm Gojo Satoru: Oh?

2:55pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeahhh like he would keep textinf me n stuff uhh kinda weird things… i told my mom about it and she was super pissed so she fired him

2:55pm Gojo Satoru: Weird things?

2:56pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeah he was always “accidentally sexting me” n like he sent me a dick pic once sooooo yeah

2:56pm Gojo Satoru: Who tf 2:56pm Gojo Satoru: I’ll go beat him up

2:57pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): oh no no its fine lol 2:57pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): please dont beat anyone up 2:58pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i’m not saying you’re like him tho i just think maybe less texting unless its an emergency okay?

3:00pm Gojo Satoru: Are you sure because I will totally go beat him up for you

3:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): NO I DONT WANT YOU TO BEAT ANYONE UP FOR ME 3:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): also no offense but you dont look like you could beat someone up

3:01pm Gojo Satoru: WHAT 3:02pm Gojo Satoru: Tf you mean “no offense” that’s literally the most offensive thing you could say to a guy

3:04pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeaa i mean you have muscles ofc but in the ‘ohhh i wanna look good for instagram’ way and not like real man muscles yknow

3:06pm Gojo Satoru: Ok princess next time you visit home and go on one of your stupidly large grocery hauls I’ll make sure you carry all those groceries in by yourself 

3:06pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): NO 3:07pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): I WAS JUST JOKING 3:07pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): YOURE SO STRONG TY FOR ALWAYS CARRYING THE GROCERIES INSIDE 3:08pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): PLEASE KEEP CARRYING MY GROCERIES INSIDE

3:09pm Gojo Satoru: Nah 3:09pm Gojo Satoru: Should we be texting right now? I’m not sensing any emergencies here

3:11pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): pls. my groceries :(

3:16pm Gojo Satoru: I’ll let the kiddo know you say hi 👋🏼 

The irony of it all was that, if Gojo really wanted to, he absolutely could beat the shit out of someone. And he has, hundreds of times, pseudo professionally. Although that isn’t something he’d admit to you, out of fear that you might relay that info back to your mom who would then become mortified that she’s entrusted her five-year-old son’s life to the hands of an underground boxer. 

But he needed the money. A night-time job didn’t really make daytime money, not when they could easily replace him with the next dude the second he gets knocked out of the ring more than twice, let alone if he let it happen once. And although he sometimes made large sums, it wasn’t stable income. He needed a back-up plan, and so babysitting it was. 

The babysitter working nights at unsanctioned dojos and gyms located in the back of cartel blocks, knocking teeth out of men twice his size, would put any decent mother into a coma or induce some episode of syncope, hence why it wasn’t something he put on his resume before he got hired. Not that he even needed to provide a resume; your mom seemed desperate to cover the position as fast as possible, that promotion at work was moving faster than she wanted to, and Gojo’s beneficial attribute that he possessed as a candidate to look after her son, compared to all the other potential hires, was that he had a penis.

He likes the kid. Yuuji. He’s got kind of a short attention span, and makes Gojo weary of his age. Hold up, that makes him sound like he’s geriatric, he’s really only the ripe old age of twenty-seven, but the immortality and infinite stamina that a five-year-old boy has on him is enough to have him huffing and puffing at the end of every single evening shift he takes on with the rascal. 

Fighting is all sprint, and no stamina. Sure, there might be some more seasoned boxers that might disagree with him, but for someone as young as him in the field, it’s the tactic he’s been forced to gain. If he draws a fight on for too long, he'll get killed by a forty-two year old man with steroids clogging up his adipose tissue and enough  testosterone to grow a full-body beard by the time the sun starts to set. No, his strategy is to knock them out within the first fifteen seconds. Use their weight against them, and whatnot. A tactic he’s found has worked, since he’s been undefeated thus far. 

He can never wrap his head around it. The drug lords that run the rings who’ve gained millions the night before from selling crystal meth only to lose it all the night following in the second Gojo hooklines a solid punch to their betting boxer’s chin, making them see God & their Momma before they tap out (if they’re even able).

He doesn’t pocket much money from it, not anything compared to what the men who bet on him end up making at least, but it’s a decently solid sum. How lucrative it really is depends solely on what he thinks the value of his life is.

It’s not unheard of, boxers dying in the ring. Turns out, rich drug dealers care very little about the sheep they’ve captured to perform their entertaining little stunts. But Gojo wasn’t doing all of this to feel some sense of work-life pride, no, it was just sustenance. When basic needs are not met, humans resort to the most animalistic of all behaviors, and while he’s not proud of what he does, he can’t deny the fact that it’s turned him into an adrenaline junkie that gets a rush in his veins every time he knocks a jaw loose.

But balance was key. And hence why he’s a boxer by night, babysitter by day. For at least four days a week, he gets to pretend he’s the king’s most trusted appointed knight, or he’s the radioactive tyrannosaurus rex that wants to tyrannize all the other dinosaurs, or maybe he’s the evil power ranger (he always forgets which color that one was) that is determined to make the world a living hell by smashing mr. potatohead against the bunk bed post a billion times for all the other toys to see. Or whatever other imaginative hyperfixations Yuuji imposes on him in the later afternoon once he’s had his bowl of spaghetti-O’s and is ready to play. Lately, the kid’s been really into space. They’ve got all sorts of space toys these days. Back in Gojo’s day, he just had a good ol’ Buzz Lightyear.

“One rule, that’s it: don’t accidentally kill my son. Actually, one more rule. Don’t flirt with my daughter.” 

There’s a part of Gojo that believes your mom kind of knows he’s up to shady shit at night, otherwise why else would she clause for him to not flirt with you if she didn’t read the slight swell to his eye and the healing gash across his cheek as anything other than this boy is trouble and I want him nowhere near my too-good-for-him daughter of reproductive capacity since that’s the exact tale of how I became a single mother in the first place. Or maybe he inherently looks like he’s up to no good? He’s not sure which angle is more offensive, and which one was more flattering. Well in any case, she entrusted Yuuji’s life to him, despite acknowledging the plausibility of harm, and that means she overall thinks positively of him, right? ……right?

The first night he met you, it was awkward to say the least. Gojo spends most of his nights performing deadly stunts for middle aged men with potbellies, and most of his days hanging out with a five-year-old (one who he’d argue is his only friend at this point). Sure, he’s got some people he sees occasionally back in his high school hometown when he can brave hearing about how everyone’s in college now or doing a masters or they’re working respectable nine-to-five day jobs meanwhile he has to lie to his Pops that he’s been working in insurance for the past two years. Listen, in fairness, he probably makes the same amount of money as an insurance broker would anyways, but he can’t exactly own up to the identity of his craft. 

Anyways, the point is, he’s not used to seeing other people his age anymore. There’s the occasional hook-up with girls he hasn’t seen since Mrs. Tracy’s homeroom period back in sweet two-thousand-sixteen, or his twice-a-year hangout with Suguru where he only learns the day of where he's visiting from since the guy moves around more than Gojo can keep up with. But save for that, he mostly just sees your mom and then Yuuji. 

So seeing you standing in the kitchen for the first time when he went to put Yuuji’s half-finished GoGurt back in the fridge was startling to say the least. When the sight of a woman startled him, he knew he needed to start getting out again.

You were on your tiptoes, reaching up to grab at something over the fridge, and wearing these ridiculously short shorts to where he could see the curve of your ass, his line of sight trailing down the skin of your bare legs. He couldn’t see anything of your form above your shorts, given you were wearing an extremely baggy t-shirt with NYU on it in big bolded university letters. As far as he knew, you were a senior at NYU, studying psychology, made dean’s list consecutively for the past three years given the way your mother posted all your stellar transcripts up on the fridge (he gets that she’s proud of her daughter, but doesn’t that kind of stuff usually end in grade school?) But other than that, it was all the information he had on you.

“Here,” he said, pressing his front to your back, maybe just to get a feel, as he reached over to you to finally grab the box of cereal you were swatting for, the one that he purposefully placed at the back because Yuuji learned how to climb counters recently. “Is this what you want?”

He had heard you gasp, spinning around on your heel fast, staring up at him with wide eyes like you weren’t expecting some random man to be in the house right now, and your first instinct ended up being to grab the knife out of the kitchen knife block and lunge it straight at his torso.

If it wasn’t for his boxer reflexes, he’d have ended up at the ER that evening. Or dead. All depending on the strength you could pack into a stab. But instead, he deflected it, though not without a gash to his torso through the fabric of his shirt, one that you spent the rest of the evening profusely apologizing for and eventually mending to with cotton balls and neosporin. 

“I didn’t know you were my little brother’s babysitter,” you mumbled with a small wince on your face as you dabbed ointment on the wound while he pulled the hem of his shirt up to his shoulder. He’s never had an injury tended to before. It was nice.

“It’s fine, I get it, totally acceptable response to seeing a random dude in your house.”

He remembers the curl of your eyelashes while you stared down at his bare upper half, something he imprinted on his memory rather than the concern in your face as your fingertips traced the scars across his chest. He hoped they made you feel better about the one you just slashed into him, because after all, what was one more? 

He knows he shouldn’t have, but he kissed you that night. Two minutes before your mom came home, and right after you bid him goodnight with one more apology, he backed you up against the door of your bedroom, his hands on your hips pulling you towards him, and his lips pressed against yours. Something seamless, from candid conversation that was heading towards an end, to full fledged making out against white-painted wood, his teeth nipping at your lip and he wondered just how touch-starved those university boys were leaving you given the desperate way you’d clinged to his shirt for dear life as he deepened the kiss.

The moment only lasted one minute and fifty-seven seconds, and in the remaining three, your mother’s key pushed into the front door and he had to pull away. Always, on the dot, 10PM, she was home. It was how he knew he had two minutes left to make a move in the first place.

So much for no flirting.

6:57pm Gojo Satoru: Bahahah I accidentally forgot where yuuji’s epipen is 6:58pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo] 6:59pm Gojo Satoru: Turns out this can-o-soup was just covering it in the cabinet

7:01pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): ??? why did you need to find his epipen

7:08pm Gojo Satoru: Oh he accidentally took a bite of my pad thai 7:09pm Gojo Satoru: I freaked cuz I thought it had peanuts in it but I remember I asked for it without any  7:09pm Gojo Satoru: shit’s crazy

7:10pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): WHY THE FUCK DIDNT YOU TEXT ME????????

7:12pm Gojo Satoru: YOU SAID YOU DIDNT WANT ME TEXTING YOU UNLESS IT WAS AN EMERGENCY ?

7:13pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): SATORU YOU THOGHT HE ATE SOMETHING W PEANUTS IN IT AND YOU FORGOT WHERE HIS EPIPEN WAS THATSS A FUCKIGN EMERGENCY

7:15pm Gojo Satoru: THE KID IS DOING FINE HES ALIVE JESUS LEAVE ME ALONE 7:16pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo] 7:16pm Gojo Satoru: See. he’s chill 7:17pm Gojo Satoru: with intact airways might I add 7:18pm Gojo Satoru: Also isn’t he a little too old to still be watching baby sensory videos?

7:20pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): yeah my mom thinks he has adhd :(

7:22pm Gojo Satoru: oh

He tried to keep his word though (although he doesn’t recall ever giving it) out of the respect he had for your mom. She was a hard-working lady, single mom of two who went from working three jobs to now being a major administrator at a big law firm near the outskirts of town. It was an underdog story if he’d ever heard one, and he loved an underdog story. 

But a little texting here and there wouldn’t hurt, right? Or so he thought, until you told him to cut it out with the contact. Maybe you were just trying to be the good one in this situation. After all, hooking up with your little brother’s babysitter? That sounds more like a bad porno than a sensible decision. Still, he’ll eventually get your replies to his which shirt should Yuuji wear to the park? and look, the toothfairy gave him the butt of a joint and a couple thumbtacks for his front tooth. he’s ecstatic texts, although in a less timely manner than before when you weren’t trying to preserve propriety. And when you’d occasionally visit every other weekend, he’d do his best to keep his hands in his pockets, and you’d fill up your nights with hangouts with your hometown friends to avoid spending too much time with him at the house. A silent agreement to not fuck each other, it was. 

4:55pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): send pic of yuuji pls i miss him :(

5:04pm Gojo Satoru: [sent a photo]

5:08pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): IS THAT BLOOD?!?!?!?!

5:09pm Gojo Satoru: chillllllll it’s fake. We’re working on his halloween costume

5:09pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): WHY DOES IT HAVE BLOOD?!?!?!?!?!?

5:10pm Gojo Satoru: He wants to be a baby xenomorph and I'm his parasitic host. You know that iconic chestburster scene from the old school alien movies? yeah

5:12pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): satoru please for the love of god just dress him up as a dinosaur or something

5:13pm Gojo Satoru: I’m not the one that came up with the idea, okay? It was him

5:14pm yuuji’s sis (no flirting): because you let him watch adult swim with you before putting him to bed. you’ve deranged his brain.

5:14pm Gojo Satoru: He needs it. Builds character.

Gojo was living a double life, and if someone asked him, he’d say it was less of a Clark Kent way and more of a Bruce Wayne way, although in reality, he knows it’s close to neither. He’s no superhero with a concealed identity fighting crime, he’s a con artist that’s tricked a hard-working woman into hiring him just because he’s trying to save up enough money to get the fuck out of this godforsaken town, given he’s not knocked dead before then for the crime’s amusement.

But Yuuji looks up to him now. And Gojo’s grown attached to him too. He taught the kid how to tie his own shoes and piss inside the actual toilet like a real man. And that kid’s the only thing that’s made him question any of this. Maybe that’s what dads feel, suddenly held to all this impossible responsibility and the pressure to stop doing stupid shit so that you’ll stick around to see your kids get older. The thought that there are eyes on you now, eyes that are innocent and hopeful and learning, and because they know nothing at all, you feel the responsibility to protect them from everything. For fucks sake, remind him to never become a dad. 

“Do you like my sister?” Yuuji had asked him out of nowhere one afternoon after he just got home from preschool, stacking a blue cube over a yellow one at the dining table.

“Uhh,” Gojo starts. He wondered if your mom had put a wire on the kid, so his answer was as diplomatic as he could manage. “Yeah, she’s cool. You’ve got a cool sister.”

“But. But.” Yuuji stutters, trying to find his big boy words. He stretches up higher to reach the top of his stack of blocks, but he only has so much arm real estate at the age of five. “Do you like her like you wanna kiss her?”

Gojo grabs the block from the kid’s hand, for a moment questioning Yuuji’s decision to want to put a blue block over another blue block, but he figures aesthetics are the least of a kid’s concern, and so he places the block where Yuuji wanted it. 

Why does the kid know what kissing is anyway? Do kids know that kind of stuff at that age? Isn’t a kiss to a five-year-old just something their mom gives to them before they head off to preschool for the day? And not something that happens between adult men and women? Maybe he should stop watching that adult swim in front of him.

“No. I don’t want to kiss your sister,” he says, again, because he is suspicious of a wire. It was a lie and then some, because he wants to do a lot more than just kiss you.

Gojo lifts the RedBull he was nursing up to his lips and watches Yuuji in the corner of his eye as the kid stares at his growing stack of blocks with a concentrated expression on his face, his chubby fingers squeezing tightly into little round dimpled balls, like he’s putting together all his tiny brain cells together to form another coherent thought before turning to face Gojo on the chair.

“It’s ok. You can kiss her if you wan’ed to. You can marry her too,” Yuuji says.

Gojo almost spits out his RedBull. He barely manages to swallow it, a broken cough immediately leaving his throat when some of the liquid goes down the wrong pipe and he’s smacking a fist against his chest to knock the sanity back into himself.

“Where the fu—…where the flip did that come from?” he asks, blinking back tears from the rasp in his throat.

Yuuji’s small shoulders sulk as he sits back on his heels. “I want a papa.”

Oh fuck that hurt. Jesus christ, there was nothing more sad than that. Yuuji has literally never known what it’s like to have a dad, since his had left before he was even born. Gojo’s not really close to his old man by any means, but he had still been a fatherly figure in some pivotal moments when he had needed it growing up. Kids need their dads. And he’s seen enough people lose their way without one to know that the value of them is really underestimated.

He’s also kind of shocked that Yuuji really did think of you as his motherly figure. Maybe since it had always just been him and his dad, Gojo learned how to self sustain from a young age, and he and his dad became accustomed to just looking after their own interests to avoid the headache of tending to one another. My land is my land, and your land is yours, and there was the occasional Saturday night spent together with his dad’s millions of beer bottles emptied dry on the carpet in front of the 1992 box TV as the two shared a greasy pizza from the place down the street. That was the extent of family solidarity that he knew.

But he can’t imagine being barely eighteen and having to take care of your little brother all by yourself because your mom was too busy trying to put food on the table and was too poor to hire a babysitter. Your mom tried so damn hard to keep you away from the single teenage mother life, but somehow ended up giving it to you by proxy in the end anyway. It was no wonder you wanted space now that Yuuji’s a little older and your mom can afford a babysitter. No matter how much you might love your sibling, being their effective guardian out of pure necessity had to have taken a toll.

Gojo clears his throat before he speaks. “Buddy. If I married your sister, we’d be brothers. I wouldn’t be your dad.” 

Yuuji’s eyes light up at the word brother. “Brothers? Me and you?”

“Yeah. Bros.”

The kid giggles, all bubbly with cheeks rounding fully and eyes sparkling. Gojo reaches out to ruffle at his hair before Yuuji gets down onto one stubby leg at a time from the chair then bolts towards the kitchen.

“Juice!!” he yells somewhere around the corner out of sight.

Gojo sighs, staring at all the toys he pulled out for Yuuji to play with, all left in a scattered mess across the table. He gets up out of his chair and heads towards the fridge. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll get you your juice, you little demon.”

The conclusion he comes to, and it might read like an obvious one, is that kids don’t really know the reality of life, hence why adults hide so much from them. 

This is what he thinks of tonight when he wraps his worn out boxing tape around his hands and his wrist, tightening it with his teeth, and he can smell the sweat and grime from them. The back of the underground gym had an old dated locker room, and as Gojo stretches his neck side to side while sitting on the stiff metal bench, he eyes the peeling red paint of the locker in front of him, blurring vision making it look like spilt blood. 

His phone pings with a text. He shuffles inside his duffle bag to look for it while his other hand scratches at his bare chest.

1:07am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): hhhhhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii 1:07am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): omgomgomg sor y i’m 

He blinks at the screen, confusion flashing across his face. He types one letter, but then he sees three dots and a speech text bubble in the bottom left, so he waits for you.

1:09am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i drunk :(

The corner of his mouth ticks up slightly. 

1:09am Gojo Satoru: Yeah I can tell

1:10am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): at a apartyyyy

His eyebrows raise slightly, the thought of you tipsy on some frat party couch flashing through his mind, yet of all things you could be doing at that frat party, you’re texting him? Must be a really boring party.

1:11am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): whyyy are you aawake?

1:12am Gojo Satoru: Couldn’t sleep 1:12am Gojo Satoru: Don’t you have a midterm in the morning?

1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): wtf hwo do you knwo that

1:15am Gojo Satoru: Your mom keeps your schedule posted on the fridge

1:15am yuuji’s sister (no flirting): im so fucked;’;(((

He snorts. He’s got a bit more life experience than you, five-ish years to be exact, more than enough time to master the no-hangover hangout, but just before he can offer you some advice, he sees another text from you. 

1:16am yuuji’s sister (no flirting): can i tell u smething 

His gaze flits up to the ceiling briefly, and he hears commotion outside the thick walls of the locker room. The previous fight was over, and fast. The guy must’ve been knocked out in under twenty seconds tops, which means that Gojo was next up against whatever superbeast just beat him up. 

1:17am Gojo Satoru: Sure

He stands up, placing his phone down on the bench before he flexes the muscles in his arms a couple times to get the blood flowing into them. And there’s the noise of another ping. Actually, four.

1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): sonetimes 1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): i thikn of  1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): when u kisse me 1:14am yuuji’s sis (no flirting): *kissed me

His eyes widen slightly, irises dry to the ashy cigarette smoke from outside lingering in the air, and his heart rate picks up a bit. An adrenaline junkie with close to no fear in his veins due to the way his amygdala’s been fried to a crisp from years of boxing, yet he’s got his breath hitched from the memory of your soft lips against his. It makes the blood rushing through the muscles of his arms rush somewhere down south instead.

Loud banging on the door of the locker room jolts him out of his trance, and he’s stiff around the edges once more.

“Satoru! You’re up, man,” he hears Danny, the fight coordinator, yell at him from the other side of the heavy & poorly-installed steel door.

Gojo sighs, glancing down at the texts on his phone. To respond, or not to respond. You’re off your face, clearly chatty from the alcohol, and he knows for certain you’ll regret every life decision you’ve ever made once you wake up in the morning and see the self sabotaging behaviors you’ve engaged in tonight. He knows that responding to you might put you at ease rather than straight up ignoring you, but the feeling will pass, and he has a match to win with no more room left to stall.

He makes his way out the locker room, pushing past the crowded halls of people underneath dim flashing club lighting, some dudes angrily jerking to face him when he pushes past them with a stiff shoulder, only for their eyes to widen when they see just exactly who pushed them. 

There’s strippers in the ring, doing some routine for pre-match, and Gojo narrows his eyes at the man he sees laying back over the rubber boundary rope, head tipped back up to the ceiling with a wicked grin on his face. So that was his opponent? He’s never seen the guy before. Was he from a different district? Different district talent was tough, you had no background info on them, while they’ve been preparing to be here for weeks. Hence why boxers tend to do better when they visit a different district than they do in their own. There have been rules made to limit these types of fights, mostly over outrage that it was unfair to bid on them, but they were also usually more entertaining to watch. Gojo’s got a sick feeling to his stomach as the strippers clear the ring.

“Hey,” Gojo calls out, grabbing Danny by the back of his collar and dragging him towards him and away from the girls stepping down onto the floor, “what’s in for this fight?”

Danny glances up at the ceiling. “Tarp’s bettin’ tonight, so it can’t be anything less than ten grand for you. I’d say tops fifteen?”

Gojo narrows his eyes further, then glances off into the ring again. The man stands up, and Gojo gets a better look on his face. He’s got short hair, neon green in color with a dark fade underneath and tattoos all over his face. But those eyes. They were freakishingly red, and it made him uneasy. He knows the type. The type of boxers that do this to genuinely hurt people for thrill. Make no mistake, Gojo understands he’s made himself out to be like that too, gaining some kind of rush out of this profession, but this type of fighter was different. The type to literally continue smashing a dude’s face into the floor until they’re a bloody mess even minutes after the winning call, and no referee to stop it because that’s the kind of action the spectators wanted.

Danny reads his line of sight. “That’s Gale. Newton’s new boxing toy. Came outta nowhere about a month ago. He’s undefeated so far in his district, and Newton specifically wanted to see you up against him tonight,” Danny tells Gojo, resting his elbow up on his bare shoulder. “Chances are he’ll compete with Tarp for final bid if you win this one. I’m talking twenty-five grand in the next if you can knock him out in this.”

“Uh-huh,” Gojo acknowledges, rolling his shoulder so Danny’s elbow falls from it. Forget the money, he just wants to make it out of this alive.

He sets his foot up on the square, ducking through the dividing boundary straps and the tacky caution construction tape that the gym thinks creates an exciting ambience. He hears the static of the speakers as the announcers call out Gojo’s name, then this other guy, loud bass club music booming through Gojo’s chest as he tries to take a few deep breaths through the thick air of this low-ceiling arena. 

The dim overhead lights flickered, casting shadows over the makeshift ring, and the crowd pressed tight around at every perimeter area, yelling and pushing, one even tosses a beer bottle on the square and it shatters, spreading glass all across, a few shards reaching Gojo’s feet and he looks down at them with a shudder. A fight immediately breaks out in the crowd over something related or possibly entirely unrelated, and he’d have no way of knowing as he swipes the shards away with his heel.

The influential men always sat up on higher seating, off towards the back in their own VIP section where they suck in the smoke of fat cigarettes and peer through 100% tinted sunglasses to assess the boxers they’ve bid thousands on. The light reflects off the golden grills of their teeth with every snarl at any passerby that gets too close, like a lion in its den. That’s what the sanction was called. Lion’s den.

Gojo sighed, eyeing the twisted grin of this Gale guy across from him. Was that his real name? Usually, foreign district guys get nicknames. Gojo’s always thought the nicknames were tacky, and he’s accumulated some of his own over the years, but to his ears, none of them ever really landed, although The White Fox admittedly was kinda nice. Reminded him of throwback shooting games. 

He sucked a breath in through his teeth, holding his hands up in front of his chest in weak fists, storing energy in them in the form of pure anticipation alone, and then the bell rang.

His opponent lunged towards him immediately, fists flying in a barrage of reckless strikes, and Gojo’s eyes momentarily widened in the briefest moments of hesitation he had been allowed before ducking and dodging every one of this guy's shots, then jumping a step back to create distance.

Fuck. He was fast. Not just boxer fast, athlete fast. There was a difference. And it wasn’t a good one to be up against.

Gojo picked up light on his feet. He couldn’t win this one fast, that much was certain. One single careless or reckless move, and he’ll get tackled. He knows that by the malicious look he sees on that guy’s face, grin wide like he’s some cannibalistic beast. 

Stepping back towards the center, Gojo purposefully set himself up for Gale to swipe a vicious hook towards his head, before Gojo last minute ducked down, crouched to the floor, and swung his leg out to knock the guy off balance by his ankles, and he falls onto his back with a loud thud!

There’s a moment of momentary silence from the crowd, right before Gojo put the man in a torso-lock, twisting him in a way a human body should absolutely not be twisted, hearing the grunts of pain and the crack of spine even through the shouts of the crowd.

He can hear it. Kill him! Knock his fucking teeth out! Snap his neck like a goose, man! FIN-ISH HIM! FIN-ISH HIM! FIN-ISH HIM!

He feels like throwing up. 

Gojo looks up at the referee, who wasn’t really a referee, just there to run the clock when there was action and only barely stop it before near death. “This is enough, right?” he asks.

The referee nods. “1-0, next round.”

Gojo lets go of his opponent, leaving him there to heave for a moment before he gets up onto his feet again. Just needs one more, and he’s a winner. Ten grand in his pocket, and he won’t have to come back here for a couple weeks.

Gale gets up, swiping at the spit that had trickled out the corner of his mouth down to his chin, and he had an enraged look on his face. The second the bell rang for the second round, he exploded forward towards Gojo with even more fervor than before, gritted expression with a thirst for violence fueling the storm of punches he was throwing towards Gojo but he tried to remain calm, light on his feet, swiftly duck and avoid before he can find another opportunity to clear a sharp, clean jab right to the ribs—

sometimes, i think of when you kissed me

Gojo misses his strike, leaving his guard wide open, and Gale takes the opportunity to land a solid punch straight to his jaw, sending his mouth guard flying straight out of his mouth into the air, and knocking him backwards onto the ground with a thud and then he finds himself staring up at the rusting metal ceiling and a ringing in his ears that almost matches the roar of the crowd.

His head is in a haze, dizzy like where one second could feel like a millennia. He feels a soreness underneath his chin, a pain that radiates to his mouth, and he briefly swipes his tongue over his front teeth to make sure he still has all of them. 

What the fuck was that? That intrusive thought. There’s no intrusive thoughts allowed in life or death situations, not when he was always just one smash to the head away from a permanent concussion. But, fuck, he can’t help it. Can’t help thinking of you. Even when his vision has gone blurry and he should really be weary about what happens next in this ring, his mind’s just thinking about you, at some frat party, tipping back shots of tequila and waiting for a text-back in response to your tipsy ones. Were you even waiting up on him? Have you already passed out on the couch, or were your friends dragging you back to your dorm? Or are you fucking some other dude right now? Has he got his hand up your top, squeezing at you, sleazily feeling you up before spilling beer all down your shirt, and are you kissing him back with the same enthusiasm, your phone now somewhere long slipped between the cushions of the couch and out of sight?

Even though it’s still sore, he tenses his jaw. Grinds his teeth, even. Tasting blood somewhere along the line of his gums, he realizes his lip is split. He licks at it, the flavor of copper more rich on his tongue, and he clenches his fists tightly. Why’s he thinking of that right now? It just pisses him off, the thought of you with some other dude. Maybe that’s what he needs to win this fight. Spite. Although he’s not sure why the guy across from him at the ring has to pay for it.

He lifts his head up off the ground, and while it felt like years he had been down, a glance at the timer tells him it’s only been a solid four seconds. A solid four seconds that his opponent had to fully charge a lunge towards him with the look of death in his face, raising his elbow up into the air in time with his leap, ready to come straight down, and Gojo’s eyes widen at the sight above him from where he’s still lying on the wood.

“Shit—” he cusses, rolling his body over to the side so that the dude falls straight down onto the floor rather than elbow Gojo in the fucking ribs, and then he gets back up on his feet. 

Stakes were high, he has to end this, he has to end this now, and he flexes the muscle in his right bicep, channeling everything he has into this one blow, and before Gale even really has a chance to turn around and face him again, Gojo’s already three-fourths set up a knockout undercut that he drives straight up the guy’s chin, with so much force it has him lifting up off the floor, a vertebrate stretch to his spine before he’s sent flying backwards and slammed against the tight rubber lining of the ring to where he was half hanging over it.

The room fell silent for a split second, then erupted in a roar as the referee fell to one knee beside Gale, checking him for any semblance of consciousness, and when he found none, he waves the match off. 

Gojo’s eyes flit up towards the lion’s den, the only opinions that he really needed to care about were sitting in those mahogany chairs with glasses of scotch swirling around in their hands, and he sees some of them looking straight at Gojo before leaning towards one another and discretely talking about something he can’t make out because he doesn’t know how to read lips.

He feels someone tug at his arms from behind, pulling him to crouch down and he balances back on the balls of his feet. He glances down through the ring at the floor. Danny was leaning against the wooden surface of it. “Dude. Go.” He jerks his head towards Gale, who still laid there sprawled across the now stretched out rubber perimeter bands. “Go fuck him up. Knock a few more teeth out, I don’t know, get some more blood out of him.”

“What?” Gojo huffs, yanking his arm away from Danny’s grip. “The fuck are you saying?”

“I told you, man, Newton’s here and he’s got his eye on you. Go give him a show,” Danny says, “do it.” And when he sees clear frustration on Gojo’s face he sighs. “Twenty-five grand, consider that, will you?”

Gojo sneers at the man, an awful taste in his mouth as he spits blood towards Danny’s feet. “Go fuck yourself on his cock if he wants a show that bad.” And then he ducks underneath the bands and hops back down onto the floor, pushing past people who were trying to grab at him and pull at him and lift him up and even throw him down until he made it through flashing hallways and back to the locker room.

He shuts the door behind him, sliding the bolt lock into the frame so no one can follow him inside, and then he leans his weight back against the chilling steel before tipping his head back until it hits the surface too.

He lets out of a few deep breaths, then stares down at the sting he finds over his knuckles. Red and blistering from the last punch he delivered, and he’s almost certain he broke a bone in his hand. Fuck. It was bleeding across the cuts, too. He had to figure out a way to get it all healed by tomorrow, as if that was humanly possible, just because he doesn’t want Yuuji questioning him about it.

Yuuji. For fucks sake, when has he ever thought about the kid this much? When has he ever thought about much of anything when he’s out here or in the ring? He’s a babysitter by day. He’s a “part” of your family when the sun is up and normal functioning society is breathing their lives into the clean air. That’s it. He’s no five-year-old’s caretaker in front of all these primetime drug lords, and he certainly shouldn’t be thinking of you when facing big, burly men he’s aiming to rough up, all within the dead hours of night. So then how come these thoughts are on his mind at all times, twenty-four-seven, around the clock?

He heads further into the locker room, glancing down at the bench where he’d left his phone, then picks it up, neck craned all the way down to glance at the screen as he holds his phone by his hip because he doesn’t have any energy to pick it up any further towards his eyesight. 

He sees your messages. You never sent any follow-up ones, just your horrendously typed out sonetimes, i thikn of when u kisse me *kissed me across the span of four texts, and Gojo runs a tired hand down his face.

He tips his head back to groan at the ceiling, guttural with no basis other than a release of all the pent up frustration of every sort, then he types in a couple messages to you,

3:23am Gojo Satoru: That’s nice 3:24am Gojo Satoru: I think about fucking you all the time 

—and then tosses his phone into his duffel bag to call it a night.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

You’re awoken to your alarm blaring heavily, and you whack your arm across your nightstand table beside your tiny twin-size bed to hit the snooze button, then rub your eye with a loose fist while smacking at the residual taste of alcohol you have on your tongue. 

“Mm…” you mumble to yourself. And then the thirst hits you. The overwhelming, intense, unquenchable thirst that leaves your mouth feeling like the Sahara desert before you grab your twice-dented Hydroflask from the nightstand, twist the cap off and chug about twenty ounces of water in one breath. 

You let out a deep exhale and fall back into bed, your hand resting on top of your water-filled tummy, and you stare up at the ceiling of your dorm. 

Last night was horrible. You knew you shouldn’t have gone to that frat party, especially given you have an exam in—you checked the time on your phone—about an hour, and an hour was not enough time to recover from the raging hangover headache that’s pounding through your head. But your roommates insisted you went, and so go you did. You never knew what to expect, always torn between shaving your pussy before you go or throwing on a stained pair of sweatpants to keep the guys away instead. Sometimes, it was a combination of both. But last night, you ended up drinking more than you usually do, and that always led to poor, poor, poor decisions, in which all the sense of pride you had in yourself was washed down with the puke that you hurled into the upstairs toilet. 

You grab at your phone again, briefly seeing that your friends had sent you some photos from the night. You immediately swiped off to the side to dismiss the notifications, because as far as you were concerned, you never wanted to see those photos in your life.

And then, in the briefest of moments, you saw a familiar name in your notifications that made you heart skip a beat.

Gojo Satoru (yuuji’s babysitter)

With an immediate gasp, you pulled your phone to your chest and held it there, blinking up at the pale yellow ceiling, your heart picking up in rhythm.

Oh fuck.

That was right.

You drunk texted him last night.

You drunk texted your little brother’s hot babysitter.

Fuck.

Mortified was an understatement, possibly because you don’t even remember what you said, and so you don’t even want to see what he replied with.

You groan, rubbing both your hands across your face then kick your sheets back with your feet like a child having a temper tantrum because you were so embarrassed you had even texted him at all last night. I mean, he was hot. A little older than you, really gorgeous eyes, tall, and, yeah, you gave him shit for the Instagram muscles thing, but that’s only because you thought he’d find it cheeky that you were trying to humble him despite the fact that he’s more toned and ruggedly sculpted than any other man you’ve ever met. You didn’t want to have a flustered schoolgirl attitude because it would just seep through to his ego.

In any case, he was hot, there was no denying it, so can you really blame yourself? But still. There was collateral with this. You had to see him every other weekend. He knows your family, even your extended since they invited him to Thanksgiving dinner a couple weeks ago. A high-risque drunk text recipient if he ever was one (of course he has been, look at that face). Why couldn’t you have just drunk texted ECON160 guy from last semester who Clit DJ’d you underneath your desk at the back of the lecture hall instead?

The thing that made you nervous about Gojo Satoru was that he was just so…confident? Like, in that I was raised to be this way confident and not that I fought inner demons my whole life to barely end up this way confident, y’know? Never had to fake it ‘til he made it, he just was. At least that was the kind of energy you got from him, and unfortunately for you, it was nerve wracking but enticing all at the same time.

You sigh. “Stupid. Stupid. Stuuuuuupiiiiidddddddddddd. You. Are. So. Stuuuuuupiiiiddddddd,” you sigh, running your hands through your hair to grip at the strands.

You pull your phone away from your chest, and finally brave yourself to read the texts from your notifications screen, but not without blurring your vision a little to further stall. And then you finally refocus it to read them. The first one you see has you gasping—

3:24am Gojo Satoru (yuuji’s babysitter): I think about fucking you all the time 

It has heat spreading across your cheeks, and you blink at your screen, then quickly swipe up to read the previous messages with rushed glides of your index finger on the screen to see that he had sent it to you in response to your barely coherent texts about how you still so often think about that time he randomly pressed you up against the door of your bedroom to kiss you that night you first met him.

I think about fucking you all the time

At 3 in the morning? He decided to send that text at 3 in the fucking morning? That was the devil’s hour. What’s he trying to tell you? 

Oh come on, you’re not stupid. And you know he isn’t either. The sexual tension was palpable, it was there since the day you two met and you almost stabbed him, and also everytime you were visiting the house, and his shoulder brushes against yours when he’s trying to get past you in the kitchen, or when you’ve got Yuuji in your arms and the kid is clinging to Gojo’s sleeve because he wants him near him at all times. There’s even sexual tension over the phone, in those stupid texts he sends you all the time about meaningless child care stuff, and honestly, those little updates made your day.

But… you don’t know much about him, and your mom would kill you if she ever found out you wanted him. And she’d probably pulverize him if she found out he ever made a move on you. Cremated without leaving a trace behind would be an understatement. She thinks he’s no good and she thinks you’re too good. You know she’s warned him before to not get close to you, as if she was pre-emptively expecting him to try to get in your pants like it was some canon force of the universe, hence why he’s probably so fucking awkward around you whenever she’s there too. Like if he accidentally got caught staring at your ankles, your mom would light him on fire, so he’d rather not risk it by just avoiding looking at you at all.

Your mom has always been protective of you. Your father was a deadbeat, one she thought she loved, only to watch him leave. And she had to raise a baby all by herself. He re-entered your lives right before you graduated high school, knocked up your mom again with Yuuji, and guess what? Left again without a trace. To be doubly humiliated by a man is a fate you wouldn’t wish on any woman, but that’s exactly what your mom went through. It was a wake-up call for her, though. No more living paycheck to paycheck like you had been your whole lives up until Yuuji was born. The kid doesn’t even know how lucky he is with everything he has right now. Your mom worked her way up the corporate ladder and made something of herself and now you guys were comfortable, so it was safe to say she had some sort of right to look after her daughter, of whom she simply doesn’t want to follow in the same naive footsteps of her youth.

You get it. She wants to break the generational cycle. But it made being with men tough on all fronts, let alone dating. You could never bring a guy home because he’d never be enough, even if he cured cancer or could make you orgasm while doing a sixty-nine handstand. And while her overbearing paranoia over what you do or where you are or who you’re with has since dimmed slightly since you officially moved out to finish your last year of higher education at NYU, you can still feel her disappointment from a hundred miles away when you’re making out with some random frat guy on his beer-stained couch at eleven AM on a Tuesday.

But you got to college. You’ve already made it this far. You’re on dean’s list. You graduated high school as salutatorian. You’re the most highly decorated cello player in the state. You won Miss County pageant when you were sixteen for your philanthropic efforts towards feline leukemia. You did online community college for three years so you could stick back after high school and help your mom raise Yuuji, which meant that you had to forfeit your scholarship to Cornell. You’ve spent your whole life being good, you just wanna be bad for a little bit.

And if bad meant fucking the hot and mysterious babysitter, then so be it. 

You pick your phone up, begin blasting what the hell by Avril Lavigne on your dorm room bluetooth speaker, then type a message to him that says—

10:34am you: do it then

—then shove your phone under the sheets and belt out the lyrics aaaall my life i’ve been good, but now, ahhhh i’m thinkin’ what the hell!!! while kicking your feet and clutching your pillow.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Gojo has no clue what divine entity has overcast their gratuitous spirit over him on this blessed Monday afternoon, but he’ll thank them for it later once his balls are empty. 

He’s got you on your back, sprawled across the couch in the living room, the first fuck being a rushed one that you offered him with before he has to go pick Yuuji up from circle time at preschool, which wasn’t ideal, but he’s delirious at the sight of you underneath him right now. Your little NYU shirt, a tighter one this time, bunched up over your bare breasts, otherwise entirely naked other than the flimsy panties dangling at your ankle, and the view of the tip of his cock looking hot and heavy against the velvet of your cunt, slowly pushing in, feeling the warmth of your walls squeeze around him paired with the sweet moan that leaves your lips, makes him fall forward with a bracing hand dug into the cushion by the side of your head because the sensation feels so fucking good he can hardly keep himself upright.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he grunts, pushing himself in further to try and bottom out but he’s still got a couple inches he needs you to take, and so you curl your hips upwards towards the cieling to make more room for him, practically putting yourself into a mating press and soon enough he’s balls deep, “you on any birth control?”

“Uh-huh,” you moan, eyes closed and head tipped back with one hand squeezing your own tit.

“I can cum inside then, yeah?” he asks you, pushing your knees to your chest, slowly drawing his hips back and you squirm underneath him.

“Let’s get there first, and then we’ll discuss,” you breathe out.

“I’ve been there for the past ten minutes, baby. I could cum at any second with the way you look and feel,” he informs you flatly, because it was just the truth and you had to know it, then he feels himself twitch inside, slowly working up to a languid rhythm, almost fearfully like your mom’s going to pop out somewhere around the corner with a camera crew ready like one of those retro TV shows just to humiliate him on national television for not keeping it in his pants like she’d told him to. 

“Harder,” he hears you whisper, and he rolls his eyes shut to just focus on the feeling. The feeling of your nails grazing down the skin of his chest and his abs, tracing the scars he’s collected over the years, and he feels you tightening around him. He leans down to kiss you, fucking you properly now with the squeak of the couch springs echoing across the room, your hums of moans seeping through his lips until he’s fully taking them on with an open-mouthed kiss of sloppy tongue. 

The fact that it was wrong felt right to him, and he realizes in this moment he’s lost all sense of control. He wasn’t just an adrenaline junkie that liked to rough up dudes, he was an adrenaline junkie that wanted to fuck you against all better judgement or moral compass. The way your tits were bouncing, the slap of skin on skin, his balls slapping against your ass while you wrap your legs around him tighter, all convincing him that any consequence made it worth it.

“Good,” he groans the praise, pinning your hands above your head as he rams his hips against yours, your cute moans and squeals sounding like literal music to his ears and he feels heat spread all the way up his neck, “goooood, keep squeezin’ me like that, fuck.” He slows down momentarily, just to take a moment and watch, really look and see the way his length disappears inside of your pretty self with every push forward, and then he works back up to a relentless pace that has you tipping your head back with a slack jaw and eyes closed tightly shut, sprained expression of pleasure spread across.

“Oh, oh my god, Satoru—” you mewled and he felt dizzy from the sound of his name from your softly parted lips.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—” His hand finds it’s way between your legs, calloused pads of his fingers brushing against your clit and you jolt underneath him, gasping as your hand shoots out to dig your nails into his bicep for purchase. “I’m gonna cum, better tell me where you want it.”

“In me,” you moan, “nowhere else.”

He presses his mouth against your cheek in a lazy smile, “Atta girl,” he drawls before pushing your ankles down as far as they’d go near your ears, folding you in half and then reigns all hell into your cunt. He should really care a bit more about your pleasure, but testing your flexibility like this with both his hands holding you down was doing sinful things to his brain, and besides, you had yourself covered with the messy circles you were rubbing over your clit. It was hot to see that too, your nimble pretty fingers so close to the place where he was pounding into you. 

“Oh shit, shit, shit—” he grunts when starts to see blistering white in his vision, balls straining with a pleasure that was almost painful. The moment he finishes feels like hot flashes in his brain, a heat like the cum he begins to paint inside your walls in time with your release, thrusting over and over and over, each one more staggered as he lets off a long, drawn out groan that comes from deep within his chest with the feeling of you milking him dry and the sound of you enjoying every second of it. He can’t remember the last time he came this much or this hard and even after coming down from the high, he feels the remnant pulse of your orgasm around his now half-flaccid dick.

He leisurely pulls out, hearing you let out a soft whimper as he marvels at the sight of his cum slowly dripping out of you and down towards the couch, before he scoops it up with a couple fingers and pushes it back inside. You grip his wrist tightly, but you weren’t stopping it, that motion of him plunging it all back into you.

“Want a taste?” he asks, casually.

“Mhm,” you nod, face looking flush.

He pulls his fingers out of you, coated with sex, then plugs your pussy with the fingers of his other hand because he kinda likes the idea of you walking around all day with him inside of you, so he doesn’t want it getting out. He’s then pushing his other fingers past your lips, pleased to find he’s met with not even so much as a grazing of teeth, and he grins, “bet you take a dick in your mouth as good as you take it down here.”

Your furrow your brows at him, the pout of your lips seen in the way they were puckered to lick his fingers off clean, and when you release the suction with a smack of your tongue and his fingers were wet from your saliva now, his eyes narrow with desire. You push his face away with the heel of your palm to his forehead. “Flattery won’t make me suck your dick.”

“Alright. So? How is it?” he jerks his chin towards your face, pushing against your hand with his forehead until he’s hovering over you again, “taste good?”

“It’s cum, Satoru.”

He shrugs. “Bad?”

“No,” you say, and you can’t make eye contact, “good.” You sigh. “Hot. I don’t know. Salty, sweet. I’m the sweet. You’re the salty. And this conversation is obscene.”

He kisses you, capturing your lips softly, tongue darting out to taste what’s on yours. “I like it that way. Dirty. Nasty. Obscene, whatever.”

There’s the slam of a car door heard from the driveway, and the two of you instantly make eye contact with round eyes.

“Sa—” you stutter, “Satoru.”

He gets up off the couch in a panic, and heads to the window of the living room fully butt-ass naked, then peers through the blinds to see—

Your mom was making it up towards the front door, rustling with her keys in her purse. And the last thing he sees before he turns around to face you is her pushing the keys through the lock.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” he cusses, finding his boxers off of the floor, hopping on one foot with his cum & slick coated dick flapping around and slapping against his thighs unceremoniously as he tries to get one leg in through them and then the other. You’re trembling as you hook your panties back into place, pull your shirt back down your torso, and even in his extremely panicked state, he’s still sad he can’t freely stare at your tits anymore. You’re rummaging for your skirt in a haste, looking everywhere for it, and he finds it underneath the coffee table before tossing it to you and then he side-to-side hops towards the coat closet while he pulls his sweatpants up over his ass, in time for you to quickly run and shut the door of the closet closed just before the front door of the house swings open.

The inside of the coat closet is dark, barely enough space in there for a six-foot-four two-hundred-and-twenty pound man, but it’s better than being balls deep inside his boss’s daughter on the couch when said boss just came home from work.

He hears conversation on the other side of the door, albeit muffled, and he presses his ear to it to hear better while he tucks his dick into his boxers from where it was hanging over the waistline.

“Mom! You…you’re home so early,” he hears you squeak out.

“Yes,” your mom says, “The rest of my meetings today are online, so I figured I’d come home when there’s less traffic.”

Gojo feels you lean against the coat closet door.

“I see, I see, how was your day at work?” you ask with a tremble in your voice.

“Fine.” And then nothing. The silence could mean that was all she had to say, since your mom wasn’t really a woman of many words, or it could be a silence that means she’s suspicious about something. “Darling, why is your skirt flipped up and tucked into your panties? Your whole butt is showing.”

Through the wood of the door, he hears you softly gasp. “Oh, um, I just went to pee. Must’ve—…must’ve got caught when I pulled it back up.” 

“I see,” your mother says, and Gojo can hear her dropping her heels down near the shoe rack at the entrance. “You know, I really don’t like those short skirts you wear often. Maybe it’s just your generation, but I think it looks tacky and cheap.”

“Mom,” you say, in as stern of a voice as you can manage without sounding embarrassed.

Your mother sighs. “In any case, where is Satoru? I still would like him to go pick up Yuuji. I don’t have the patience to sit in preschool & daycare traffic right now.”

“Oh gosh, I don’t know,” you chirp, and then he hears you let out a small oh no before you lean even more weight against the door, this time somewhere lower, and he realizes you’re pressing your ass against it. His eyes narrow with a small frown, and then he realizes— his cum must still be trickling down your thighs. You couldn’t put your panties on fast enough. 

Shit. That’s hot. A little fucked up, but hot. He feels his dick harden against the fabric of his boxers, and he rests his forehead against the door, fringe stuck to his forehead with sweat as he slips his hands down his sweatpants and then gives his cock a firm squeeze. The thought of you discretely swiping his cum up your inner thigh and smearing it against your thin panties so your mom doesn’t catch sight of it dripping down your legs has him slowly working up to a rock-solid erection, and he almost lets out a broken grunt from the feeling.

“What?” your mother says, “what do you mean you don’t know?”

“I’ve just been watching TV this whole time,” you say, “last time I saw him…he was…um, in the backyard pulling weeds?”

He lets out a small scoff through his nose at your cover-up. Cute. And not bad. 

Your mother sighs loudly, and he glances down at the strained veins on his dick as he tugs it through his hand, the tip rearing and appearing flushed and dripping with precum. God, you were just on the other side of this door. Less than a few inches away, and he’d be inside of you. 

“I’m going to take a shower. Go find him and tell him to pick up Yuuji soon. But before then, change into something less revealing,” your mother says in a more or less detached tone, and he can hear the stomps of her footsteps up the stairs from above him in the coat closet.

The two of you wait at least a solid minute, and just when the coast is clear, he hears you turn the knob of the coat closet and slowly crack it open.

“Okay, I think she’s in the shower, I hear the water running,” you whisper at him, “you can go now—” You glance down towards his groin, your jaw dropping. “What—…Satoru, why the fuck is your dick staring at me right now?!” you whisper-hiss at him.

He pulls you into the coat closet, pushing your front against the door to where it clicks shut, and you gasp when his hands pin your wrists crossed behind your back and his dick presses into the plush of your ass.

“You talkin’ to your mom while your pussy’s stuffed full of my cum was the single hottest thing that’s ever grazed my lizard brain,” he tells you, flipping your skirt up and hooking your panties to the side, his index finger briefly brushing against your entrance to find it still leaking from the way your walls were pulsating from his words. And then he aligns his tip to your entrance. “Now keep quiet while I do this, ‘kay?”

“Oh—” you gasp, your cheek pressed against the door as you arch your back and push your ass out for him, “okay—” you say, barely vocalizing the first syllable before he’s already stuffing himself inside of you with one solid glide of a push, making you yelp loudly and he has to instantly cup a hand over your mouth.

“Shhhhhh,” he hisses at you, immediately starting to pound you from behind, “told you to— fuuuck,” he catches sight of his length covered with a mix of your glassy arousal and his white cum, now starting to cream at the base of his cock, “jesus christ—” he breathes out, squeezing the flesh of your ass harshly with his other hand and you let out another yelp, “I told you to fuckin’ keep quiet.”

“I’m—mff,” you muffle against his palm, “I’m trying but,” your hips move back in time with his, “feels good, feels too good,” you mewl, and his hand desperately yanks up the fabric of your shirt so he can squeeze at your breast.

“Yeah?” he grunts, hypocritical for telling you to keep it down when he was slamming his hips against your ass with so much fervor he wouldn’t be surprised if the sound was reverberating across the entire house, “you like it when I fuck you while your mom’s all clueless just up the stairs?” His rhythm falters, feeling his release building, and his hand reaches in front of you to rub your clit, making you drop your head against the door with tightly closed eyes. “Gets— you—wet, doesn’t it?” he torments you, his lips near your ear as he slams his hips against you harshly with every enunciated syllable. 

“Mhm, mhm,” you easily agree, or maybe that’s because it’s all you can really articulate, and he angles his hips up so his balls slap more fervently against your clit, making you scream into his palm while he picks up the pace of the circles he draws on your clit and in one, two, three— beats of his pounding heart, he feels you come undone around his cock, gushing wetness leaking out of you, he can feel the mess of fluids splattering on the skin of his thighs due to each of his heaving thrusts as he cusses out a fuuuuuuckkk before spilling his cum inside of you, a short-lived and thicker release this time that has you mewling from overstimulation, and in a few following thrusts, he’s given you everything he had to give.

His eyes open, he wasn’t even aware he had shut them in the first place, and he glances down at where the two of you were joined. Rings of arousal coat the length of his half-pulled-out dick, and the second he retreats all of it, a bulging push of his cum seeps out of you, dripping and pooling all over the hardwood floors.

“Holy shit, I wish I could take a picture of this,” he says, taking a step away to commit the sight to memory, your legs trembling and still slightly spread, ass pushed out and when you wiggle it a little, he lets out a huff of an exhale because he just can’t believe how sexy you are. Are all college girls like this? He’s never been to college, his old man’s been trying to get him to go for years, but maybe this is what finally convinces him.

“No pics,” you breathe out once you catch your breath, standing up straight slowly, “that’s my one sex rule.”

He takes a step closer to you, flipping your skirt back over your ass while you shimmy your shirt down to cover your chest. “That’s the only rule you have? Anything else goes?” he asks.

You spin around to face him, his eyes briefly flitting down to the still exposed skin of your midriff. “I have a feeling I’d be making up more specific rules if it was with you.”

He smiles, his hands grabbing your hips before pressing you up against the door again. “I also had a rule. It was to not fuck you. Wait, no, to not flirt with you. Which, technically, I didn’t do.”

You blink your eyes at him. “You’re kidding, right?”

“What?” he asks, genuinely confused, “I didn’t.”

“Huh—” you scoff, “how do you think we got into this situation in the first place?? You didn’t just say wanna fuck? You were insufferably flirty with me.”

“Nahhh nah nah nah nah, baby, that’s not flirting,” he tells you, thumb running circles over your hips, “that’s, like—…I don’t even fuckin’ know how it worked on you to be honest, I was just being stupid.”

“Oh okay so I’m stupid.”

“I never said you were stupid?”

“Well you said you were being stupid so me falling for it must mean I’m stupid.”

“Pshhh. You’re cute. Pulling weeds, by the way? Adorable.”

Your hand slowly roams up the front of his shirt, the fabric bunching at your wrists until you uncovered up to his collar bone, and you stare at his skin. He tries to not let the way his heart’s beating faster show through the heave of his chest. 

“Why do you have all these scars, anyway?” you whisper to him.   

“Too many girls tryna stab me,” he tells you.

You roll your eyes. “Seriously.” Your thumb traces the one you had left on him. 

“I—” He stops himself.

Does he tell you? Should he tell you? What, just because he’s seen you naked and you took his dick like a queen he’s supposed to open up to you about these things now? He doesn’t know. Maybe he could? Maybe you already suspect what he does at night. And if not, at the very least, I’m an underground boxer might make you think he’s hot? At the very worst, you’ll report him to the cops and he’d get fired as your little brother’s babysitter then thrown into jail, but not before the busted cartel gets him first.

“Maybe I’ll tell you some other time,” he says, his hand wrapping around your wrist and pulling it from his chest, “no hyper personal details until you’ve had my dick in your mouth at least once or twice. That’s my one rule.”

You snort. “I could’ve guessed that rule from a mile away.”

He hums. And then there’s the sound of steps creaking down the stairs above the two of you.

You both make eye contact, eyes widening, internally yelling at each other: how the fuck did we get into this situation twice?!

This time, Gojo opens the door and stumbles out of the closet, leaving you inside of it, just in time for your mom to come down the stairs.

“Satoru. I was looking for you,” she says as she rounds the post. “Have you picked up Yuuji? He has to go for his swimming lessons soon.”

“Ah, nope, was just about to head out,” he says, letting out a cough to diffuse tension, “sorry, I was—” he points his thumb over his shoulder to behind him, “…pulling out some gnarly weeds.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “I see. Well, thanks. If you want, I can add a gardening stipend to your paycheck. Let me know.” And he’s not sure how to respond because he’s not sure if she’s joking. 

He heads out the door, the keys to your mom’s minivan in his palm as he throws them up into the air and catches them a couple times. And just before he gets inside the car, he turns on his heel to face the house and pulls his phone out of his pocket to type in a message for you.

3:22pm Gojo Satoru: Send over those me-specific sex rules soon

.

.

.

[the end]

a/n. hope u enjoyed im shitting bricks posting this bc i haven't posted a oneshot smut since february but thanks so much for reading i appreciate u!! i got way too invested in the whole underground boxer thing 😂😂 but the fact i managed to keep everything under 12k is an accomplishment to me bc if u read my other fics you know i’m a yapper LOL i have another kind of a similarly written smut oneshot n it’s a lil angsty (totally different au tho) i’ll probs post that one next but yea i really like, hmm, i really like exploring entire characters within a short amount of time i enjoy writing the obscure lore drops xd it’s been kinda fun so far anywho much loveee hope to see u around! <3

➸ masterlist

taglist:

@joemama-2 @erencvlt @pickuptruck01 @hanakotateyama @nuronhe

@beabadobeee @air3922 @timetoletmyimaginationfly @chiyokoemilia @jotarohat

@sirencholia @sorcerersseestars @horisdope @to-dabi @staoru

@aliidarling @ninjaturtletoes @lavender-hvze @lanadelreylover11 @chckn-pi

@satoryaa @gojodickbig @v4mpieres @reinam00n @sleepyyammy

@haikomaiko @tbzzluvr @myahfig4 @arabelluhhh4200 @bloopsstuff

@nat-the-gayass-down-bad-mf @badbclub @blackunecorn @geniejunn @n0tviv

@verystrawberryhottub @iheartshopping @peonysfordayz @dreamsxmerci @aishies-stuff

@milkm4nz @athinasaurus @sashisuslover @welldamnsatoru @aeriiixhh

@crystalymin @dcvilxswish @miakxn @satxoru

[rememerance]

Complete meaninglessness makes no sense therefore expresses meaninglessness in an ineffective way. Meaninglessness aways needs chains of meaning to glue it up so that it shall be seen, even tho it is no longer pure. Pure meaninglessness unfortunately cannot be experienced, as the humans are limited to experience through constructing meaning which is instantly destructive to any pure meaninglessness presented (to be argued). Yet if you glue meaningfulness altogether in a meaningless way, pure meaninglessness can be presented, yet it simply can't be experienced purely, as meaninglessness can only be experienced purely through a state of meaninglessness (to be argued). But it's not true, as the act of trying to comprehend pure meaninglessness through the eyes of meaningfulness is no matter what meaningless. So can any attempts out of meaning ever really do any harm to pure meaninglessness? Is there any meaninglessness more or less pure than the other? Can pure meaninglessness not be experienced purely? Probably experiencing meaninglessness with the attempt of figuring it out, of comprehending it is the best way of experiencing it, as it adds more meaninglessness. So is experiencing meaninglessness through meaninglessness then more meaningless? They seem to me very equal, simply two different experiences. The former is like a smoker trying to smoke a bench and fails, and then realises that it is surely a bench that cannot be smoked no matter what; the latter is a smoker knowing that they can't smoke a bench as they came to appreciate the bench not to smoke it, so they just appreciate the bench as it is, which is their goal, which then is perfectly fulfilled and sątisfied through their attempt of no attempt. Both are satisfied as long as they both understand they are not here to smoke anything.

Now talking about smoking, why is it so necessary to use the verb "smoking" in front of "cigarette", as it sounds almost like emphasising it unnecessarily as what else can a person be doing with a cigarette in their mouth smoking? The word smoking is literally absolutely excessive and therefore meaningless, so instead of saying "They are smoking a cigarette" why not just say, "they are doing a cigarette", which makes more sense and saves some meaning. However meaning does not need to be saved as it is not limited. But since we live in a physical world where every traditional resource is limited therefore I developed this habit of saving. Yet again, trying to substitute words like "smoking" with "doing" in front of words like"cigarette", rather than saying that it is for saving something, it is actually cutting off some excessive unnecessary meaning.

Yet it is very intresting to notice, that when squeezing more than necessary meanings together you dont get more meaning, instead you get meaninglessness, just like "smoking a cigratte". Yet next time when I need to say "smoking a cigratte" I will still say “smoking a cigratte" instead of "doing", because I am afraid of being called a werido. But if you are not afraid, I do highly encourage you to do so, as that demonstrates your integrity and courage of cutting off shit, which is actually very important. At this point if you wonder, I do have realized that you could say "doing a cigratte" without being called a werido, which however, is less formal than "smoking a cigarette", which is super funny. How is excessive meanings squeezed together resulting meaninglessness more formal than the opposite? Which I figure is because they believe it is more clear, which I can't disagree more for obvious reasons.

[k-ru-h]

anyways fuck it im explaining the whole song now

whats important to remember is that serbia is nowhere near the level of development that western europe is on. five centuries under the ottoman empire followed almost immediately by two world wars left the country (and the whole balkan region) falling apart. corrupt politicians, ridicilous amounts of gang violence, extreme religious views, and overall shitty life standards created a horrible little hell hole. the song is, in essence, about how shitty the healthcare system here is and how artists cant get insurance under almost any circumstances.

the first line is in reverse, it means "a sick mind in a healthy body".

the beginning is very clearly about toxic beauty culture, how she only views an enlarged spleen as something ugly, not a serious medical problem. she talks about meghan markles beauty routine, which makes sense — people here tend to look up to western celebrities even more than western people themselves, seeing the promises of the american dream and wanting that for themselves. i repeat, living here is fucking miserable and people really want to pretend they live the "glamorous" american life. also, illness is almost taboo here, with our own cultural views on work making us ashamed to admit we need medical help. honestly, asking for help at all is a massive taboo. as long as you can cover it up, as long as you still look beautiful and glamorous like those american celebrities, youre fine.

the "umetnica mora biti zdrava (artist (f) must be healthy)" part, which is usually why this song is mocked, doesnt really have that much importance until the later parts but keep it in mind.

the part after that, about her... walking her dog, is slowly transitioning into the next, main topic of the song: the fact that she, as an artist, cant have medical insurance. here she starts off calmly describing a sunny day and how shes glad she doesnt have to worry about her heart beating because of her autonomous nervous system, only for it to become sort of frantic as she's almost praying her heart keeps beating. if it doesnt, if something goes wrong, no ones going to save her. she has to rely on her body to stay healthy, or she'll have no option but to just... die.

after that, the song sounds like something youd hear in a church. our country is, i repeat, VERY religious, as is our anthem, literally called "bože pravde" (god of justice). in the anthem, it references how god will save us from illness, and it ties into her previous frantic singing — she's praying for her health, like our country told us to, because the country itself betrayed her. "(bože zdravlja) nemam knjižicu" ("(god of health) i dont have [health insurance]")

the next part is satire, with her mocking the government for surveiling its citizens in the name of "the greater good", or in this case, health. she jokes about being invisible, about how its a superpower, while in reality it just means she's, well, fucked.

ok so! now its relevant! "umetnica može biti zdrava" ("artist (f) can be healthy") is a repetition of the previous part, except now it reveals how the government, in reality, doesn't give a shit about her. they dont care if she's healthy, she doesnt have to be.

"in corpore sano" means "in a healthy body", which, yknow, she literally has to be. a weak mind in a healthy body, a sad soul in a healthy body. a despairing mind in a healthy body, a frightened mind in a healthy body. this could be about one of two things, tho i believe its about the latter. it coule be about how only the people in admittedly miserable jobs can afford medical insurance, or how shes a desperate mind clinging onto its, for now, healthy body.

in the end she asks what will we do now and to answer her question, absolutely nothing. nothing ever gets better here.

[lilietsblog]

so whenever Russian characters crop up in American/English-speaking media theres a very noticable thing where writers v often dont understand patronymics and full names.

Now, there’s two gradations of “full name” that are in use here. There is the “FIO” full name, or SGP perhaps (surname, given name, patronymic), and there is the full given name.

As an example, let’s take Ivanov Ivan Ivanovich.

Ivanov is the surname. You can tell bc of hte -ov suffix at the end. (Not the only one possible but a pretty decent indication something is a surname when it is there)

Ivan is the given name. You can tell bc Russian has a set (an expansive one) of given names and this is one of them, one of the most historically popular at that.

Ivanovich is the patronymic, it can be translated as “son of Ivan”. You can tell bc of the “ovich” suffix. There is also “evich” and for at least one name just “ich”. Colloquially they will also get shortened into just “ych” making the variation “Ivanych”. (”Y” is the letter used for transliteration of a sound that doesn’t exist in English but is considered fairly close to “i’)

To be clear, “Ivanov Ivan Ivanych” is the exact same person as “Ivanov Ivan Ivanovich”, this is hte exact same name, the only thing that changes is how formal the speaker is being about it.

Female suffixes are “evna” and “ovna”. Anna Petrovna, Anna Fadeevna. There is also “ichna” for at least one name and an antiquated “ishna” which is the colloquial alternative in some cases. Anna Fadeevna = Anna Fadeishna. This IS antiquated tho.

Coming back to our Ivanov Ivan Ivanovich, this is the “FIO” form of his name, the way it will be put on formal documents that require one’s full name. The “Ivan Ivanovich Ivanov” form is also acceptable, its just not the order you write on documents in. The patronymic (Ivanovich) always comes after the full given name (Ivan), the surname can be stuck on either side of that.

The traditional respectful address to someone you know is the full given name + patronymic. Ivan Ivanovich! Could you come over here? It’s used with plural/formal “you”. This form is also becoming obsolete in recent years but if you’re writing mid-20th-century or characters of middle age+ Ivan Ivanovich is the name to go.

(Note the difference from the address + surname form in English: Dr. Smith or Mr Smith etc. In Russian this form does not exist except several centuries back or in very very impersonal century back “citizen Ivanov” that like a policeman would use to address you. Not anyone you actually know personally. Schoolchildren will often not know their teachers’ surnames because they are all Ivan Ivanovich to them.)

Now I keep saying “Ivan” is the FULL given name. The short given name from “Ivan” is “Vanya”. This is a set linguistic fact - the set of given names in Russian is factually two linked sets, a set of full given names and a set of short given names. Some short given names can  be short from several full given names, some full given names can have several short names (a person will usually pick one to use). A short given name doesn’t go anywhere on formal documents. It just follows from your full given name naturally, like conjugation. Some full given names (Gleb, Oleg, Diana, Vera) are short enough to be used as short given names too and so don’t realy have assigned short counterparts. In fact Vera can be both a full name on its own - Ivanova Vera Ivanovna - and short for Veronica - Ivanova Veronica Ivanovna.

Short names are formed through a variety of rules. There are basic requirements for the form they take as a result though. Full given names can have “complicated” consonant pairs together: Dmitriy, Aleksandr, Pavla, Anna. Short names are “simple” will almost always go consonant-vowel. Dmitriy -> Dima, Aleksandr -> Sasha, Alik or Shura (don’t ask how that last one happened, it’s a miracle of absurdity, but it’s one of the traditional shortenings), Pavla -> Pasha (well, Pavla is a rare name, you hear Pasha and you usually assume Pavel, the male name), Anna -> Anya. (”y” is not a consonant here, “ya” is a vowel sound English doesnt really have)

(As an exception to the consonant-vowel rule, when there’s a consonant pair the second of which is “l” it’s usually kept together in the short name - it’s just very simple to the Russian ear / tongue. Vladislav - Vlad or Slava, for example)

Often a name will be formed fully from the syllables / consonants of the full name, give or take changing the last vowel to the gender neutral “a”/”ya” (It will either be “a”/”ya” or a consonant). Vladimir -> Vlad, Ruslana -> Lana, Tatiana -> Tanya, Anna -> Anya, Katerina -> Katya, Dmitriy -> Dima or Mitya, Ivan -> Vanya. And then there’s the “sha” suffix tacked on as the second syllable: Pavel -> Pasha, Natalia -> Natasha or Tasha, Daria -> Dasha, Aleksandr -> Sasha, etc.

So long as they conform to these rules, you can kind of make them up. Though considering the whole of history, you’re not super likely to make up something that hasn’t been made up before you. Anna historically speaking turns into Anya, Nyura, Nyusha... -shudders-

So how are short names actually used?

As an implication of familiarity/subordination, that’s how. For the weebs in the audience, you know the ‘-chan’ suffix in Japanese? Kind of exactly like that. Japanese has more nuances, but generally if you wouldn’t call someone -chan, you shouldn’t call them by their short name. (Unless they specifically asked you to, but I think that’s a thing in Japanese too)

Short names are never paired with patronymics. The steps of formality in address are basically “Ivan Ivanovich” => “Ivan” => “Vanya”.

(There’s also formal you, so to be completely clear: “Ivan Ivanovich” (formal you) => “Ivan” (formal you) => “Vanya” (formal you) => “Vanya” (informal you). If someone is getting called their full given name + informal you, it’s either implying antiquity - pre 20th century - or they’re using their full given name as their short given name.)

You call your children and siblings by short names. You call your friends by short names. You MIGHT call your employees, especially if they are sufficiently young, or if you’ve known them for a long time and the “familiarity” part applies, by short names.

SHORT NAMES ARE NOT FORMAL. This is important. Nobody has “Natasha” written in their passport (unless I guess they were making new documents in America or something from scratch and didn’t use any old ones as basis of establishing idenity so could make up whatever. It’s still weird! It’s like having “Johnny-boy” written in your passport!)

SHORT NAMES ARE OFTEN GENDERED BUT YOU CANNOT TELL HOW WITHOUT KNOWING THE CORRESPONDING FULL NAME. “Pasha” and “Misha” are both male names becaus they are short from “Pavel” and “Mikhail”. Of course you could have a Pavla or a Mikhaila, but the former is very rare and the latter is probably a foreign Mykaila Russianified or something. In these cases it’s usually considered normal to assume gender, even if there’s a tiny chance you could be wrong.

PATRONYMICS ARE NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES INTERCHANGEABLE WITH SURNAMES. You have the same surname as your family members, but if you have the same patronymic, either you’re siblings or there are multiple people with the same given name in your immediate family, which is slightly odd. A patronymic is formed from your father’s name by unambiguous and definite rules. Foreign names can be turned into patronymics easily. (Though kids of foreign citizens can get whatever their parents want on their birth certificate - patronymic by the rules of one of the parents’ home country, no patronymic at all, whatever) Surnames are surnames and work the same way they work anywhere else.

PATRONYMICS AND SURNAMES ARE NOT CONNECTED IN ANY WAY WHATSOEVER. Any surname goes with any patronymic same as it goes with any given name. Except for the obvoius “statistically likely to be from the same culture” part. (Your “Russian” character could have Georgian, Ukrainian, Armenian, Lithuanian, Bielorussian, Kazakh, Tatar descent, descent from any number of indigenous cultures on the territory of Russia that I personally never heard about until I started translating documents in high amounts and stumbling upon them. Russia is an empire!) But even that’s just statistics - you could have a Tsukino Farha Bogdanovna and I’d just go “that’s a fascinating family history right there”.

GOOGLE RUSSIAN GIVEN NAMES, DON’T MAKE THEM UP. And pay attention if something is marked as “diminutive” - that means it’s a short name, and it will not be used on formal documents or in conjunction with a patronymic. Go for the name it’s diminutive for and just have the character ask everyone to use their short name if you want - it’s trendy these days.

There’s all kinds of fuckery going on with name use on the margins - some old people will call their close friends the “patronymic + informal you” construction. (Actually it’s a “Russian babushka” stereotype that actually exists within the culture. And if anyone ever uses the “short name + patronymic” form irl it’s this category of people, though I’d imagine only in third person) Some bosses or even teachers will invite their students to call them by their short name (I am so deeply uncomfortable with this). Age is often the difference between a Vanya and an Ivan Ivanovich in the same situation.

All patronymics and a good share of surnames conjugate by gender! “Ivanov” and “Ivanova” are the exact same surname, but a guy will have the former writen in their documents and a gal would have the latter. If you legally change your gender that letter changes too. (No, there’s no gender neutral form. Some surnames, like those ending in -enko, just don’t do this, but those that do are at all times one or the other) I guess expatriates a couple of generations down could have whatever going on, but if you have an actually-born-in-Russia “Ivanova Ivan Ivanovna” that means “Ivan” is a girl with a male name for some fucking reason. Name gendering is just tradition, patronymic gendering is grammar. (And if you have an “Ivanova Ivan Ivanovich” that’s just someone making a typo) (Maybe our hypothetical Ivanova Ivan Ivanovna transitioned and liked her birth name so much, she decided to not even go for Ivanna or something else plausible, Ivan or bust. Officials would probably just shrug and go with it lmao)

Oh, and in less formal lists and situations, surname + short given name is a classical combination. When I call my grandboss, surname + short given name is how I introduce myself, because I’m much younger and much subordinate so short name it is, but she’s under no obligation to identify me from my given name so surname it is. (To people who I expect to remember my name but who weren’t expecting me to call, just surname is good, but to people who can connect my surname with my identity but probably don’t remember my given name immediately & exactly from that, giving also the form of given name they address me by is the reasonable person thing to do)

If I were introducing myself in the “Hi! I’m Tsukino Usagi!” anime intro format, I’d go for “Short given name + surname”. Short name is usually the one people think of as their personal identity as it’s whatt their close circle will have been calling them for their entire life, and ACTUALLY it’s normal for the surname to come after the given name. In a book citation of “famous doctor X did Y” they will probably be “famous doctor fullgivenname-patronymic-surname”. For a Russian speaker, switching between Japanese name order and English name order is not a difficulty, but we WILL be distressed by not being able to tell which is which and therefore which it is on sight )=

MARVEL COMICS WALL OF SHAME

- Natasha Alianovna Romanova. First, “Romanov” is not a common surname, it’s the surname of the royal family, it’s like a random English guy being called “Tudor”. Well, it’s plausible, it IS formed by the classic “common given name + -ov” rule, but Roman isn’t even that common a name (and not exactly Russian), and... well. It’s just weird. I don’t think there’s good chances for it to have come into existence as such historically WHEN IT WAS THE RULING FAMILY SURNAME. Second! Natasha is a short name! She should be Natalia/Natalya! Third... I mean I will not say Alian is not an existing male name, and I won’t even say it’s not used in any cultures that exist within Russia, but if they were aiming for “common Russian male name” they missed 180 degrees.

- Ilyana Rasputin. First, -in is a suffix that makes this surname adjective-ish, meaning it conjugates by gender, meaning she is RASPUTINA. Her brother is Rasputin. She is Rasputina. Second, again, I have heard of exactly one (1) guy with this surname, and it’s the same guy you’re thinking of right now. It is in no way, shape or form common, or reasonable to give to a character without making it a plot point. Third, Ilyana is not a Russian name that exists. Ilya is a male name, but there’s no female form. FOURTH, I distinctly remember reading a comic where she was calling her brothers “Piotr” and “Mikhail”. That’s their full names! I mean bonus points for actually finding the full names this time, but it’s extremely weird for their LITTLE SIBLING to use them! They should be Petya and Misha as far as her own speech is concerned!

P.S. “All Night Laundry” is a fantastic webcomic, but “Grandimir” is not a real name, “Grand” is not a Russian word root and will not be used in a name this way, you’re looking for “Velimir” or somethng (though that’s, like, a thousand years antiquated). Also while both the uncle and the nephew having the “Petrovich” patronymic is not that odd, Petr is not THAT rare a name and maybe their brother/father was Petr Petrovich... considering we never learn their surname, I seriously suspect the writer just confused a patronymic with a surname. Also, naming their dog the same name crosses the line into slightly weird. Who names a dog after their father? This is actually what prompted this...

[thephantomporg84]

[REDACTED] be complaining reg. the reactions of having "placed the cultist island Fortuna off the coast of Florida" while having the gall of "It’s the story & the way it’s told that should fucking matter" & "Who cares? It’s fictional geography, you idiots." Feels a bit like failing World-Building 101. I mean, Red Grave based on London would also be a callback to Dante's early concept of being a Brit.

Someone already sent me the whole post of hers that I’m pretty sure you’re referring to lmao. I’m in a particularly cunty but pleasant mood rn, and analysis is kind of my thing, so lets’s break it down, shall we?

Maybe someone can send this her way and… learn that tiny little brain of hers a thing. 😉

It’s fictional geography called world building, you idiots Karen after the cut:

‘I love how a number of shitheels have screeched amongst themselves on this hellsite about how I had placed the cultist island Fortuna off the coast of Florida or somewhere around the Gulf US states (re: the fanfic & project link in my header), whining that it should’ve been in Europe, namely Italy.’

An admission to stalking profiles is not exactly the best way to start a self-righteous rant or advertise your… magnum opus, but go off, I guess.

‘Not only that, but they whined about “plotholes and inconsistencies” without elaborating on what the latter are. The asshole who made the rant was annoyed when I used a poem as a spell in the story (“if I heard that, I’d turn off my PS4.”), but I’m sure she didn’t bitch about the cutscene before the last Agnus boss fight in DMC4.’

Like the movie The Room (2003), it’s just easier to say “all of it” is bad because “all of it” contains plotholes and is inconsistent in tone, has terrible half-baked ideas and plot threads that remain unresolved and/or do nothing to further the plot, is rife with poor + inconsistent characterization, has a lack of any knowledge how the medium it exists in is made, and in general makes me wonder how much pottery enamel you’ve been huffing to think any of this was a good idea. Howeverrrr, in contrast to you, Tommy Wiseau is kind of odd and weirdly charming both in general and about his terrible movie — he’s found glory and success in its terribleness. You, in contrast, remain a miserable cunt with delusions of grandeur.

Dante and Agnus’ Shakespeare bit is actually a pretty well known trope called Ham-to-Ham Combat. Dante and Agnus are both ridiculous Large Hams in DMC4, and when two Large Hams meet, in general, they are likely gonna try to ‘out-over dramatic’ each other. This can lead to a scene becoming either really funny or really corny (or both) really fast. If things go too far — and they do, in this case — the scene can become a Hormel Event Horizon.

‘…but they LOVE the plotholes & inconsistencies if Capcom makes the latter, and writes a terrible story! And Crapcom’s canon for DMC is as straight as a paperclip or a dog’s hind leg. Hypocritical pricks.’

Subjective opinion is not, and never will be, objective fact. People are, as of when I checked again in the last ~5 minutes or so, absolutely able to enjoy whatever media they want regardless of what the general consensus on the quality of that media is.

As an example, I enjoy The Room (2003) despite its terribleness and it never fails to make me laugh, while your magnum opus makes me want to huff pottery enamel so the pain will stop despite you thinking it is the work of an idiot savant.

‘They were also mad that I wrote Dante as a wiseguy who is a little more low-key about it due to the circumstances— instead of being a pathetic manchild airhead that tries too hard.’

You didn’t write Dante.

You wrote Reboot!Donte — a fucking terribly out of character version of him, at that.

‘I was primarily concerned about moving the story along. I didn’t care about where a fictional island is supposed to go.’

You literally had one (1) job, Karen.

‘…Meanwhile, not a single character in DMC4 had an Italian accent, so uh, why should I give a flying fuck where I put it?’

Haven’t you been like… shitting on the DMC staff… for terrible writing… this enti— You know what? You’re obvs way too dumb to notice that contradiction, so I’ll let it slide.

Just… a word of advice, if I may? Don’t ever watch dub TV shows. That last brain cell would fuckin’ just burst all over your carpet.

(Actually, don’t watch subtitled shows either. An extremely popular anime that was set in Italy just wrapped and all the characters — le gasp! — spoke fucking Japanese. You would shit.)

‘I wasn’t paid to write any of what I wrote, but be my guest & send a PM if you want to throw money at me. By all means, do that.’

Oh, thank fuck, because they would have been ripped off, big time.

[ btw, you sound p. jealous of people that write/do creative work/commissions for ko-fi/payment tho. Not a good look tbbh. If it’s any consolation, though, I don’t get paid for making fun of you and/or analyzing your dumb bullshit, either. :( ]

‘The pricks at Capcom didn’t even bother giving us a proper DMC4 and it was a half-assed game, with the latter half being hasty filler material. The “special edition” they coughed up in 2015 was just glorified overpriced DLC.’

Ya know, you gotta be pretty far up your own ass to think this much of your opinion. And I’m saying this as a person that’s pretty far up her own ass like 85% of the time.

‘And another thing, Redgrave City in DMC5 seems to be in England, yet no survivors speak with English accents or slang/dialects.’

Pretty sure no survivors had speaking roles.

If you played the game you’d know this.

‘Meanwhile, Dante and Vergil had lived there when they were kids (until age 8), but they both have ordinary American or Canadian accents. Furthermore, how did the twins make it to the USA or Canada? According to the little booklet in the DMC1 game case, Dante’s office is in modern America.’

You know that invoking the imagery of a specific place without naming your location is normal and standard practice, right? Overwatch even does this (For Ex: Byōdō-in (平等院), Uji, Kyoto Prefecture, Japan is the inspiration for Hanamura, Château de Duingt, Duingt, France for Château Guillard, etc.)

Furthermore, you know the original DMC was a rejected first draft of Resident Evil 4, right? This is what retcon is for. You at least know what retcon is, right?

‘…That information isn’t very important, but I’m bringing it up to illustrate a point that being a fucking pedant about geography in a fantasy game is idiotic, even if the setting is akin to modern Earth.’

So is freaking the fuck out and sending death threats over a fantasy game but you didn’t let that stop you either lmfao.

It’s actually super important to establish your scenery and the way your world operates, especially in a written work in which readers are dependent on your vision and your descriptions, and if you were a decent writer, you’d know this.

‘It’s the story & the way it’s told that should fucking matter.’

YOU HAD ONE (1) JOB, KAREN.

‘What US states are the Arklay Mountains located in?’

General description puts them in the U.S. Midwest. Raccoon City itself is stated to have a population of ~100,000 at the time of outbreak, and the only city in the Midwest that matches that population in 1998 is Springfield, Missouri, with a pop. of ~110,000.

Springfield is on the Springfield Plateau of the Ozarks region of SW Missouri. So they’re part of the Ozark Mountains.

This all took less than ~3 minutes to google, btw.

‘Where is “Zanzibar Land?”’

I actually just wrote a comprehensive answer to an ask a few weeks ago about this. It’s actually stated to be in Tselinoyarsk (Целиноярск), the (fictional) area of the former USSR in which Big Boss carried out the Virtuous Mission/Operation Snake Eater in 1964. Tselinoyarsk itself is heavily implied to consist of parts of Kyrgyzstan and/or Tajikistan. If you played MGS3 you’d know how important the setting and the varied environments/climates are to the game mechan-

oh yeah wait you believe in segregation of story and gameplay mechanics. I forget you’re completely tone deaf sometimes lmao.

How far is ‘Salem’s Lot or Derry from Bangor? Who cares?’

Stephen King does, quite a bit. He even has a map on his website of ‘his’ fictional version of Maine:

My disappointment is immeasurable, Karen.

[umbillicalnoose]

i think that you would think im pretty and would like my poetry and i want to share it with you. im shy.

to be honest, im very apathetic these days. im not the nice “cutesy baby flower petal boy” i used to be. a lot has happened & im bitter & sullen & all in all, a pretty shitty friend/person to know. i used to possess some redeeming qualities, believe it or not, even if they were construed by the subconscious in an attempt to be likeable - a facade, even tho its only a facade, is still tangible, still there, is still something, even if not authentic. is poorer character forgivable in the name of presenting more authentically? but nah. that makes it sound like im putting effort into being a better person, which im not. im just sort of fried & done. its been a very long time since i played the role i built for myself on here of the “small fawn boy who wants to help girls” lmaooo. how embarrassing. altho, i was just a kid, & i guess, if you had a tumblr as a teenager, you went thru some cringe (i know the use of that word has fallen in on itself & adopted its own definition but for lack of a better one) ass phases, whether it was kinning or malingering mental illness or oh fucking christ, all that gender bullshit, etc etc. from what ive observed, tho, loosely following kids im still casually friends with that i met on here, i think we’ve all managed to Grow The Fuck Up, at least a little. most of us have jobs or r in school or have partners - growing up & moving on is a very surreal experience to watch/go thru. im moving at my own pace & ive accepted that - im still currently using & starving myself & concocting a suicide plan every day but at least i use clean needles as much as possible, i actively & honestly do strive for the bare minimum calorically, & um able to work with the mentality of “well ill have this when i need it but todays not that day” a lot more readily, in relation to suicide shit. ive finally found a therapist who Really Gets It, is a frontrunner internationally on ritual & extreme abuse & mind control. its pretty incredible what a few years with a good therapist can do. anyways. im sorry, i know you didnt ask for all this & im not even sure why i divulged. i guess, what tipped me off, was your attempt at sounsing “cute” - dude, cut that shit out, i promise youll be a lot better off. & i know everyone interchanges aspects of their personality based on who theyre talking to/who they percieve themselves to be talking to, but i feel like not a lot of people give enough credence to the internet & its hand in shaping/molding young people, kids, vulnerable dumbasses, especially tumblr (tho, i get that its a relatively new phenomenon) - u get a bunch of the “weird”, “alternative”, ““ostracized” kids together on a website, of course its gonna nurture a culture of hypervalidatoon & pretending to be sick in order to fit in to the point that its not an act anymore & exacerbation of symptoms & basically, just sucking each others dicks, sitting in ur own shit, & never ending coddling. & then, you have the older group of kids, who have played this game before but instead of helping or ignoring the Dumbshit kids, they indulge their own normally-buried-but-unleashed-by-internet-anonymity sadism/human instinct to just be fucking dicks & so now you have this vicious cycle of anger & hatred & fucking melodrama up the urethra. im sorry, i know im comig off as/am being harsh but god fuckin dammit yknow? also, this isnt directed at you, specifically, more of a generalized thing, @ myself included. so uh. i mean, if u still wanna share it with me after reading all this, id be happy to read ur poetry. i used to be over the top nice & then reverted to Major Asshole & am now trying to find that sweet middle spot - honoring & allowing myself to share my pain without putting it on others. which is really hard!! cuz becoming a Dick was difficult in that it forced me to be more honest with my true self & as such, more vulnerable - now in trying to become Kinda Nice again because despite being a pulsating scrotom, ive had the intense desire for friendship & human interaction, while simultaneously doing things that i was consciously aware was pushing others away - but then, if i pretend to be nice, where does that authenticity i worked for & was so scared of go? & i dont mean telling someone their new haircut looks nice even when it doesnt - thats just not being a dick. but i guess, those r the normal trials & tribulations of any relationship & adolescent developing identity. which is weird too - dealing with “normal” issues, i mean. whats the point if your life/limbs/breaking point arent at risk? whats the point when your best friends already dead. im sick of people calling "survivors” (despise that word, so fucking female-originated & overdramatic) “brave” & “strong” - surviving is not brave or strong. its just survival. you wouldnt call an animal brave for running for its life from a predator but you would call a dog courageous for going into a burning building to save its owner. premeditated action on the notion that you are probably going to be hurt is brave. being subjected to pain with no choice is not. theres no “silver lining” or anything “good” to be drawn from it either - sure it may have made x a more compassionate person or made y more introspective & gentle but you know what would have been even fucking better??? if the shit hadnt happened in the first place! let x be an asshole & y be self absorbed - the “benefits”, so to speak, do not outweigh the cost, not by a long fucking shot. its not only patronizing to hear garbage like that, but a slap in the face to know that anyone could possibly see anything good coming from that nightmare & that the characteristics, good or bad, you developed either in response to or as a result of, are worth praise. dont tell me im strong for doing what i had to to escape a torture chamber - tell me im perseverant for studying my ass off & passing that test last week. in the words of one of my dearest & most fucking brilliant friends, “pain doesnt owe me/you purpose - the need to intellectualize & assign meaning to pain & death is not only futile, but harmful.” & honestly, i think that it stems from weakness (in most cases - i realize theres a plethora of other reasons such as those who r just desperate for something to hold on to or r hyperintellectual & analytical or who have been pressured by external “support” systems to find the “good” etc etc) - while the majority of people view the person who “can find the good in everything” (strictly speaking only in relation to trauma/tragedy here & more in denunciation of those that celebrate this trait as opposed to vilifying “survivors” who respond this way, though in my experience, its very very very rarely the “survivor” that perpetrates this ideology ) as strong, i sort of see it as a weakness - their inability to sit with & absorb their own pain or that of others is so strong that not only do they have to frantically pull rainbows out of the teeth of a meat cleaver, they also have to exist within this strange (tho, not malicious - more subconscious) superiority complex. like, nah, dude, some times shit is just awful. you cant tell me anything fucking good came out of a four year old girl being kidnapped, gangraped, & tortured for two years, before being impaled & left to die on a stake. her mom opened a non profit organization? oh well thank fucking god for that!!! those that believe the latter to be more “enlightened” or whatever the fuck r the same people who say shit like “dying is easy - living is harder” & i get that that its supposed to be interpreted metaphorically for the most part - giving up is easy, trying isnt (which also.....isnt true??? admitting defeat & fully accepting the fact that ur fucking helpless is beyond hard lmao???) - but pretend youre somewhere, anywhere outside ur sunny little fucking yoga studio full of white women whos biggest issues r the pta & johnny whos failing math, & lets say your life is in real, imminent danger, a gun is to your head & i want you to not scream or cry or beg for ur life since dying is “easier”. if dying is so easy, why do the majority of ppl cling to it with such desperation - why is suicide illegal? why do some ppl go thru 100s of chemo treatments even tho the doctors say theyre just prolonging the inevitable, ppl who cut off a diseased arm so it wont spread, those who walk dozens of miles every day for food & water, etc? & i know & understand the survival instinct better than anyone, even when i wanted to die more than anything, my natural instincts would kick in with no conscious neural input & id do what i had to do. im not condemning those who cling to life (ok - a little. ur wasting resources out of ur own fear. but i also realize thats just me being a Fucking Asshole As Always cuz technically, im doing the same thing tho its more due to lack of opportunity rather than fear. i just think, societally, death should be more normalized, discussed, & not made out to be so unknown & scary), instead just reprimanding those who say shit like that (inspirational facebook quotes). especially cuz most of the ppl who do spew that shit have never gone thru anything even remotely difficult - their worst nightmare is a Big Scary Black Man grabbing them on the street, mugging them, & touching their tits. & i also know that these stupid ass sayings are to be applied to bullshit like exercise & fitness (“no pain no gain” is another one of my Favorites) & not fucking torture or even just ur run of the mill rape, even that would probably smash the rose tinted banana republic shades off their beverly hills tanned faces. but ive heard the no pain no gain one a handful of times in the last few weeks, specifically from doctors performing procedures in preparation for my bottom surgery. & i know its supposed to be encouraging & they have no way of knowing, but its just like, buddy, u have no idea who youre fucking talking to. & im starting to understand what THEY mean when they say it - pain with a reward is infinitely more tolerable than pain just for the sake of pain; like, a tattoo, it hurts, but u know, when its done, its gonna be sick as fuck. when u r able to fall back on the idea that its for something u rlly want, its A Lot easier to handle as opposed to pain thats Just Pain - theres no reward for it except, i guess, that the more u experience it, the closer u r to the end of it lmao. i mean, i still hate when ppl say it cuz for most of my life, pain was just pain, & the “reward” was the opportunity to go home at the end & so whenever ppl say that, my mind just immediately resorts back to that & im just like haha fuck u. but im trying to remember my experiences r definitely not universal & im starting to sorta understand what they mean i think. but, flipping gears here, & going back to the sentiment of “everything happens for a reason”, the base philosophy of psuedo deep Fuckwads - a girls dad didnt fuck her “for a reason”, everything doesnt happen “for a reason”. like ok, hypothetically, the kid he impregnated her with & that she was forced to have at 12 may surpass all odds & not become a homeless junkie & instead become a world renowned doctor who finds the cure for cancer. but she wasnt raped repeatedly from the age of six for that “reason”, no matter what anyone says & honestly, the liberation of the masses does not justify the suffering of one, especially a child. in my eyes at least. but again, im a bitter asshole. sorry i just Went The Fuck Off here oh my god.....if u read all this, thanks, pal. if not, thats cool too. but yea, send me ur stuff, id totally be down to read it. as for me potentially thinking ur cute, i have to look at my disgusting shitstain of a “face” every goddamn day so everyone else to me is fuckin aphrodite. but im also tryin to not put so much worth into physical appearance- its not something that should be complimented cuz its just smth a person was born with which is the same reason it shouldnt be insulted. this is gonna sound gay & stupid but i personally find that a persons essence & personality really permeates. you can meet someone who, objectively, isnt all that great looking, but once u get to know them, u really see their beauty - how the sun catches in their hair, their dilated pupils looking up at u from under long eyelashes in the dark, the birthmark on their right shoulder that they despise but that is so Them, the gap in their teeth, etc. & idk how to phrase this without it sounding like “well ur ugly but at least ur a good person”, cuz that only reiterates the societally indoctrinated emphasis on appearance & my kneejerk reaction to assure the person in question that thats not what im saying is only another result of that!!! its inescapable!!! but no, really, its not just a matter of “its on the inside that counts” - physically, they change or maybe, actually this is more likely, when i first meet them, my “default” eyes r just looking for features that i know im immediately attracted to (tall, blonde, sickly as in sunken eyes sticklike pale but still looks like she could & will beat the shit out of me) but as i fall in love or get to know them better, my eyes adjust & i notice & adore the beauty that was there all along. so uh. idk if ill think ur “cute”. but probably, yes, ill think ur an angel.

[ledamemangociana]

2020 20 questions meme time UWU

i was tagged by @decertatio to do this! i havent spent enough time on here recently to tag anyone, B U T! if you see this and would like to do this, consider yourself tagged, and let me know! i wanna read your answers UWU

-----

1. Do you make your bed? - GAWD NO, at least not 70% of the time, im so bad at this. it’s coz on the weekdays, i start working at 6:30am or 7am at home coz my bosses are in Australia and a lot of our clients are in Australia and/or New Zealand, and they’re 3 or 4 hours ahead of us, so i gotta get on those emails and support case tickets as soon as i can, so i give myself about an hour to catch up, and then i hurry out of the condo to get to the office before im marked late at 10am lolololol. on the weekends, when im at home, BECAUSE im just at home, i never fix my bed coz im in it 85% of the time anyway lakdjf

2. What’s your favorite number?  - 13, cliche as it sounds. not coz i think it’s lucky or anything, but because other people around me thought it was. i kind of clung onto it when i was in high school coz i wanted to fit in by standing out.

3. What’s your job? - An accounts and client services manager at a digital services agency.

4. If you could, would you go back to school? - Probably not. I love learning, HATE studying. 

5. Can you parallel park? - i never got far enough into being taught how to drive by mom to get to parking

6. A job you had which would surprise people? I think every job I’ve ever held, tbh. I graduated interior design mainly because my dad told me to when i asked him if i should enroll in advertising instead (the entrance exam i passed was good for either course). the only ID job i ever had lasted only two weeks, at a firm i had to do my internship/OJT at. it was my first job, and i was let go after two weeks. after that, i was a call center agent for two months, and then a copywriter for 6 months, and then an SEO specialist for a year and a half, and then a social media content/community manager at one firm for one year, and then for another agency for 3 and a half, and now im in my second year as an accounts manager at a digital services cloud agency. even i’m surprised at this job list tbh.

7. Do you think aliens are real? - i absolutely do believe that we are not the only life in this big, huge, wide, expansive universe that the planet earth is but a miniscule blip on. there’s definitely other life out there.

8. Can you drive a manual car? - i haven’t driven a car legitimately outside of learning how to drive, but yeh i probably can, since that was what my mom taught me with.

9. What’s your guilty pleasure? - junk food and soft drinks, but in general i try not to feel guilty about anything i take pleasure in

10. Tattoos? - none, but i am ACHING for them. i’ve had ideas for a loooong time. one that i DEFINITELY want to get as my first one is part of a letter that i found that my mom wrote for me in high school. “i know that you will be able to stand up for yourself and the world will stop and take notice.” i still have the letter, so i still have it in her handwriting. i want it on the inside of my left forearm. 

11. Favorite color? - Pink! lighter/softer/pastel shades are my preferred ones, but i love any shade or hue of pink tbh

12. Things people do that drive you crazy? - i hate fake guilt trips. like, when someone wants me to do something that i can’t do, they’ll come in with like “nah, it’s fine, i’ll just drop all these SUPER IMPORTANT things im doing and go out of my way to do this thing that im asking you to do because i’m SOOOOO sorry that you’re unable to do it yourself” coz it’s like...dude, if you really were able to do that or if you wanted to actually do that, you wouldn’t have asked me to do the thing in the first place. like, you’re clearly just saying that to make me feel bad enough to make me drop everything im doing and do whatever it is you asked me to do. i also hate when ppl fish for compliments by being falsely humble or self-deprecating. like. PLEASE, y’all, i’ve lived with negative amounts of self-esteem for literal decades, i know the difference between actual self-loathing and you just wanting to hear good things about yourself that you don’t want to be called narcissistic for saying about yourself. i know what it sounds like when someone is actually going THRU something or is actually having an actual hard time accepting themselves and/or asking people for what they need as opposed to when someone just wants to be told something. like. don’t insult my intelligence and experiences like that. granted, there are nuances to consider for all of these things, bUT like i said, i know the differences when i see them.

13. Any Phobias? - i have a phobia of drowning that’s light enough to NOT keep me away from water but bad enough to sometimes make watching or listening to scenes where someone could potentially drown to set some triggers off for me. i also just have a really really bad fear of dying because of getting my oxygen cut off, coz that sounds like a really slow, painful way to die.

14. Favorite childhood sport? - i was never really a sports kid. the only sport i ever really enjoyed playing willingly was badminton. i trained for a few summers but never competed, but i got good enough to make games in a court fun. i still have my badminton racquet, it’s the only Legit™ badminton racquet in the house (it’s a Yonex, handed down to me by my trainer, only been restrung twice or thrice coz the last restringing was done so damn well), all the other racquets were inexpensive unbranded knock-offs that were good enough for me and my family to have casual games with.

15. Do you talk to yourself? - yes but mostly as a product of deep focus or concentration, or really heavy emotion. having social media has lessened doing it for the latter since i can just vent on here or on twitter, but when im doing stuff for work that’s hard or needs a lot of focus or concentration, i have full-on stand-up meetings with myself.

16. What movie do you adore? - “Romy And Michele’s High School Reunion.” it’s not a perfect movie by any means, but for someone who was a bullied outcast for much of elementary and high school years in a private, all-girls, Catholic school where everyone was tall and thin and pretty and pale and smart and popular, ALL the things that i wasn’t, it was - is? - like a beacon or a hug.

17. Do you like doing puzzles? - heck yeh, coz solving them makes me feel smart, and not being able to solve them but learning HOW to is so much fun for me.

18. Favorite kind of music? - i don’t know that i have one, to be honest, i haven’t listened to current radio in literal YEARS because i dont own a radio in the condo, i barely watch TV anymore, and i dont spend enough time in a vehicle to really know what’s up. i enjoy pop, hip-hop, rnb, showtunes.

19. Tea or coffee? - more of a coffee person myself, actual tea always just tastes LEGITIMATELY like leaf water to me, and i cant find a liking for it. i do really love sweet tea and milktea tho. but yeh, im mostly a bean juice person.

20. The first thing you remember you wanted to be when you grew up? - An architect, like my dad. i thought i would be one, up until i discovered writing in high school, and then i thought i wanted to become a journalist until i took it up as my first course in college and hated it. but yeh, it was always “architect! like daddy!” when i was asked that question when i was a kid. i looked up to him so much as a kid, and he and i were super tight when i was younger coz i was his firstborn and a daughter. we used to call each other best friends. i miss those days a lot; things between us seemed simpler, but maybe that’s because i didn’t have the ideals, knowledge and capacity to question the way he loves/loved me as My Parent™. our relationship these days is absolutely skewed and skewered.

[mortaljin]

U and T!!!

T: Any fandom tropes you can’t stand?

Hmmm I’m trying to think, there’s not many that i absolutely hate but there’s plenty that I generally dont try to read. Thinks like enemies to lovers or friends with benefits to lovers i generally steer cleer from. The former because its soo chessy (tho when i read one i always squeal in delight) but definitely not the latter because those fics usually don’t have a happy ending. The FWB-L fics i’ve read, anyway, never have the reader pairing up with the member and it just.. hurts. HONESTLY I CANT STAND ANY TROPE BECAUSE IT HURTS SO FUCKIGN BAD TO READ AND LIKE ITS ALWAYS ANGST BUT I PUSH ON. its not so much a matter of me not liking tropes, i just don’t read fics based on tropes, i read them based on the AU which--wait, please tell me trope isn’t supposed to mean AU here. IF TROPE MEANS AU HERE THEN I CANT DO WEREWOLF FICS. like again, if i read one i usually like it, but i steer clear bc i just cant get the whole dog thing out of my head... and hybrid fics? ive kinda gotten away from those. and yes i know, i wrote one lolololol

U: Share three of your favorite fic writers andwhy you like them so much.

UGH YESSSSS PLEASE LET ME SHOWER  PEOPLE WITH COMPLIMENTS.

@jeonjagiya

this woman is literally the shit. like??  i can barely think of more people in the writing community that can write people like her?? idk if its natural skill or all the effort she puts in when it comes to editing, but the people in her stories sound like real people you would meet on the street; they don’t feel like flat characters? I guess. idk i love iris and how she writes people BYE.

@kpopfanfictrash 

ugh SHANNA. she writes so many different types of things and i just sigh. Blackthorn manor is still probably one of my favorites. she just writes some really cool shit and you can get a variety of different things from her blog :’))

@floralseokjin

 DO YOU KNOW HOW FUCKING HARD IT IS TO FIND SOMEONE IN THIS FANDOM WITH MORE THAN TWO JIN THINGS ON THEIR MASTERLIST?? LET ALONE LIKE A MILLION??? UGH all of my jin fic needs get satisfied with ehr writing and im swooning

This ended up being so long thank you for coming to my ted talk

Fanfic Ask Game! Ask Me Here 

[mairzymarzipan]

Night of the Full Moon Character Reviews: The Big Bosses(Minus Werewolf)

Hello again

I know I said I’d be talking about the Hunter, Old Mage, Fallen Priest and so on today, but I realized that those characters were actually more interesting in the context of other characters, so I put them off for later.  I decided instead to talk about the main bosses of the game, as it so happens, are the closest people to Red Riding Hood.  Because this game wants to be an ironicy soap opera/anime that way.

When I say Big Bosses, I mean that you always fight one of these characters at the end of the game.  Unless you’re like me and you start all over at the end because you’re bored and tired of all four of them playwise.

Werewolf

Wait, no, never mind.  This is another one of those characters who’s more interesting in the context of different, non-Red Riding Hood Characters.  We’re saving this boi for later.  But, you shouldn’t too surprised, if you read the title.  Instead, I’ll just use this space to talk about a mechanic.

Throughout the game, you can get ‘courage’ and ‘reputation’ points by talking to characters.  Very very generally speaking, you get courage points by doing brave things, and you get reputation points for doing nice things.  You also can get courage points when a character talks shit about the werewolf, and reputation points when a character talks shit about the witch.  So naturally, if you have more courage in the end, you get to fight the wolf, and if you have more reputation, you get to fight the witch.  I guess what they’re going for is only a meanie would fight this doggo?  And the witch is who any empathetic person would hate???

I feel like the latter is not the case, but more on that later.

Witch

“Only your Hope family can lift the dark magic curse.  This is what the priest is most afraid of.  That’s why monsters run wild on full moon nights. First they made your grandmother disappear and then they drew you into the forest...but they never anticipated that you would make it this far.”

By the way, you’re part of a prophecy.  Only someone in your family can lift the curse on the forest.  jsyk

Yeah so, as you see, the Witch’s description does not really tell us much about the witch herself.  This description also pretty unique in that none of the other character descriptions go into the second person like this.  The description also kind of hints that Red dies in the timeline where she fights the witch, so that’s depressing.

Nah, to figure out what the witch is about, you have to delve into the fragments around her. 

So, you actually do encounter the witch earlier in the game.  In the third or sometimes second chapter, she will recruit to find some magic apples she lost.  She makes a mention about suspecting a queen of stealing them.  The apples, I guess, are just lying around on the forest floor, and you bite into each of them bc you’re a dumb lkid.  Each apple changes your stats by a few points and the witch does not at all seem upset that you hand her a bunch of bitten fruit at the end.  In fact, she offers you the choice of two random buffs, so that’s fun.

You’re likely to hear about her way before that, though, depending on who you talk to.  Generally anyone who’s been cursed feels like it’s the witch’s fault.  

But if you choose to fight her(or you might not get a choice in the matter) she accuses you of stealing said apples.  She’ll also talk to you throughout the battle until you defeat her- a trait that only the big bosses and a few of the newer ones have.  Her lines...make her sound pretty unhinged.  She’s speaks of disbelief that you would do such a horrible thing, and threatens you with with her magic, and talks about how misunderstood she is.

When you defeat her, she’s got a really interesting line, tho.

“No!  I don’t want to fight you!  I can’t!”

Huh.

Before I move on, let me talk about this other witch character.

Yep.  That sure is the art style this game is going with.

So this is one of the shopkeepers.  There are four different shops you can find along the way, only two of which have characters you can see in them.  This character is known as the Witch Apothecary...but you can only see that on the outside of her store.  Otherwise she’s just called “Witch”.

The thing is, along the way, characters will talk about the Witch and, they don’t specify that it’s not the one with the white hair.  They just talk about The Witch like she’s the only witch that matters.  So is this woman not really a witch?  A witch wannabe?  Nah, we already have one of those characters.  Could it me that the shopkeepers don’t actually exist in the story of the game?  That would bum me out, bc there’s this lesbian owl I want to be real.

But...I think they’re the same person using shapeshifting.  Or if you want a really wild theory, maybe there are time travel hijinks and she’s the Magic Apprentice grown up.  But I’m going to go ahead with the former.

Anyhoo.  I like the witch.  I’m gonna give her 🍎🍎🍎🍎 four apples

Priest

“They mistakenly thought that on the full moon night they could help the monsters quietly eliminate Little Red Riding Hood and her grandmother.  Once the Hope family was wiped out, the legend of lifting the curse on the Dark Forest would disappear completely.  However, they didn’t expect they would have to go personally and pay such a high price to fight their enemy. When the priest fell, the cursed monsters reverted to their human forms and the Dark Forest was no longer covered by snow all year round, but the church’s blind greed still remains.”

Again, not much is said about the priest himself.  The most interesting thing here is that he apparently is the keystone holding the curse together.  Interesting, because he seems to be letting the witch do all the work for him.  Usually in these stories, you have to kill the person who casts the spell to break the spell, not just their friend.  Is it because he, himself, is a stone?  That is to say, he turns into a statue sometimes.

Why the heck is he having her turn all his enemies into cartoon monsters instead of killing them, anyway?  Don’t tell it’s to make the game family friendly, bc in one of these timelines a child kills another child.  

Honestly, the priest/church just doesn’t make a lot of sense to me.  His big plan is selling everybody from his town as slaves.  Gross.  And the way he accomplishes this is by...making it snow all the time, and turning people into vampires and fire bears?  What?

He is.  A delight to fight.  I’m being sarcastic.  He’s a religious edgelord who likes to go on about how humans are sinners and everyone deserves to be punished.  Also she cheats by turning into stone.  Eh.  

It feels like someone just spun a wheel for of evil traits and just stuck them together haphazardly.  His evil plan is...human trafficking!  His personality is...self righteous!  His means is...tf!  His super power is...turning into a statue!  

He’s the biggest of bads but also not that thought out.  He’s super important to the over-arching plot and yet I have no idea why this guy does what he does.  I’m gonna give him 🗽🗽 two statues.

Mystery Men

idek why this person is called “Mystery Men”.  I’m guessing it’s supposed to be mystery man?  Or mysterious person or something?  I know I haven’t talked about the art much but, I do appreciate how much their face looks like a dog snout and her hood looks like dog ears.  It’s a neat touch.

This description was actually changed.  The new text is longer and more awkwardly worded.  I don’t like it!  And I don’t get why it happened.

But, yeah.  The very last enemy of the game- who you can only reach by playing through at least four times and defeating all three others- is your Grandmother!  Le gasp!

So what exactly went wrong with her?  Oh, nothing, she just has a big wolf growing out of her back(told you the concept was backed up by canon)

Is this her daemon or patronus or something?  I have no idea.  I’ve been calling her a werewolf sometimes, tho, bc she’s better at being a werewolf than the titular werewolf.  Which is to say she can revive instead of just healing.  Her buffs and deck change throughout the fight.  She’s a long battle, fun, except for her ear piercing voice.  She sounds a bit possessed.

I’ll give her 👁️👁️👁️ three big eyes.  She’s a fun battle, but I always mute it.  Also not real big on how the text got changed for the worse.  But she does add some good details to the story.

In Conclusion... 

Grandma’s text tells us a few things.  

1. Not only is the Hope family connected to this prophecy, but family members actually have the power to control the curse.  That leads me to believe that the person who got the curse started was a Hope themself.  

2. The church came along long after the curse was in full swing.  So the priest is not responsible for it.  Whether he’s a Hope himself is not relevant.

We also know these things:

1. The witch is still the one casting all the tf spells, which is part of the curse.

2. There are two timelines were Red has a natural gift for magic

3. In the Little Witch timeline, the Witch is teaching Red magic.  On top of that she’s v patient, which is surprising, for some reason.

4. The Witch seems a little out of touch with reality.  She sends you to find apples, and then yells at you for stealing them.  Almost like she thinks you’re another person.

5. The witch verbally expresses her desire not to fight you when she realizes who you are.

I have to conclude that the Witch is a Hope.  A Hope who’s close enough to have a fondness for Little Red Riding Hood, and is invested in her well being/education.  And yanno, is turns her enemies into pig people because she can.  

She helps you on your quest by giving you one of her own.  But earlier on, she takes on the form of the other witch offer you potions and the like.  She even gives you the first one in each chapter for free.

“My potions can change your appearance!”

Of course she can’t get too close to you.  She can’t reveal that she’s helping you.  Hence putting on a new face when she’s a ‘good’ witch.  One wonders if she’s trying to hide her identity from you, or the people she’s allied with.

Hey can we look at her description again?

Red doesn’t get addressed in the second person in any of the other descriptions.  There is a character who talks about his life in the first person, and we’ll get to him.  But this is odd to me.

What if Red isn’t being addressed here?  What if it’s someone else?  What if it’s the Witch?

What if the Witch was captured and ensnared in the priest’s plot?  What if he messed with her memory?  So then who is she?  Red’s sister?  It seems like she’s been working with the church a lot longer than Grandma’s been missing.  Also Grandma went into the woods on her own accord.  You could say that the grief the church caused her *made* her go out, but it seems weak.

So maybe a Hope in another generation, who lost her grandmother to- either the church or monsters?  Was it this other Grandmother who *started* the curse?

Dude, what if she’s your Mom?

What if instead of killing her the priest did...something...scared her enough to get her to work for him.  And messed with her memory so she couldn’t conceive a way out?  And sort of had her transfer the power of the curse to him so that people had to kill him to break it?

What if he had the Church Doctor scoop her brain out and put it in another lady’s head?  Who knows.

I’m not certain about the witch being your mom.  I think I would like that to be the case because it’s fun, but I’m not quite convinced yet.  I AM certain, tho, that the Witch is a Hope, and she cares about you.  She’s not just this cackling meanie turning people into flowers.  She’s...complicated.  And she needs help just as much as all the trapped monsters.

[actualbird]

KhKSJSGAKJEJWJSOKW AU WHERE FARAH ADOPTS LYDIA AFTER SEASON ONE AND THEY ARE HAPPY AND FREQUENTLY ARE VISTED BY HER “UNCLES” TODD AND DIRK AND THOUGH SHE IS KIND OF WARY AT FIRST BECAUSE WHEN THEYRE AROUND SCARY STUFF HAPPENS, SHE EVENTUALLY THINKS “Hmm why aren’t they married tho” AND MAKES IT HER MISSON TO BE THE MATCHMAKER. BONUS POINTS IF SHE SOMEHOW GOT RESIDUAL POWERS FROM THE MACHINE AND ENDS UP ON BLACKWINGS RADAR !!!!!! Someone write this!!!

ANON…..THIS IS SUCH A CONCEPT…..

i cant believe i never really thought that much about how lydia is doing post s1. farah adopting lydia sounds like the funniest thing ever because im 100% sure it was lydia who suggested it because “come on, farah, im 16 and technically an orphan and a child of state but im gonna be out of the states so if i wanna live independently does that mean i still have to get emancipated? from both my already dead parents?? anyway, just adopt me, it’ll be fun” meanwhile farah indulges in a brief daydream where she decided to go into jobs that didnt involve near constant danger and a teenager sending her rapid fire texts that say “COME ONNNN. I PROMISE I WONT CALL U MOM. FARAH. FARAH PLLLEEEEAAASSEEE”

so farah is lydia’s legal guardian. idk how adoption works so dont quote me on anything here, but it’s mostly just for the paperwork. lydia still lives in brazil and farah still is in the states with the boys. they text and skype regularly like normal, except that farah is technically the guardian to a child who happens to also be paying her. it’s a very confusing arrangement farah tries not to think about too much. todd and dirk can never find out.

todd and dirk totally find out.

im thinking post s2, the agency is up and running. lydia freaked for a good 2 months when farah, yknow, her legal guardian, was on the FBI’s most wanted list. so once farah is in the clear, lydia insists that she visit wherever she and her new weirdo friends are hanging at. since theres an actual detective agency now, lydia uses excuses like work experience. like an intern. an intern who is working under farah because farah funds the agency but lydia funds farah and—nope. dont think about it too much, farah. deep breaths. there we go.

so lydia arrives and totally nonchalantly brings up that she’s farah’s adopted child. it’s all very funny, and theres some confused questions and good natured ribbing, but lydia finds she doesnt care too much about that. she finds that shes kind of interested in what the hell is going on between todd and dirk….

because lydia doesnt know anything about todd and dirk aside from the fact that back when she was a dog, dirk told todd to throw her off a bridge, and todd actually threw her off a bridge. but then, dirk also took an arrow to the back for her and todd also helped solidify the time loop and save her life. she figures those latter bits cancel out the former, and now that she sees them outside of a case, she notices all the heartfelt smiles between the two. the lingering touches. the loving gazes across the office when one thinks the other isnt looking. lydia notices that…well…

“so,” lydia says. “they aren’t together?”

“no,” farah says slowly with the kind of understated apprehension she only saves for hostage situations and when talking to the force of nature known as lydia spring. “why?”

“hm,” lydia says. it’s the kind of hm that reminds farah that lydia is kinda fearless. lydia went to a random dude’s house alone in search for answers. lydia survived days of being a literal dog. lydia grew up watching farah clean various guns. it’s also the kind of hm that reminds farah that lydia is sixteen and mischievous and really loves pride and prejudice. “they should be.”

cue a wacky montage of lydia spring playing matchmaker and failing so bad because 1) todd and dirk are just so completely oblivious 2) the universe keeps thwarting her 3) farah keeps thwarting her because farah believes that todd and dirk are adults who can work things out on their own, lydia, dont make me ground you. when todd and dirk do finally figure out their Big Damn Feelings, it’ll be totally unrelated to any of lydia’s schemes and lydia cant help but feel a lil miffed at that. but whatever. love prevails, and all that.

why isnt this a fic yet. i want it

[uniformbravo]

uhh first day of school post

it was fucken hot

seriously why did it have to be 110 degrees right on the week when i start having to go outside again bye

every semester the first thing i say is “i’m never taking an 8 am class ever again”

the second thing i say is “i’m never taking a class on the third floor ever again”

this semester, somehow, through a cruel twist of fate, i have ended up failing both resolutions with two classes each (two classes are at 8 am; two classes are on the third floor; one of them is at 8 am on the third floor)

((i only have 3 classes, there is overlap in the above description))

painting class was cool the teacher was cool i have to pick between oils & acrylics by next tuesday & i have no idea what i want to do

it was super awkward the whole time bc i sat next to this girl & then a couple other girls came in and sat on the other side of me and it was very clear they all knew each other and i could tell the first girl wished she was sitting w/ them but i was too nervous to offer to switch bc there was never a time that felt right so i just spent the whole class feeling like i was in the way so that wasn’t very.... fun

second class was intermediate drawing & ok

this guy is fairly new to teaching, says he graduated calarts a few years ago, and he seems nice & everything but i got the distinct impression that he doesn’t really know how to run a class

which is totally fair since he’s so new to it

but our first assignment is to “revisit” the final from the last art class we took & basically do it again???

not like a literal recreation of exactly what we did last time, he said he wanted us to like do it differently? have more fun with it?? add our own interests into it??? make it represent ourselves????

the more i think about this the more questions marks happen

he did not explain it well

he said he wants to use this to kind of gauge where everyone is at in terms of skill level, but couldn’t he just have done that by having us....... actually...... you know......... bring in our finals from the previous classes........................ instead of having us redo it....................................

this is literally the final project we’re talking about, the big thing that’s due at the end of the semester, the thing we were each given weeks to work on, and when does he want this in by? 

wednesday

as in 2 days from now

wednesday

and we were all like “uhhhh can we have some time to work on it in class”

and the thing is, he didn’t even have a set due date, he’s treating this class like a democracy so whenever we were like “so wait when do you want this by” he’d be like “idk what do you guys think?” like i dont know dude!!! you’re supposed to have this shit figured out, we don’t know the scope of the assignment we don’t know the amount of work that should go into it, we don’t know how long it’s going to take, that’s supposed to be on you!! what the hell,

the whole thing was very

unclear

we were all trying to figure out what the fuck he wanted from us and as soon as it started turning into “yeah just bring it in by wednesday” we were all like panicking like “you want a finished recreation of our last class’ final project in two days” so we managed to amend it so we’d have the first half of wednesday’s class to work on it but still jesus??? the whole thing ended with him saying “just bring in a drawing on wednesday, does that sound good?” uh no not really 

u want to gauge our skill level but ur only giving us 2 days to show it

buddy ur getting a pencil sketch of an idea that could be cool if i had more time to like refine it n shit

also just because i want to reiterate: if u wanted to see our current skill level why didnt u just have us bring in some of our previous works

like what the fuck

what

aaanyway despite all my complaining i think this could be an.... interesting class??? this is for intermediate drawing by the way, which is the class that i was like “boy i hope this is more interesting than beginning drawing” and hoooo

he said he wants to focus heavily on “conceptual art”, u know, art that has meaning n shit, he explained it as having something to say about the world or something like that, which is. cool i guess. the main thing i kinda latched onto was when he said he wanted to make the class enjoyable for everyone and have us doing drawings we’re interested in, so if the class can follow through on that promise then i’ll be good to go but if he pulls a “every drawing has to have some deep meaning and commentary on the world around us” then i will be. unhappy

i dont even know if he actually does drawings?? i mean he’s from calarts so obviously he has to have done art for that but like when someone asked if he’s gonna show us some of his work he was basically like “um yeah, but i don’t really have a lot, im more into exploring ideas for art than actually making it” and he said he’s into performance art so it’s like. that’s really cool & im happy for you but just curious why are you teaching a drawing class then. like a legitimate actual question tho, how does this class relate to what you do and how u gonna teach us if ur not putting these things into practice yourself

i realize im being kinda harsh because i only spent maybe a little over an hour in this class today so this is really just first impressions talk, like. i could be hugely underestimating him, maybe he is a fantastic teacher and i’ll have a lot of fun with this class??

but even as i type that im remembering other things he said, like how the assignments aren’t gonna be like in other classes where you’re told specifically what to draw or like how the lecture portions are gonna be like a seminar where we discuss art-related topics

it’s just super unconventional and it seems really experimental on his part like he really doesn’t know what he’s doing (which, again, understandable since he’s new and all) so it’ll probably just end up being the weirdest art class i’ve ever taken

and a couple years ago i’d probably have really really hated it just based on the lack of guidance alone, i could see a genuine complaint of this class being “it doesn’t feel like the next step after all the technical work and learning we did in beginning drawing”

but at this point im really intrigued and willing to give it the benefit of the doubt, and i’d rather treat it like an experience than a poorly structured class

and maybe that’s easier for someone in my situation to do since i didn’t really care all that much about this class in the first place so i didn’t have any expectations for it to meet anyway

im literally just taking it to fill my requirements so if it turns out to be an interesting experience then all the better, as long as i can pass

Side Note About The Grading, By The Way

the syllabus has a grading system listed

an A is described as “outstanding work, which exceeds guidelines of assignments, shows technical prowess, creativity, expression, intelligence and personal growth”

a B is “high quality work which meets the guidelines of the assignment”

like is it just me or shouldn’t the latter description be just fine to receive an A??? u did what u were supposed to and it was “high quality” like that is. the definition of an A assignment, the first description should be for an A+ like legitimately is this just me or

and then for a D it’s like “poor quality, little effort or understanding of the assignment” the “understanding” part is throwin me off like if the student didn’t understand the assignment then maybe u should explain it better for them?? i can see poor quality and low effort being good reasons for a low grade but not understanding seems a little unfair

im just getting into specifics now tho

i think im done talking abt this class now

hoo boy

an interesting first day to say the least

[heartsoftruth]

Hey ash. I think you have given up on Neymar staying. I haven't. In the past couple of weeks I read just about every article, rumor, analysis, opinion & editorial posted in any language ty google translate.Even the ridiculous ones.I got br app, Barca live app, one of my monitors at work is dedicated to ney stuff..Thought abt it a lot. Got mad at him often.But I haven't lost hope. I agree with most unbiased experts if he wants better sporting opportunities he'll stay. His fathers greedy, he's not

I hope he does anon. I really hope he does… 

1% chance right? ;) 

Anonymous said:How do the psg fans/board/players expect from neymar to win for them the ucl ? And even if neymar thinks that he might carry that team by himself he can be wrong, even messi when he created history with barca and won everything it’s not because of him alone, he had iniesta xavi… by his side to help him win, no team can depend on one player, plus psg is not that kind of team that u can improve urself in it, team with no personality, if they were a good team they wouldnt lose 6-1 after winnin 4Anonymous said:2(forgot to put 1 on the previous) Geri put it best you want more money or you want to win titles. Neymar is way too young to think solely abt money and piling it up for his eventual retirement. Money is tempting(more so to his father) but he wants titles and glory. We’ve been over the level of league and psg. I’m sure he knows it too. If he was 30, I’d believe wholeheartedly he’s gone to PSG. But he’s 25, his best years ahead, he won’t bury those in psg in league 1. Take heart, he won’t go

wowowowwww I like the positivity in you two anons!! I really like it.

I mean Leo became a natural leader over time and with the retirements of Xavi etc. Of course he wasn’t a leader when he first made his debut. I can understand Ney might wanna have a team around him and be the leader of one. I can 100% understand that he wants that and feels he might be ready for it and it would be good for his growth - like i previously said in an aks.  I feel he has the opportunity to be the leader of a team, full of talented star players, during the THE BIGGEST sports tournament in the world: the 2018 World Cup. 

However he gave up the captaincy of the NT, because of the insane amount of negative press he got during the Olympics. And while I agree that it was over the top: You are the leader so deal with it. In France L’Equipe is also brutal, but the pressure in France won’t even be remotely the same as in Spain. 

In France he will defiantly win some titles the Champions ship, the cup etc,.. But other than that…. I hope for him if he goes he succeeds (not when he plays against Barca) but I hope for him he succeeds. 

But I hope more that he stays here. At Barca. 

Anonymous said:(French anon) I’m watching PSG-ASM… BORINGGGGGGGGGGGG help!!!!Anonymous said:GO MONACO! lol

HAHHAHAHHA, Did you survive tho??? Tout bon? xD 

Anonymous said:this means he gonna stay yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaas yahooooooo :D am madridista btw love you ash and ramos loves you ;)

What? xD 

Anonymous said:I dont even care. Wheter he leaves or stays. I just want him to say something.

Same… But I think we have to wait for a bit still… 

Anonymous said:But is not that means forcing the person that doesn’t want to stay to stay?! Barcelona should let Neymar go if he wants to go and buy other players with the money before the window closes. I want ney to stay but if doesn’t want to stay he should leave because forcing player that want to leave to stay will only create problems in the team.Anonymous said:This is not PSG who will buy the clause but Neymar, he’s going to buy his buyout clause by himself with the money he would get when he will go to Doha 😉, this is official by the way.Anonymous said:And Barça will not report PSG bc they buy the buyout clause but they will report them by the way they would buy it, that’s not the same thing thoAnonymous said:Argh, sorry it’s pay** not buy ahaAnonymous said:And to be honest this is pretty ridiculous from the club tho, I mean report PSG because they paid the clause? Smh 🙄

Neymar can leave if he wants (and if a club buys him out) but he signed a contract renewal in October so.. 

This isn’t  about P$G paying his release clause like any club can. This is about P$G probably violating the FFP rules for the second time meaning a bigger punishment. Again IF they violated these rules. 

Think this is a logical explanation. 

“Barcelona have decided to lodge a complaint against PSG if the French club sign Neymar. The Catalan club feel that if the player’s buyout clause is paid (222 million euros), UEFA must investigate where the money came from. In then numbers clubs present to UEFA each year, there are none able to pay more than 200 million euros for a player.  PSG have previously been punished and fined for breaking UEFA’s Fair Play rules. Therefore, a second punishment would not only lead to a fine, but also to sporting consequences, such as the possibility of suspension from the Champions League.”

And I liked what Tebas said the other day. If they do it with Barca now they do it to RMA or Atleti tomorrow. He also wants to take action wether they buy Ney or not… 

Anonymous said:It really hurt to see all this hate toward Neymar…

Yeah some of it I can understand. Some is way over the top. Like the hate from today because he went to the RMA locker room… 

Anonymous said:After messi’s goal didn’t ney celebrate with him??🙈😞

For a second you had me worried haha. But Ney was injured outside of the field. That’s why you didnt saw him celebrate. 

Anonymous said:i ship ash with Asensio

HAHAHHA, He’s a cutie pie, but he looks too young and probably is xD But we can have dinner and eat Dutch things hhaa. 

Anonymous said:Ney looked sad? Idk quiet not his usual charged self he even was sitting all by himself when taken off. The guy who normally comes running to celebrate with lio after the latter’s goal was the last to come& it was different. He looked like he is playing his last classico last game here

I dont know where he sat when he went off. I didnt think he looked sad. He looked happy and like I said above he was injured off the field so he couldnt run towards Leo. Have you seen how he celebrated with Ivan? And Geri??? 

Anonymous said:Least neymar can do even if he doesn’t want to talk is rebuff the ‘tired of staying in Messi’s shadow’ rumours. That’s sooooo unfair on Leo especially when he loves and has accommodated neymar so much.he could have easily done an insta post with Messi or something, laugh about it…if it was a brumar or Bruna rumour best believe he would have rebuffed it soo fast 🙄.if he just stops the Messi rumour he would gain at least a little respect back from Barca fans.

I’ve previously - a couple days ago - explained it could be true tho not as mean as it sounds. Just that he wants to be a leader too and knows here at Barca Leo is. 

[lilietsblog]

Strike Witches episode 1: first impression

so im gonna try strike witches: the unknown anime i chose to not familiarize myself with the premise beyond 'something like fighter pilots i think?' that i picked up by osmosis

oh hey look a discarded doll. def war is hell vibes here

cant say im a fan of the visuals from the first several seconds, the color scheme and everything seems kinda bland? the only reason im making this observation is bc i had to pause to let it load tho

oh look Very Noticable CGI

(i have a headache and am vaguely nauseous and basically am Very Cranky as a result)

man, there aren't even characters yet. it's been almost two minuets and there still aren't people for me to relate too that's a crime by which i dont mean that literally but just 'this might not be the thing i want to watch right now'

oh hey monsters okay this is better than just straight up war is hell between humans omfg in 1939 subtle 'we wanna play with ww2 era toys but without bringing up the fact japan was on the side of nazi germany' i assume sure im onboard if thats the premise

magitech??? magitech!!!

that's. their legs. in those things. are they evoking Baba Yaga and her travels in a stupa bc thats okay panty shots i think imma quit at the end of this episode

oh i. just realized this is the movie that actually makes it a bit better and gives me more hope lets try the actual first episode first

ok the first shot is of the sky and not a discarded doll that's already better

holy shit whatever this video player is it allows to load external captions from pc or url. technology progresses at an incredible pace

i love that the fighter planes are clearly shown attacking the vortex first 9u9

opening has so many girls wearing shoes but no pants. im just. this entire device's entire point is clearly to fanservice that does not mean this is bad character-wise yet ofc. i watched and liked fucking rosario+vampire. this show has a chance yet. lets see what its got

the op song is nice its also very straightforward about aesthetic of this show being 'girls without pants in absolutely non-sexual situaitons' and i can respect that

and oh look it actually does start with characters interacting right after exposition that's what im talking about

okay so now might be a good time to mention that the first context i heard of strike witches was uh. misogynist porn. like the kind that doesnt go for 'look at these relatable characters being kinky' but for 'consider: what if powerful girls got hurt instead'. so thats the context in my brain and i want to fucking overwrite it

military uniforms+panties are definitely an aesthetic and im incredibly amused by it okay every single girl here doesnt wear pants sure that actually looks like a swimsuit rather than panties and thats nice

also they are characterizing the protagonist! like i know thats not much to ask for but im going into this straight off blogging about madoka and this is just such a relief! she is kind and brave and plucky and talks gently to a scared kitten and I love her also she Does Not Think Things Through shes like the typical shonen protagonist but a girl. im in

Yoshika her name is Yoshika

and her motivation is her dad but eh sure whatever I kind of like the touch of 'it was classified military information' not sure why

theres nothing about Yoshika that qualifies her other than her personality and magic powers huh

yep thats a swimsuit aww shes a healer!

I love that the military observers rush to help as soon as they see something is off theres work and then theres helping emergencies

oh!!!! her mom and grandma are around!!! and teaching her!!! im happy!!!

Yoshika why is all that a 'but' to 'you should learn to control your power' i dont think there was any subtext of 'you shouldnt even try' there? or was it? maybe i should just trust her for now

awww Yoshika actually doesn't want to go to war <3 but this woman thinks she will because she wants to help people and she'll help people the most there I I like this ;~; I'm so happy I like this I love Yoshika's 'fuck war' instinct I love her drive to help everyone and in fact the trope of magical healer almost killing themselves to help a patient (despite it being professionally inadvisable) is actually the thing i made my very first rp character sooo :> you know. stuff something is fishy about that letter. its no coincidence it was sent just now... I love Sakamoto and her A+ social skills HA HA HA HA HA also huh... she's not in on whatever's up with that letter

Yoshika so uh alright she'll take her without enlisting her huh interesting but uh what about school I guess military and witches can override all that and it kind of makes sense to me thematically

'Britannia' gee how familiar that name sounds and i dont mean geographically

so hm could Yoshika be a military doctor without actually enlisting? how do the formalities work there i like that Sakamoto doesnt question her dislike of all things military like its unexpected but mostly bc Sakamoto's got a one track mind that has a hard time expecting anything other than what she wants to happen and beyond that its like 'sure ok a conscientous objector got it' even though its weird how there would be conscientous objectors to fighting MONSTERS its not like theres an alternative to not fight I mean also clearly Yoshika is a kid and theres room left for that in other characters' treatment of her opinions and I love that they dont get Offended that she doesn't understand and Have Proper Respect well Sakamoto doesn't at least not sure about how other people will react

man that raccoon on the road sure was convenient though. like i first thought it was Sakamoto's deliberate tactic to gauge Yoshiko's powers. she was opening her eye to i guess do just that visually and then the raccoon appeared and it just felt very natural that one follows from the other? is this foreshadowing or are the writers of this anime just unfamiliar with the concept of 'subtle' i dont mind if its the latter tbh

(im writing a ton of reflection bc the episode broke after i tried to rewind a little and i decided to download it after all, and its doing that)

so far, this show seeems nicely straightforward and fast paced. like, really straightforward. yoshiko's introduction? saving a kitten. making a ww2 era anime without difficult shit? monsters attacked in 1939. motivations and revelations are handled with all the subtlety of a hammer to the face, from the raccoon to the letter. even fanservice has the same charming quality that makes me actually be okay with the entire point of their outfits being gratuitous panty shots. making sense and having pretense is for the weak. this anime knows what it wants to be and is going straight for that. i respect that approach

also its p clear that what it wants is to be character driven and its been Delivering on that since its only half episode one and i already Love two characters personally and also some supporting cast (Yoshiko's entire family)

and like you know that in some other show GASP MIGHT MY DAD BE STILL ALIVE would be a reveal saved for like. the halfway point. but here its literally the starting point spurring everything into action bc all other motivation was just too slow to get the character where she was supposed to go. good job yo

there's this trope where the main character doesn't want to go into the main conflict (Refusal of the Call)... and very often it's handled by either 1) letting them wallow until everything goes to shit showing how wrong they were or 2) immediately conveniently wrecking everything so they have no choice now I uh. am really glad this show went a different way if just joining the conflict isnt a good enough motivation GET A BETTER ONE and IT DOESNT HAVE TO BE ANGST (and it doesn't have to be romance, either!!! why are those two the only things writers seem to be able to think of jfc)

...okay I was more like two thirds through the episode rather than half but my points stand

okay so I think what just happened was Yoshiko realized the parallel between herself and her dad leaving and got scared and her response was to comfort other people and I love that <3

I love that Sakamoto doesn't have a doubt in her mind that Yoshiko isn't going to be useless and will definitely help and also comes to her to discuss this explicitly <3

man I love Sakamoto and her absolute lack of social graces and sense of when enough is enough

and the fact that Yoshiko is working chores now and seems to enjoy it too <3

and it's when it's established that she's part of the team that Sakamoto starts showing off <3 she clearly has a dedicated well thought out campaign of convincing Yoshiko going on and its borne out not of manipulation but of clear conviction that she is right and she just has to show the girl what she doesnt know yet <3

ahaha of course showing off worked <3

so I paused and imma make a bet with myself on whether Sakamoto is going to tell her 'if you liked that you can join' right now or leave that unsaid subtly my bet is that she is, bc subtlety is an entirely foreign concept to this wonderful human being, and if i lose im going to make my bed right now not even waiting for the end of the episode let's see

oh she starts with education huh, this is not widely known? i had no idea anyway lets see if she says the thing

I love that it's her dad and it's this kind thing of 'this is what he said he was going to do, and he did' <3

huh so that was slightly more subtlety than I expected, she offered her to try them rather than trying to recruit her directly so I lost the bet gotta go make the bed now

BAM DONE YAY GOOD SELF CARE

hey more main characters!!!! I love all of you already!!! you have personality and discuss things that make sense!!! including their outfits!!! I love them!!!! the parasol girl is my favorite but also the tiny girl and the red-haired girl they are all my favorites!!!

omfg a month of travel and half a day early Yoshiko gets impatient I love her

YOU ARE A NONCOMBATANT she said with the steely confidence of a commanding officer <3

I love so much that Sakamoto respects Yoshiko's boundaries re: fighting???

OMG THE ENDING SONG I LOVE IT

I love the upbeat and airy tone this show manages to have despite the premise??? like I had trepidations at the start bc I dislike doom&gloom-heaviness of 'war is hell' narratives and I'm not a WW2 affictionado. but instead of shiny boom boom toys and angst it's all character adorableness and so much sky??? even the lack of pants ends up feeling like freedom this is the anime we all deserve