#this is like almost 3 years old I think lol

[rebellionbeach]

Reblogging my 3 year old analysis because I am narcissistic and want to yap about the Usami bros again...

I agree with most of what I put down but with the new chapters I think there is somethings that have been cleared up regarding their dynamic.

I think it's important to note that the idea of Haruhiko "stealing things away from Akihiko" is like the first thing introduced about his character around act 9~ or beginning or season 2. I'm not saying Akihiko is delulu but there aren't really any good concrete examples he's laid out obviously disregarding Misaki. But with Misaki I truly believe that regardless of his association with Akihiko, Haruhiko would have made a move cause he was going to be sending this man flowers anyway. This isn't to say however that the association didn't add a bit of interest on Haruhiko's part (he does put himself against his brother when he was harassing Misaki lol).

Okay, so maybe he wanted Misaki initially because Akihiko had him (he owns him bitch), but aside from that what else? I've come to believe that the main thing that Akihiko might be referring to is this head position of the Usami family. It all really makes sense when you think about it, the whole arc surrounding the family is regards to this succession and the one flashback we get to demonstrate Akihiko's trauma is regarding that whole point.

That brings me to a side tangent, Natsuko's character. I have a lot of bias when it comes to the idea of redeeming parental figures who did their children wrong (which I really think Nakamura is aiming for with Natsuko and even Fuyuhiko blegh), and Natsuko did Akihiko a lot of wrong. This whole character trait of her words coming out like 1000X worse then the message she actually wants to convey is honestly a little relatable, but in what way ma'am is saying I should not have had that man's child in front of that man's child anyway to convey to them that you want them to pursue their own path in life??? That's what this whole arc is shaping up to be which is a bit disappointing. Even Kaoruko notes that even though she "may have not meant any harm" she could never forgive her for hurting Akihiko like that. I won't even get into the mess that is Fuyuhiko's character because honest to god how are you going to redeem that. I just feel that if Nakamura is trying to shine a good light on Natsuko and Fuyuhiko's characters, there's going to have to be a lot of apologies in order, to like almost everyone, they fucked up all the kids.

Anyway, back to Haruhiko and Akihiko, they were basically manipulated by almost all adult figures around them into believing that becoming the heir of the Usami group was their merit or right. Really, it seems that Akihiko moreso and Haruhiko mostly by Fuyuhiko, since everyone didn't want a "bastard" to lead them. It's honestly a classic succession set-up, but really fucked up when you think about the fact that Haruhiko was raised as the perfect heir only for Fuyuhiko wanting to give that position to Akihiko now.

Obviously, Akihiko has no intention of doing this, the whole conflict in this arc, but I don't think its unreasonable to think that there weren't lingering feelings before. He became a successful author and swayed from that route, but the constant influence of people in his life telling him he should have that spot probably affected him in some type of way. That's why I think it's really nice closure on the chapter like 4 emeralds ago where Akihiko not only fully states he doesn't want to succeed, but he thinks Haruhiko will succeed based on the merit of his accomplishments and that anyone around him would feel the same. It's almost a full circle moment where Haruhiko finally gets some sort of validation from the brother he was 'competing' against this whole time. This was a great chapter and a really sweet interaction between the two which is actually the first time that's really happened.

Now, if I had a say in this, Haruhiko and Akihiko would then go to Fuyuhiko and assault him with bats....but I don't think that's where this is going so the remaining conflict lies primarily between Natsuko and Fuyuhiko. So, I think we're pretty much at the closing stretch of this quite long-drawn arc and the next chapter we'll probably see a Natsuko-Fuyuhiko conversation which will be very interesting. Their dynamic hasn't been properly depicted and, while I don't sympathize, I do find both of their characters pretty interesting and am very curious as to how Nakamura wants to wrap this all up. Will Fuyuhiko cry and beg for Natsuko's forgiveness? Will they finally get that divorce? Will Misaki-Kaoruko-Akihiko-Haruhiko beat that old man up with hammers? Yeah...idk

The Usami brothers and whole family as a whole are really interesting characters.  Due mostly by the fact of how different Haruhiko and Akihiko are yet similar in many ways as well.  Let’s start with rabbit boy.

Not only is this man extremely sexy but he’s also one of the most popular novelists in Japan believe it or not (not in real life guys)  Akihiko is the presumably biological son of Natsuko and Fuyuhiko and younger brother of Haruhiko Usami.  Growing up, he had always yearned for the attention of his parents, wanting to impress them and make them happy.  Haruhiko had actually been introduced to the Usami household at the age of 12 so Akihiko was 10 at the time and significant development seemed to grow from this change.  As shown from volume 21, everyone had been cheering Akihiko on as the legitimate heir of the Usami family meaning to take over the family business however he had never gotten this support from his parents before.  As a young child he had believed that if he just tried harder and became good at everything, then his parents would finally recognize him.  However, this wasn’t the case unfortunately as shown in the same volume once a young Akihiko came home from school gaining full marks on a test, eager to show his father when he caught him telling Haruhiko that he truly intended to make him the heir of the family business.  This impact was further felt once his mother, who had also witnessed this, declared that she should have never bore Fuyuhiko’s child which in the eyes of a young child must have been completely shattering.  An important seed was planted however and I believe that it was at this moment that Akihiko had started to evolve into the person he is today.  He poured all his emotion, pain, loss, suffering into his notebooks, his stories, proclaiming it to be his entire world.  Overtime we see that Akihiko grows to be very adept at the talent, being one of the top-selling authors from debut which occurred while still in high school and becoming a full-fledged novelist.  Doing this, he completely rejected his family and any connections he might have had to take over the business.  

Looking as Akihiko today it is very clear the type of individual he is, independent and self-serving, he’s his own boss and does only the things he wants to do.  From the first episode of season 2 we see this as there is a key event that takes place between the two Usami brothers in which a confrontation between two escalates into a full-out argument over Akihiko coming back to, as I assume, take over the lead of the Usami company and or serve there.  I will note later on Haruhiko’s tone and content of his language but it’s Akihiko’s response which truly stuck out to me as he stated that he had no inclination of going back to that house and if that Haruhiko truly didn’t like being there then why doesn’t he just leave as well.

This point may seem entirely irrelevant but I actually believe it highlights an essential part of Akihiko’s character that not only serves as his strength but also a blind spot in that of his independence.  Akihiko is the type of person who is able to do the things he’d like to do and encourages the people he cares about, basically Misaki, to do the same such as in episode 2 of season 3 where he is actually the one who encourages Misaki to enter into Marukawa after Misaki dismisses those thoughts as just a fantasy.  This is a thing for his relationship with Misaki as he allows the man a different perspective and in a way allows him, or at least encourages him, to be more selfish.  However this can also be seen as a flaw of his character as it can be interpreted that the only reason he has this lax and independent personality in the first place is because of his more well-off family and the fact that he’d had connections from the start.  In all honestly though, this part of Usagi-san’s personality is one of the main reasons why I actually enjoy his character, along with his thoughtful nature, as I believe that it’s a pretty unique and well-suited trait.

Let’s get into Harry Potter or the eldest brother of the Usami residence, Haruhiko.  Haruhiko isn’t Akihiko’s direct brother as stated before but rather a product of an affair that Fuyuhiko had with his mother.  For the first 12 years of his life, Haruhiko had actually been raised by his single-mother whom he loved very much.  During these times he had been seen to be much more happy despite living in poorer circumstances.  This is a large aspect that is pretty big onto why he is the way he is today.  After his mother tragically passing on, Fuyuhiko took him into to live in the Usami residence.  Now this in itself is absolutely devastating, living with a father-figure that had never truly been there for you with a new mother-in-law that despises your every existence because you’re the proof of the infidelities of her marriage and a new younger brother who seemed lifeless from the rest of this.  Top it all off with the devastation from losing the only person you truly loved and was there for you and damn I’m surprised that Haruhiko didn’t full out lose it.  

Now going back to the scene originally discussed with Akihiko’s backstory, let us switch perspective onto Haruhiko during this situation.  Your new dad just stated that the person he had truly loved in his lifetime was your dead mother and that he intended to make you, a 12 year old child, the heir of their family company that you had just learned about.  Not only this but everyone around you is your enemy as shown through all the people cheering on Akihiko to become the true heir and saying that Haruhiko stole his position.  There is basically no one there to support you, similar to Akihiko, and unlike Akihiko he actually was not used to this new circumstance making the situation even worse. 

I’d like to discuss the scene stated before during episode 1 of season 2.  Here, Haruhiko is visibly angry as Akihiko’s lack of care for his role in the Usami residence.  This is something we’ve never actually gotten to see ever since with Haruhiko barely showing any emotion at all.  However, if you take in the full context of his upbringing and circumstance to that point, you can see a fuller picture of what the man has gone through to become the stoic chosen one we know today.  Akihiko, after being hoisted by Isaka to finally start publishing his works, his entire being, finally achieved success independent from the Usami residence, marking himself finally as an individual allowing him to finally see that he only needs himself.  I think this is what caused Akihiko to cut most connection from his family, despite the occasional visits, and totally puts himself away from the idea of succeeding and become the heir of his family’s company.  This leaves Haruhiko with the burden of shouldering the entire Usami company’s future, something he never truly wanted to today with architecture being his main priority.  What he see’s in Akihiko is this lazy, selfish person who only thinks of himself, abandoning all his familial duties to a brother whom he barely batted an eye to during childhood.  This is what he hates in Akihiko, but also envies.  A very interesting point that season 2 makes with the connection between the Usami brothers is the inherent jealously Haruhiko feels toward Akihiko, with him trying to steal things from him during their upbringing together according to Akihiko.  Even Misaki finally has this revelation during episode 8 I believe when he was distracting him from Kaoruko.  I think his jealously mainly stems from the fact that Akihiko got his independence while Haruhiko is still confined to the Usami gates.  With all of Akihiko’s absent-minded behavior and to quote Haruhiko, “having the eyes of a dead fish”, Akihiko in the end still achieved that sense of independence that Haruhiko could only dream about having.  Add onto the fact that everyone around you hates that you got this position, lobbying for your younger half-brother who barely gives in the effort to succeed you, then baby that’s a recipe for childhood resentment if I’ve ever seen one.  

So what does this all mean, well nothing since this is an over-analysis on a yaoi manga but in a reality I think it comes to show the clear dynamic Haruhiko and Akihiko have on one another.  In recent chapters it is shown that Haruhiko is more and more aspiring in his own pursuits in architecture, even accepting his position as lead of the Usami household and accepting the fact that he’ll never get Misaki, wanting to stay as his ally instead (which is a lot more than I can say for a CERTAIN manga author).

I love Haruhiko AND Akihiko, they both are really great characters and I’d think it would be nice if in the future they could perhaps reconcile their relationship and kind of start to get along.  The Usami household fucked up a lot of kids but they are still going strong and who knows, maybe Haruhiko might get a lover in the future (AKA Todo)

Thank you and now I implore you to go listen to Nelson’s After the Rain album, 10/10 made me cry.

[nagichi-boop]

Why I Love Shadow the Hedgehog

So it seems a few of you actually wanted me to make this — thank you for encouraging me to express myself! Hopefully my thoughts are cohesive enough to follow. I don’t really have an order to this, so uhh…buckle up lol.

(In a way this is sort of a vent post, so if you’re here for good times, maybe this post isn’t for you. There’s a reason the PTSD hedgehog is my favourite.)

Spoilers for Dark Beginnings, Shadow Generations and Sonic 3 movie throughout the post

I suppose the overarching reason for why I love him so much is how much I relate to him. It’s a bit ironic that I love a character I relate to yet am so hard on myself, but maybe this is my brain’s weird way to compensate for my lack of self-love.

Shadow is a lonely, hurt person. Even before Maria’s death, he felt out of place and even saw himself as a monster. I feel that distance and emotional disconnect from others myself. I feel like no matter how hard I try to fit in, I am always an oddity. I wouldn’t say I prefer being alone, but it’s definitely easier. (I touch more on the idea here.)

Shadow lost his sense of purpose and his best friend in one fell swoop. I haven’t had something quite as intense happen to me as Shadow has, but when I was around 13 years old, I lost my friend group seemingly overnight because of a miscommunication. (TL;DR I opened up about being depressed/anxious and unbeknownst to me, my friend concluded I shouldn’t be invited out with the group for my benefit but didn't tell me she did this until much later, and by then I’d assumed they all got bored of me.) I spent the rest of my teenage years basically alone — I’d come home, go to my room and sleep, eat dinner and then retreat to my room again. At best I would be invited out once a year, but that was it. It really shattered my self-esteem and self-worth because I felt like I was unlovable. In hindsight, I think it was the side effect of being unknowingly AuDHD, so I had no support and was left with only myself to blame for not being able to maintain friendships.

As a result of what happened to Shadow (and also in part because of the autism I headcanon him with, but that’s for another post I intend to make), he became aloof and distant with others. Even with people he cares about deeply like Rouge, he would still prefer to keep his issues hidden. In Dark Beginnings, he only stops to think about Maria and have a panic attack when he is alone. And in Shadow Generations, he doesn’t talk Rouge after leaving Maria and she is only aware that he is upset because a tear of his hits her cheek. It’s clear he likes Rouge and trusts her, but he still feels the need to keep a distance. Part of that is probably his pride as the titleholder of Ultimate Lifeform, but part of it is probably a fear that history will repeat itself.

Again my situation isn’t the same, but I find myself having similar feelings. I have a few friends now and get invited out more than I did as a teenager (not that the bar was high), but I don’t feel close to anyone or really trust them. Unlike Shadow, I tend to mask by being bubbly (think Prime!Sonic), and if I bring up something that is important to or sensitive for me, I tend to say it with a tone that basically mocks it, almost as if I’m trying to minimise the hurt if someone tries to hurt me because of it? I prefer to just handle my problems on my own. I even stop myself from crying at a movie in front of people because I am scared of being mocked.

That’s not to say Shadow is always cold with people. In Sonic Prime, he helps Sonic, despite being frustrated at their predicament. And in The Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog, Shadow attends a party, despite it being clear that he doesn’t enjoy them (it’s shown in both the IDW comics and Dark Beginnings/Shadow Generations). Why? Because he cares about Amy. He even ends up looking suspicious because he was trying to hide the surprise present he got for Amy and ends up going to a concert with her. He also compliments Sonic and Tails in the game, even though he’s not necessarily friends with them. And if you take into consideration the Twitter Takeovers (I’m aware they’re not canon), he has done this multiple times since and has gone shopping with Amy, too. Despite his trauma and his difficulty socialising, he still makes an effort to be cordial with them at the very least, but in the case of characters like Amy and Rouge, he has a genuine concern and kindness for them.

Whether or not you believe Shadow is autistic, it is undeniable that he is disabled. I may develop this idea in another post, but I’ll briefly cover it here. For one, it’s heavily implied that he has PTSD. Not only did he watch his best friend die in front him, but he also had multiple people gaslight him (Gerald, Eggman, Black Doom) in his vulnerable mental state. In Dark Beginnings, it’s implied that he has nightmares and he even stops himself short of a panic attack in the last episode. I’ve also mentioned in a previous post, but Shadow is also implied to be physically disabled because of his chaos energy, with his inhibitor rings and air shoes or more-or-less outright stated to be mobility aids. I won’t go into my issues here cuz I already feel like I’ve yapped too much about myself, but having the Ultimate Lifeform be disabled like I am feels so refreshing as representation.

I would be remiss if I didn't also mention Maria. In the games at least, Maria is disabled. More specifically, her condition is a dynamic invisible illness — that means it fluctuates and you can’t ‘see’ it. I mentioned it in the post I linked in the previous paragraph, but the way they talk about Maria’s disability in both Gerald’s journal and the game is such refreshing representation. Some days she can be more lively, some days she uses mobility aids like wheelchairs, and other days she is completely bedridden. Shadow loves her through all of this. He doesn’t see her as a sick girl, but as his dear friend. He doesn’t like it when she pushes herself, but his care for her is out of love, not pity. It’s just so refreshing to have a young disabled character in media spoken about in such a realistic way, especially in one I already love so dearly. And for the Ultimate Lifeform to view her as a best friend is just…chef’s kiss. (I know some people could argue Shadow is only friends with her because she is sick, but his purpose was to cure her — being her friend was not a requirement.)

Even if he shows himself as being cold and uninterested, ultimately Shadow deeply craves emotional connection. He may not be good at communicating it and he most certainly tries to push people away, but we have seen how deeply he misses Maria and the comfort she provided. He quite literally daydreams about her sitting with him and having her tuck him in with a blanket! She is one of the few people he felt comfortable being touched by and I think he misses that connection very deeply. I’ve never personally had that strong a connection with someone, but not a day goes by where I don’t imagine being held and comforted by someone I care about, albeit imaginary. I feel really uncomfortable being touched by basically everyone, but I so deeply crave that physical closeness with someone I love. I want to have a deep connection like the one Shadow and Maria had. I want to have someone important and to be important to them.

I don’t know if any of this makes sense. It was supposed to be a post about why I love Shadow, but it was mostly me blabbing about my own issues (even though comparative to Shadow I’ve lived luxuriously). I hope this wasn’t dreadfully boring to read. I did try not to go too expositional on my personal stuff.

Maybe I’ll delete this at some point, idk.

[ardentpoop]

hey!! i'm new to the spn fandom (haven't finished the show yet, a couple seasons left) and i love sam dearly and can obviously see all the abuse he suffers (mainly by dean, who is actually so so so awful to him in inconceivable ways) but i'm new to tumblr and all the meta and critical thinkpieces of the people who discuss this and the amount of topics and information and posts (bc there are layers upon layer upon layers!!) is so overwhelming for someone who just got here lol so i was wondering where do you think i should start & if there's any "start here" guide to the show through the sam lens or how did you start bc obviously i can see it watching it but there's stuff i miss. anyways yeah sorry for the rambling and hope i could get my point across lol <3 ty in advance, i love reading your posts on the spn dynamics even if sometimes they make me a little confused or I can't fully grasp everything hope i don't sound dumb

oh my god hello. first of all please understand that my perspective on the show is (unfortunately) quite fringe and tends to attract hate whenever people from the broader fandom(s) notice it. doesn’t help that I get heated abt certain recurring issues sometimes 😀

overall this fandom is genuinely huge and obviously pretty old now so I understand being overwhelmed by it. frankly if you watched the show while focused on sam and especially if you care about him for personal reasons you need to be aware of how cynically and/or one-dimensionally much of the fandom interprets and portrays him - this has been going on for years because most people (regardless of fandom segment) prefer dean and shape their “meta” and their fic around that preference regardless of canon characterization and power dynamics.

speaking of fandom segments let me give you a basic overview of what those look like:

d*stiel fandom (I refer to it as “D/C fandom” sometimes and “normie fandom” often). this is the largest segment of the tumblr fandom by a MILE. most outspoken sam haters live here bc it is better for their ship if sam doesn’t exist and particularly not as dean’s long-term partner.

wncest fandom (I refer to it as “S/D fandom” sometimes). many outspoken sam haters here as well - though they would never identify themselves as such - because viewing the entire show through a Traditional (lol) shipping lens can tend to muddy individual characterizations, and because dean is the character with the louder voice in canon these fans get just as offended as others do when you turn up the volume on sam’s perspective. this is all exacerbated by fans in general wanting their favorite character to be the victim in every scenario regardless of the actual power dynamics at play.

sastiel fandom. extremely small compared to either of the above, and better off for it. I will always think of them as the chillest group of fans. what no dean does to a motherfucker (positive) <3

on top of these ship segments you have the overarching “dean g*rls” versus “sam g*rls” dynamic. you’ll see people in S/D fandom in particular claiming these separate fan perspectives as compatible/harmonious. do not believe them lmfao. a lot of people use these labels to signal a superficial preference for one brother over the other (e.g. which one is hotter to you in the context of porn) but for the more engaged fans there is a world of baggage attached to each of these labels, depending on your own view of the show. TL;DR if you love sam and are invested in his mistreatment on the show - especially if this includes his mistreatment by dean - you’ll quickly notice that dean stan circles are not for you.

non-shippers and multi-shippers will more than likely self-identify as either sam g!rls or dean g!rls. if someone calls themself a “cas g!rl” they are almost definitely a D/C shipper or only ever interacting with D/C shippers.

with All That out of the way I recommend making note of which meta posts are most interesting to you and who wrote them, and seeing who their fandom friends are/whose meta they are boosting. here are some common discussion topics that you can search sam blogs for:

sam and bodily autonomy (lack thereof)

the implications of the demon blood arc and how general audiences responded to it

the implications of the soulless!sam arc and how general audiences responded to it

the implications of the trials!sam arc and how general audiences responded to it

the implications of the gadreel!sam arc and how general audiences responded to it

sam and lucifer/sam in the cage

the case for transfem sam (beware of reductive “woman-coding” discourse)

related to the above: dean’s role in the story vs sam’s

sam and faith

sam and food

how we got from “early-seasons” sam to “late-seasons” sam

I have an entire crazy list of sam relationship tags that I won’t put here but here are a few general ones of mine that might be of interest:

#the roles

#us and them

#the audience versus sam and dean

#fandom mythbusting

#hall of mirrors

there is also the “sam winchester centric” ao3 tag which you can try using to narrow down fic/fic collections.

good luck!!!! samtuals feel free to drop recommendations of your own in the comments.

[conejitomareador]

what made you wanna write the story for bitchless?

this question is so important to me... so i'll do my best to answer in full detail okay !!

i've been on and off in the south park fandom since i was in grade school, posting art on deviantart, alright? i love south park and i consume a lot of fan content. it's the autism, definitely. i got diagnosed during my second year of art school.

but i think that if art school gives you a specific mindset it's one of questioning visual art in all its forms. so, after my last comeback to these spaces in february 2022 i came to the conclusion that i don't like a few things that i see in fanart:

(this is not me saying that you shouldn't. if you or anyone reading this like them it's totally cool!! tropes are popular for a reason, you know?)

1- i don't like stan's characterization. cishet (and in denial), popular, jock stan was a very common headcanon/trope that i grew up with, especially during the last decade. it made a lot of sense when the show started, but as we watch the current seasons, we see stan evolve into this nerdy kid who is obsessed with board games, quotes anime and enjoys metal music. we see him pay little to no attention to his girlfriend and growing more and more fixated towards his male best friend, he's always been curious about gender to the point of imitating big gay al. we see him literally question his own gender in bathroom doors. we barely see him play sports at this point? i don't think that the stan we currently have is headed to the direction the fandom had pointed towards him. so i started drawing him like a nerd. moving on.

2- i don't like how weirdly protective people are about canon ships. stendy, creek and tolchole (to a lesser degree) are often kind of treated like a monolith- they're unquestionable and unmovable and always there, "because it's canon". i know how important was for creek to become canon, i was there. but after watching post-covid... man. does it give me a weird aftertaste that these two ten year olds who were forced into a relationship ended up married and these other two ten year olds who have lived in the same town for decades are now in a weird situationship. they should date other people at least for a little bit, develop emotional maturity and decide if they wanna stick together at least lol. and with stendy, i'd stay first love should be a first love and that's it (i was talking with pom about that!!), making it endgame after such a long time of seeing that stan barely cares makes me feel weird. people being super weird about creek or style to the degree of calling themselves purists and DNI'ing whoever ships other things threw me off immensely as well. i'm sorry. this is just a me thing probably.

3- this is very similar, but i like to see different dynamics and how they play out!! after almost 30 years of existing, south park fan content often falls in the same dynamics. nothing wrong with that of course!! but i wanna see things playing out in ways i don't see often.

4- this is just a pet peeve of mine and it's not as common nowadays but why are we giving older designs of characters a big version of their childhood outfits. i don't know a single person who still wears or even keeps the winter hat they wore as a kid. the characters should be recognizable through their outfits!! there's so many possibilities, we should make it fun you know!!

i started out just drawing these guys, but i felt like making a full story would be more compelling. i love doujinshi and fancomics and i believe that we should always question the quality of the content we consume- and if we don't like it we should just make our own interpretations and stories. that's the beauty of fan content. canon is not a guarantee that things are good!! so many things don't even make it to the final cut, the original content gets digested by networks and companies and sponsors and political interests before we even get to see it!! making a comic is rough (and i've spent three years of my life creating this material about characters i don't even own legally), but a start is a start and well. i like this, i've always liked graphic novels and i always wanted to make one. i kind of owed it to myself too.

in conclusion, i just wanted to make something that i found fun and new and i could share with my south park fandom friends after my autism diagnosis (it was rough, but i was medically cringe and thus i felt very justified to be obsessed with my childhood special interest)!! i'm very lucky to be able to complement and elaborate on some of my choices with theory about art and media analysis that i get at uni, and i'm even luckier that so many people have taken a liking to it as well!!

so thank you for enjoying my comic so far <3 and thank you for showing interest in it. thank you so much!!

[shadow-genesis-yay]

I'm bored so I'll do this lol - Galaxy Steve 🌌

🎉 - Idk uhh a year maybe? We only figured out we were a system when our host at the time (Naeus), felt heavily 'connected' to a character, only to basically see them in their head (i guess?)

💯- 197. God help us. Only like 1? is created/brainmade, ig. the others either split off of another headmate, were a 'fusion' (not the system kind, source thingy) of some that later became their own alters instead of jjst when two specific headmates front and 'fuse' in front, and then like maybe 6 OCs. IDK whats considered created?

🧠- Wasnt intentional. Like 90% sure it was due to either trauma, loneliness, and the universe saying "hey i'd think itd be funny if they became a system" or smth

💭- Our headspace is like a mix of a airline plane interior (the seats), a train like one you can 'live' in, and a ship (specifically cruse) that has small lookin rooms that are actually very big on the inside. Feels almost like a hotel lol. And the front area feels like a control room that changes theme to fit whos 'in control'. We called our system at the time, the Ph4nt0m-F1ight-Voyager system, and the changin space was from our old system name, Fiction Trick System

🌅- No clue. Our first headmate is either gone, was our OC Eilian, or Naeus.

⚖️ - Closest to a power imbalance is just one mf who can destroy the universe in the blink of an eye, to haha possessed car (assuming this is what you mean)

🦄- I dunno. traumagenic? whatever loneliness would be?

🏇- We barely get irl shit done we are the most non functional system /ij

🧬- No clue. (can you tell i suck at this/suck at answering stuff that isnt yes or no/true or false?)

🎭- We switch, and do have different speech patterns and stuff, but mostly mask it. The only really noticable stuff for those outside of us, are different foods we liked/used to like, and dress style

🕯️- Eh, kinda neutral. Some stuff sucks as we get very down when blurry, or when too many people are fronting (even if they arent 'in control')

🗣️- Assuming i know what you mean, we insult the hell out of eachother in headspace or online.

📚- Uhhh none

🎨- I'm hyper and sometimes whats called ditzy, compared to alot of our more serious alters, formal, or 'childish' alters

🌈- Unsure. We only used Simply Plural in June of 2024, and most of us are hosts/get front stuck alot. I'd say Naeus and Entity tho, but now its mostly Entity, as Naeus had alotta traumatic stuff happend that almost made them go dormant (for us ig its just shuttin yourself in your room and never comin out tho)

🕵️- Alot of our system terms are existin ones. I think the only ones we 'coined', are Analyzers and Observers. Observers just observe headspace and can almost be like a gatekeeper. While analyzers are kinda like a defense mechanism thing. They analyze situations and deal with them.

😡- No, but we've had the classic 'omg *factive headmate*, whens *question we dont know*?" for our Youtuber alters like Sb737 and ClownPierce. Like chat you wish we knew when Friend or Foe was back

📋- Yep! Alot of our headmates are from the same source, and we have alot of different things that didnt happen 'in canon' (its pissed alot of ppl off. its funny) I, Galaxy, remember spending time, forgiving and making up with my family, compared to my source counterpart who hates some of their guts/is hated by family/was unintentionally abandoned.

🧑‍🧒- We have like 3 littles, with another one age regressor. They're all children from source or regress due to trauma they have from source.

📺- I dont think so? I forgot what an introject is, + alot of headmates who'd prob be considered introjects dont feel like they are

🍝- I dunno

🌠- Not really. We were already the 'weird kid' so if we talked to ourselves when younger, it wouldnt help

🧱- no idea

🛸- Kinda? One person we did tell but dont think they cared/remembered cus they dont really ask or anything

🧁- A bunch of queers who are either funny block game Minecraft, TRANSFORMERS ROLL OUT, sentient fuckin car, or "whats up guys, today were going to-" (youtubers). Oh and we insult eachother alot

Created plurality ask game

These questions are meant to be answerable by both created systems and mixed-origin created systems.

🎉 - How long have you been a system? How do you define when you became a system?

💯 - How many headmates do you have? Are they all created?

🧠 - Why did you create headmates/create a system? Was it intentional or not?

💭 - Do you have a headspace? What's it like? Did you build it?

🌅 - Who created the others? Who is the first created headmate?

⚖️ - Is there a power imbalance in your system, especially between created and non-created headmates? What's the nature of this imbalance?

🦄 - What's your specific origin? Do you have more than one?

🏇 - Are you currently working on any system skills? What are they?

🧬 - How developed are your created headmates? How do you define this?

🎭 - If you can switch, do you have different mannerisms or speech patterns between headmates? Was this always the case?

🕯️ - How has having a created system impacted your life? Has it been a positive experience or not?

🗣️ - How do you and your headmates communicate? If you are mixed-origin, do you experience interaction with created headmates differently than non-created headmates?

📚 - What methods did you use to develop your headmates? Is there anything that worked particularly well for you?

🎨 - How different are you and your headmates from each other? Has it always been this way?

🌈 - Who's the most common fronter? Has this changed in the past?

🕵️ - What sort of terminology does your system prefer? Do you have any terms you've created for personal use?

😡 - Have you experienced discrimination or bigotry for having created headmates? What happened?

📋 - Do you experience exomemories? Are any of them traumatic?

👨‍👦 - Do you have any littles? Is them being little influenced by your created plurality at all?

📺 - Are any of the created headmates introjects? What kind of introject?

🍝 - Would you say being created origin is important to how your system functions currently? What does this mean to you? Has this changed over time?

🌠 - Do you wish you were plural earlier in life? Mixed origin systems, do you wish your created headmates could have been there earlier?

🧱 - What barriers do you have in your system, such as memory or thought barriers? Did you make them? Did you want them?

🛸 - Does anyone IRL know you're a system?

🧁 - Give me a silly oversimplification of your system and who's in it.

[prismbearer]

Organizing old documents and I stumbled across some old FFXIV writing prompts I never finished, aha.

---

Prompt: Cross

- Theater. to move from one side of the stage to the other, espec ially by passing downstage of another actor.

- Slang. to betray; double-cross.

SYLVAIN: Cross - to betray; double-cross.

Despite the reality of the situation, the light of the First had an appeal from the very beginning. Immediately upon waking in the lavender-hued forest, Sylvain had thought there to be an unnatural beauty to her surroundings–the air all but singing as she walked. The trees were unlike anything she had seen on the Source, exuding a mystical appeal that brought a sense of wonder; and then the truth struck when she bore witness to the effects of the light on the living. In the end, bringing the night to this world, restoring the balance, was in her nature. It was the cost, that gave her pause.

All this time, she had been known as the Warrior of Light, though where others saw the sun, Sylvain had always thought of herself as more a distant star. A dim, constant light that guides but does not truly burn. Perhaps in the end, Warrior of Darkness was more accurate. She was hardly a natural hero; once upon a time she had woken in another forest with no memory at all. An adventurer without a past, only provided a purpose. Sylvain was guided into her position by Hydaelyn herself, blessed and emboldened by her light… But was she the Warrior of Light? Or was it just another role in what appeared to be a millenia-long struggle to claim an uncertain future?

Standing at the wide window of her room at the Pendants, Sylvain stared up at the eternal light overhead… and tried not to feel the light within writhe in fury. As she closed her eyes the light remained, seething. Ardbert had been a helpful constant, but even his supportive presence could not be salve to her soul. Better to feel the light than the burn of betrayal. Sylvain repeated this to herself as hot tears filled her eyes. It must be the frustration of failure… It could hardly be that she cared about another in such a way, much less an Ascian.

In truth, she could not even claim that he had crossed the Scions. Emet-selch had been open regarding his intentions all along. He had smiled and laughed and followed her around throughout her time there… and she had simply let him. Would the “Warrior of Light” have counted on the meager potential of a path of cooperation? Would a hero, as he so mockingly called her, fail at the climax of their duty? Truly, the man seemed to be skilled at cutting to the core of her. No, perhaps it had been Sylvain who had betrayed her purpose. Or was that what he wanted? A helpless hero, bound for a tragic fate.

Damn, but was it difficult to not feel despair. Before she could stop it, a broken laugh escaped her, she grimaced under her hand as she winced at the radiating pain beneath the protections on her soul. At least the others could not see her in this state… The pain eased, the light lessening as she turned away from the window.

In her research, Sylvain had read that Solus zos Galvus had been a supporter of the arts, and of theater in particular. She could not help but wonder, was this another role for him? If so, his acting was impeccable… And yet. There had always been a curiosity, something within that had guided her to follow his movements, the crinkle of his eyes, the gesture of his hands. He had commanded her attention as if she herself was the audience, the figure of his past role crossing the stage until eventually… This was why the others often did the talking. Even in this, even in her own feelings, Sylvain did not have the words.

Why did he haunt her so? She had never considered Lahabrea beyond their encounters… Even Elidibus had not quite caused such curiosity in her. Somehow, merely laying eyes on Emet-selch had come with a striking familiarity. His golden eyes peering beneath dark lashes as she, usually so stoic, could not hide her surprise. It hardly mattered now. Emet-Selch had effectively crossed all potential of cooperation off when she failed to withstand the power of the light. His cutting words had hurt more than anything a villain had dared taunt her with before. As if there was ever another end. As if her path could ever change. Why?

If the Scions knew the direction her thoughts lay, her doubts… Would they still believe in her? Was there a reason for them to that yet remained? If she had learned anything in her experiences, all people died, heroes simply died for causes. The First could be her cause, thwarting a calamity that would kill so many. But could she thwart it? Did she have the strength to somehow overcome the odds against her? To overcome Emet-Selch? It seemed laughable in the here and now, but Sylvain had to believe there was a reason for her role here. That Hydaelyn had plans yet for her soul, that she would not shatter and burst into a monster that would destroy all she had fought for thus far.

Emet-Selch could not matter, and he had made his choice. The chapter of cooperation was closed, and she did not have the time to indulge in reviewing it. No. She would meet Emet-Selch as requested, she would stand strong and do her best to believe that she would somehow overcome the odds again. Sylvain was the Warrior of Light and she would bare it. Emet-Selch may have lost all faith, but it was what she was. Crossing worlds had not changed her role. There was no understudy, no alternative… only their finale.

[zerguette]

YOOOO thanks for the tag<3!!!

Hmp, maybe two stories to share cuz rn i'm obssesed with Sonic the Hedgehog (haha ha One!/ref) but like, if i were to Yap abt hyperfixations, i'll go a lil with Starcraft.

So lil Dreads would be a loner and the first game he ever played was Starcraft. And I've been brainrotting abt this game, for almost all my life, since i'm 3 yo, gosh, the concepts of everything, the fact that Even the gameplay can beboring now for new ppl, but the lore holds up pretty well, of course it goes around a war abt 3 races AND ITS NOT ACTUALLY ABT BUT LIKE HOW EACH CHARACTER DESLS WITH IT, the evolution of the story throughthe Game is amazing, you get attached to some of the charas, you cry seeing them go. I specifically have a weak point for Zeratul and still have, he was basically my paternal figure evenif he was just the old alien of the silly game from the 90's, hehe i think about Starcraft daily, at least. Once a day :]

Now, Sonic, idk, i wasnt a Sonic kid cuz i was mostly a Starcraft kid and also a Doom kid, a computer games kid, i didnt have consoles so Sonic wasnt actually smth i could get attached with. I remember my first Sonic art is Sonic.exe art, i watched the old amv videos with sad songs abt ships, and yeah Sonic x clips, first Game trailer was Sonic Unleashed and it made me thought Sonic was a wolf lmao. I then when i was a teenager only watched some of Sonic Boom bc of the famous Knuckles clip (if yk yk). And It wasnt until January of this year that my ass decided to watch the old OVA, and i got brainrot of Metal Sonic lmao.

Please give me content of Metal Sonic i'll do everything

Then i Made ocs, then i found peace and happiness in Knuckles CUZ OH MY GOD SILLAY ECHIDNA I LOVE YOU SOOOO MUCHH, i still believe he's a little underrated but like, goodness greatness he's got thehuge lore, like, huge lore, personally i like all his representations, specially when he's awkward to new stuff cuz he's spent his whole life in angel island! He of course is social awkward and he of course would act childish sometimes cuz he never got to interact with others until he was a teenager almost adult, there is so much about Knuckles that It ends hitting close to home lol i'm not sharing that but like, he's my fave, for Lot of reasons. Fun fact, some irl friends do call me Knuckles/Knux :D, it's fun, some of them do Say i share a lot in common with him and i couldnt be any more happier with hearing that. He means a Lot to me, like, a lot, iam a thinker, i think abt him all the time. I giggled with watching the movies tbh, he's so silly!! I love seeing this childish side of him!! I love how he appears in the OVA, a treasure hunter!! I actually love he's a known treasure hunter but it doesnt mean he got to meet other treasure hunters (besides Rouge), i love his social awkwardness. I really loved the prologue in Frontiers, gosh It speaks a lot about him "I do things on my own, That's how Its always been. But sometimes, I wonder" those last words lmao, It speaks a Lot abt him, being isolated for Lot of tie cuz the guardian duty, his theme in sonic adventure saying "Is this really what i'm meant to be"-ish, like he wonders a lot, he wonders a lot, he has many questions that he can't answer and aghhhh i just love him a lot, i hold him gently, to my heart :]

I have 15 Knuckles figures and 2 plushs of him, and luckily i'll get two figures more if i save money :], i have 3 Sonic figures 2 Tails 1 Shadow, Might and Ray. Also planning on getting some personalized shirts of Knuckles :3

tag game!! ^q^

how it works: get tagged. yap about current obsessions.

i'll go first!! >_<

okay so uhhh.. yi xi!!! i love her voice, her fan designs.. aghhh i love her

i also really like the train bitch (choo choo) and project on her sm... ( 〃▽〃) she is on SO MUCH MATH WORK ITS NOT EVEN FUNNY

last off... teeptum (tptm)!!! it's weird, i'm uncomfortable with myself recovering, but seeing these girls — whether i relate to them or not — overcome their struggles (^-^; maybe it's just nice to have hope... OH ALSO DONT EVEN GET ME STARTED ON HOW WELL WRITTEN EACH GIRL IS!!! ITS GENUINELY SO GOOD. I UNDERSTAND WHY SO MANY PEOPLE RELATE TO AT LEAST ONE GIRL. (personally i relate to tahira (splitter) and nora (caliber) but also some elements of freyja (faneint)

TAGS!! @charawara (go ahead. yap about the blue mouthed freak) @lordofthealfies (go ahead. yap about lotf) @fishtheflowerchomper @luckyloser6 @wkfn14kt829j2nq @toothandfeather @fearofajmetalalbum @madilynlovesbsdfr

[kromazque]

Rocketstar!!!

[keeps-ache]

in a cafe rn. this place is nice :>

[trashcandroid]

Apparently my mom shares trans memes on her facebook, which is… cool I guess? But she also still posts old pictures of me all the time

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[astrxealis]

my ocs..... i love you

[mirroroftheworld]

i redrew this lol

woo!

original drawing

Continuar lendo

[fushitoru]

worth the wait a nerdjo fic

pairing ⸺ nerd/academic rival/rich boy!gojo x reader

summary ⸺ you abhor your academic rival, satoru gojo. he's a cocky asshole that you fight with constantly for the spot at first place. but when you finally discover what's underneath all those lame sweaters of his with a once in a blue moon visit at the gym (spoiler alert: he's not a scrawny nerd), you'll be fighting your severe attraction to the man who makes your life a bit harder. and maybe fall in love with him, too, in the process.

warnings ⸺ smut, f recieving oral, praise, he makes you beg for it lol, p i v sex, making out, angst if you squint, a lot of fluff, college AU, nerd!gojo, reader gets insecure sometimes and is treated horribly by her discord mod TA/research advisor, typical misogyny/sexism in STEM fields, but gojo defends her!!!, sleeper build gojo with a happy trail because im a slut, the good old pining and yearning i like. art by @/deltapork

a/n thank u to all my beta readers for editing part of this for me :3 happy valentines day!!!

general masterlist

You blink at your paper.

98.

You suppose you should be happy—it’s a graduate level physics class, anyways. For a moment, you stare at the red markings of the TA that graded it, as if willing an error in the one problem you made a mistake on could make it go away. 

2+2=5.

You exhaled sharply, almost fighting back tears. You’d think you could avoid simple arithmetic mistakes, but apparently doing tensor products comes easier than simple addition to you. Shoving your backpack on your chair, you stuff in your laptop and the test haphazardly, not caring that it’s going to get messed and crumpled up in your backpack after your folders and binders jostle around. Fuck that test.

You wouldn’t normally act as if the test had personally wronged you—trust, you were not going to get that heated were it any class. But because of this one class, one person, you knew it was coming. The inevitable.

"Better luck next time." The voice, drenched in smug satisfaction, slithered through the air behind you, his voice and demeanor like a slimy, slimy snake. 

Your jaw tightened, but you forced yourself to remain calm as you turned around. And there he was—Gojo Satoru, the bane of your existence, a plague upon your academic record, a walking, talking statistical anomaly who somehow managed to be both infuriatingly brilliant and aggressively insufferable.

He leaned against the desk beside yours, glasses sliding down just enough to reveal the glint of those ridiculously blue eyes. He crosses his arms while they’re covered in that ridiculous, ugly sweater he’s wearing—he’s probably going for the old money aesthetic, but he doesn’t need to know he gives off more “finance bro that helps billionaires evade taxes,” or whatever finance bros do.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” you sniff, pretending to act nonchalant while you grab your backpack, swinging it roughly on your shoulder like it was the weight of your grievances against him.

"The test." Gojo unfolded a crisp sheet of paper with the kind of theatrical flourish reserved for revealing royal decrees. A perfect 100, circled in bold red ink.

Your stomach twisted. This is what those two points meant. Two stupid, meaningless, soul-crushing, rage-inducing points.

"Guess that makes it… what, five to three this semester?" He tapped his chin, pretending to count, as if the score wasn’t already seared into your brain like an irreversible branding. "My lead, obviously. But hey, if you ever need tutoring, I could always squeeze you in."

You bite the inside of your cheek in frustration. “I wouldn’t want to impose on the time for any of your hobbies. After all, when will you get the time to watch anime? My 5000 Year Old Girlfriend is Stuck in a Twelve Year Old’s Body, was it?”

He presses a hand to his chest in mock hurt, as if your words had truly pierced him through his chest. “Tut, tut. After all this time, I’d think you’d have my anime preferences memorized since you’re so obsessed with me. It’s Digimon, not whatever pedophilic shit you think I jerk off too.” He pauses, and then his voice drops into a conspiratorial whisper. “But you know Fred, the grad student TA that holds recitation every Wednesday? I just know he’s probably a Discord mod of a server that sends, like, daily tentacle porn. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s on the Megan's law registry either.”

Now, you have to hold back your smile because Gojo has a point. Fred is not just any TA. Fred is the grad student that mentors you on a research project; the program’s super selective, so when you realized you got him, you couldn’t just back out and give up the opportunity. However, Fred isn’t just a weird–-he’s sooo handsy with his greasy ass hands, so you accept any and all Fred slander. Because he’s your research advisor, you can’t wait to finish the project any faster. He probably would be into underage girls, but you don’t need to express your approval to Gojo, or worst of all, let him think he’s funny. God knows that would get into his head. “Yea, yea. Whatever. Anyways, I hope you have fun with your Pokemon—”

“Digimon.”

“—or whatever. I’m leaving. Some of us have things to do. Later, Gojo.”

You turned on your heel, lest Gojo hook you in with another taunt. 

Maybe you needed to blow off some steam, if you’re allowing yourself to lose to Gojo. 

Worst of all, it’s become a streak, like two times in a row—one on this quiz, and the other on the midterm a few weeks back. Your mind goes back to the last women in STEM recruiting event you had went to, and, how, in the middle of taking a bite of the delicious margherita pizza they offered, you registered that the woman in the panel had insisted that what helped her power through her PhD and dickwad supervisors was by exercising. Her fervor over pilates could almost qualify as a cult pitch, but it made you pause at the moment. Before you continued to further engorge yourself on the food offered on the charcuterie board. 

But maybe it was time to hone your focus in, and some sweaty endorphins might help you get just that. 

You’re not really surprised the demographic at your university’s gym looks like the way it does. After all, not only was it renowned for its academics (from all the nepo babies like Gojo whose families donated buildings and had like four generations of alumnus), but it was also a Division I school. So not only was the gym packed but it was packed with men.

As you walked in the hallway towards the room that contained weight machines, gym bag slung over your shoulder, you eyed the glistening backs of the (D1, mind you) men’s swim team through the glass that separated your path and the swimming pool. 

Wow, those Speedos really hugged their asses. You imagined Gojo in one, and almost snorted. Rich boy nerd Satoru definitely didn’t  learn how to swim; his family’s mansion probably had a twenty year old personal lifeguard that Gojo lost his virginity to, or something. Regardless, he would squint in his silly swim goggles, the exact antithesis of sex appeal while his glow-in-the-dark eyes lit up the pool while he stroked, cheeks puffed like a pufferfish.

Regardless, the smell of testosterone that hits you when you enter the weight area is almost nauseating, and, if you’re honest, a little intimidating. You’re not exactly the fittest of people, so you quickly speed walk past the grunting and sweaty men at the squat machines and barbells, avoiding eye contact and praying furiously that none of them perceive you.

 When you reach the dumbbell stands, you hunch over, taking random light weights. Then, you pretend you know what you’re doing while jumping every so slightly whenever anyone comes in six foot distance of you. It’s only when another girl comes in to grab a weight (and when she bends over, you definitely ogle her ass in a way that would get you slapped if you were a man) that your gaze removes itself from where it was focused on the 2.5 lb dumbbell you were previously bicep curling with. To see him.

The glint of ivory hair is unmistakable—you’ve basically gotten off to the fantasy of razoring it off in his sleep. His blue eyes are bored, pretty boy face framed in glasses. Now, he’s giving teenage boy turned to Andrew Tate after a breakup. Black sweatshirt and sweatpants that are too small, because they cling to his legs in a form-defining way. He’s walking over, hands in his pockets, to a barbell station. Slaps some guys on the shoulder as he goes through, gets a lot of daps. 

Which is weird to you, because you only the Gojo inside your physics class, not outside. He’s a fucking nerd—a loser that spends his time beefing with you, so why is he so popular when he gives you the time of day?

There are three dimensions to gaining alpha status, or whatever they call male popularity. You have to be 1) rich, 2) really physically fit, or 3) just really charismatic. Considering that Gojo—in all his clothing—-looks like a twink moreso than ripped gym bro, it’s definitely not dimension two. So you conclude that it’s because he’s rich and probably throws yacht parties so these ripped guys don’t push him into a locker, or something.

When he finally reaches his destination, you smirk to yourself. With that scrawny build underneath all those loose sweaters, you know he’s only going to be able to lift the bar, no plates. After all, he was warming up. insulting Gojo in countless of ways by taking jabs at his physique mentally, so you barely register that he’s grabbing for the hem of his sweatshirt, peeling it up—

To reveal his bare torso.

Your first thought: Wow, he has huge bazonkas.

That has easily got to be one of the most built physiques you’ve seen at your college so far. His pectorals basically pop out out of his torso as he moves to grab plates. First, he grabs a really big plate—you’re not a gym expert, so you wouldn’t know the weight—and stacks it. And stacks another. And another. And another, until you’re sure it’s definitely more than your bodyweight.

As you’re staring at him in awe, your 2.5 lb dumbbells hang limply by your sides, abandoning all pretense of training to openly gawk at the clench of his biceps, the sweat rolling down his temple, and the set of his jaw as he stares holes into the bar. And by the way there’s heat creeping up your cheeks you realize one thing:

You’re screwed.

“You know what?”

You keep your eyes on your notes firmly, refusing to look at Gojo sitting right next to you. You don’t know why he always chooses to sit next to you on recitation, really—it’s not like you’re receptive to his company. After all, he could be doing other things—like metaphorically sucking a TA’s dick by talking about their research, where Gojo probably knows more about the TA’s research than they do themselves. 

From your periphery, you notice Gojo pouting, then scooting his chair (dragging it, so it makes a god awful screeching noise against the floor tiles that has you cringing) until he’s so close that he slings an arm on the back of your chair and leans in closer and closer. You’re fighting to keep your eyes on your notes, face heating up traitorously until you feel his breath fan across your neck because he’s just so close.

“Rude, ignoring me. Look where that got you.” He then points to a problem on your paper, one you were currently working on. “You’re doing that wrong.”

You finally turn to glare at him, but he’s closer than you anticipated, his face just inches from yours. His grin is all sharp edges and knowing amusement, and it makes your stomach flip in a way you refuse to acknowledge.

“I’m not doing it wrong,” you argue, despite the creeping suspicion that, okay, maybe you did mess up somewhere.

“Oh, really?” Gojo drawls, tilting his head slightly. “Then why is your integral off by a factor of two?”

Your eyes snap back to your notes, scanning through the equations—and, dammit, he’s right.

You huff, begrudgingly erasing the mistake. “Whatever.”

“You know, you should really be thanking me,” Gojo muses, still leaning way too close for comfort. “If I weren’t here, who knows how many mistakes you’d make?”

“She’d have me,” comes a greasy voice, and you have to fight the tears in your eyes that arise when Fred (the aforementioned pedophilic TA and your research advisor) comes, his moldy cheese stench following him as he takes a seat from across you and Gojo. You grudgingly turn your face away from where it was so close to Gojo’s to look at him and sigh inwardly. At least Gojo’s face was prettier to look at.

“Hi, Fred,” you smile tightly, willing him to go away. “We’re good here, so you can help out other students—”

“How was your weekend?” He instead replies, and you wince. Stealing a quick glance at Gojo, it seems that his jaw and posture are uncharacteristically tense. 

“Lot of work for the class and for, uh, our research,” you respond, nodding and averting your gaze to your paper and feigning working on a problem so that he would get the hint.

Fred, unfortunately, does not get the hint. Instead, he leans forward, elbows on the table, eyes too focused on you. “You really ought to take breaks, you know. You can give me the code late. Someone as cute as you shouldn’t stress so much. You’ll get wrinkles.”

Your fingers tighten around your pencil, your skin crawling at the way his tone veers into something too familiar, too patronizing. You open your mouth to give a clipped response, but Gojo beats you to it.

“Oh? Didn’t know you were an expert on skincare, Fred,” Gojo drawls, his voice deceptively light. His arm, which was still resting on the back of your chair, shifts just slightly—not quite pulling you in, but making his presence more noticeable. “Though, if we’re giving out advice, maybe you should take your own. I mean, stress must be rough on you too, right? All those late nights grading papers, staring at screens. Takes a toll.”

Fred bristles, but Gojo just smiles lazily, pushing up his glasses as he tilts his head. “Actually, you know what? Maybe we should all focus on our own business. Like, say, teaching, instead of weirdly hovering over students. Crazy thought, huh?”

You swear you see the muscle in Fred’s jaw twitch, but he forces out an awkward chuckle, shifting uncomfortably. “Right, right. Just looking out for her.”

“Don’t worry,” Gojo interrupts smoothly, now fully leaning into your space, his arm draping a little lower behind your chair, “I think she’s got plenty of people looking out for her already.” His voice is soft, but there’s an undeniable edge beneath the words.

Fred lingers for a second too long, but finally, he mutters something about helping another student and stands, walking off with an air of forced nonchalance.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, slumping slightly in your seat. Gojo hums beside you, his fingers tapping idly against the back of your chair.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” he teases, but there’s something in his tone that’s softer than usual. He then makes a show of stretching, raising his arms. His sweater rides up a bit, exposing his lower abs and peeks of white that has you averting your gaze, the heat creeping up at his proximity once again. Then, his arm back on your chair. Weirdly, you find that you don’t mind it.

You sigh, resigned. You’ll figure out these feelings later. “Yeah. Thanks, Gojo.”

But you don’t immediately go back to your work, because Gojo suddenly hunches down and whispers in your ear. “Yea, I definitely saw an underage anime girl sticker on his laptop.”

Your responding snort is so loud everyone turns to look at you and Gojo, who is now sporting a mischievous and satisfied smile.

It starts with a single drop, fat and cold where it splats against your wrist. You glance up from your phone just in time to see the sky split open.

“Shit,” you mutter, stuffing your phone into your bag. The library doors shut behind you with a heavy clang, sealing away the scent of old books and the quiet hum of studying students. Outside, the air is thick with the petrichor of freshly fallen rain, and within seconds, the pavement is slick, puddles forming in the uneven cracks of the sidewalk. The streetlights reflect off the wet ground, casting fragmented golden glows against the darkening sky. You’d been studying to grind for the upcoming assignments; after all, to rival Gojo is a no small feat. It’s just unfortunate it seems to take you thousand times more effort than it does for Gojo.

“Guess we’re stuck together, huh?”

You don’t have to turn to know who it is.

Satoru Gojo, standing beside you under the library’s narrow overhang, wearing that insufferable grin like he’s amused by the entire situation. Like the rain personally fell from the sky just to give him an opportunity to bother you.

“I’ll take my chances,” you say flatly, shifting your bag on your shoulder. But as you peer past the downpour, your stomach sinks. The rain is merciless, an unrelenting sheet of water stretching as far as you can see. There’s no way you’re making it back to your dorm without looking like you took a fully clothed shower.

Gojo hums, pulling something out of his bag. You blink when he flicks open a half-broken umbrella, the metal ribs slightly bent like it’s barely holding itself together. He gives it a little shake, sending droplets flying, before glancing at you with a smirk.

“Well?” He lifts a brow. “Wanna be smart about this?”

You do not want to be smart about this. You want to wait out the rain or make a break for it. But the storm shows no signs of letting up, and the thought of walking through it alone makes you hesitate.

Reluctantly, you sigh. “Fine. But I get most of the cover.”

“Hey, sharing is caring.” He tilts the umbrella slightly, just enough to make a point.

With great reluctance, you step closer. The moment you do, you regret it.

Gojo is warm. Even in the damp, chilled air, he radiates heat, standing so close that his sleeve brushes against yours. He smells good, too—like expensive laundry detergent with a faint undercurrent of something sweet, something distinctly him.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to stare straight ahead as the two of you start walking. The rain pounds against the umbrella, droplets cascading off the edges, and with every step, you’re hyper-aware of the way Gojo moves beside you—loose-limbed, annoyingly graceful, a stark contrast to the crooked metal above your heads.

“Man, this thing’s on its last leg,” he muses, tilting the umbrella just slightly. Water dribbles off the side, landing directly onto your shoulder.

“Gojo!” you yelp, recoiling as the cold soaks through your shirt.

“Oops.” He does not sound remotely sorry.

You glare at him, but before you can snap back, he shrugs off his jacket and—without preamble—drapes it over you.

You freeze.

It’s warm, still carrying the heat of his body, and it smells so much like him—clean, sweet, dizzyingly familiar. Your brain short-circuits.

You force yourself to breathe, keeping your gaze firmly ahead. “You didn’t have to do that,” you say, voice tight.

“I wanted to.”

Something in his tone makes your stomach flip. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, and—

Damn him. Damn him.

Water drips from his bangs, clinging to the sharp edges of his jawline, sliding down the curve of his throat. His shirt sticks to his skin, fabric clinging in a way that reveals the toned lines of his arms, the broad plane of his chest. He’s watching the rain, the usual teasing glint in his eyes softened into something contemplative.

You swear your eggs just recently got released, for you cannot help but avoid your ever going attraction to Satoru Gojo except the age-old excuse: ovulation. Your mind wanders to how his arms would feel around your head, to lay on his chest, how he’d be able to manhandle you, force you to take it—

But you’re snapped out of your inappropriate thoughts by what he says next.

“You know,” he says, voice quieter now, “I like this. Just us, no grades, no competing.”

You pause.

He says it so simply, so easily, like it’s nothing at all. But the words settle deep, curling somewhere warm inside you, and you don’t know what to do with them.

So you do what you do best: you shove them away, bury them beneath years of rivalry, of late-night study sessions fueled by caffeine and stubbornness, of sharp words and sharper glances.

You roll your eyes, forcing a scoff. “Don’t get used to it.”

But even as you say it, your fingers curl into the fabric of his jacket, holding it a little tighter.

It’s been a week since you saw Gojo. He had dropped you at your dorm in a surprisingly gentlemanly way, and you had insisted on returning the jacket only after washing it, to be courteous. What you didn’t mention was how you kept repeatedly smelling it in your dorm whenever you got a reprieve from your roommate’s eyes because Gojo smelled like expensive cologne and he did one thing most nerds / physics majors don’t do: shower. This fact, unfortunately, made you more attracted to him because the bar is truly in hell.

You’ve concluded that these…feelings can’t hurt you and that it isn’t real, like a beefy and shirtless Gojo-looking demon that’ll jump and surprise you from under your bed. So you move on your life, caught in the ever perpetual slog of studying and researching. 

Thus, you find yourself at the library once more.

The night hums low around you, quiet except for the occasional shuffle of paper and the distant hum of the library’s espresso machine (only librarians could use it, however. you fervently thought that was a form of elitism, but you digress). You’re at the corner table, the one by the window, where the dim light pools just enough to illuminate your notes but not enough to make you feel like you’re being studied under a microscope. You think you’re alone—until you aren’t.

You don’t have to look up to know it’s him.

Satoru Gojo is hard to miss, even when he’s not trying. He slides into the chair across from you with the kind of ease that makes it seem like he belongs there, like he was always going to end up sitting across from you tonight. His hair is tousled, white strands falling forward in a way that makes him look softer under the warm light. His glasses are perched low on his nose, a rare sight given that he usually has them pushed up like some kind of pretentious scholar.

The two of you don’t speak.

It’s surprising, really. Gojo never runs out of things to say, whether it’s an obnoxious quip or some unnecessarily insightful observation that makes you want to throw your textbook at his face. But tonight, he just pulls out his own notes, taps his pen against the edge of his lips, and starts reading.

You should focus on your own studying, but something about this—this silence, this late-night haze, this tiny moment carved out of time—makes your mind wander. You steal glances when you think he won’t notice. His brows furrow when he’s concentrating, his jaw tightens when he’s stuck on something, and when he exhales, it’s this slow, measured thing, like he’s trying not to get frustrated. He’s just—

He’s just really there.

You’ve spent years defining Gojo as your rival. Your competition. The person standing in your way at every academic milestone. And yet, somehow, somewhere, he’s slipped into something else, something harder to define. Because you’ve seen him like this before—when he’s so focused that he forgets the world around him, when he bites his lip in thought, when he gets so caught up in something that he mutters under his breath without realizing it. And for the first time, it dawns on you: you don’t actually hate it.

You don’t hate this comfortable silence. This moment of peace, a white flag waving lazily between you both.

The hours blur. The café starts to empty. Your notes turn into background noise. It’s late, and the warmth from inside lulls you into something dangerously close to comfort.

A soft sound breaks through the quiet.

You glance up and freeze.

Gojo’s head has tilted to the side, his glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose. His hand is curled loosely around his pen, and his breathing has evened out. He’s asleep.

For a moment, you don’t move. You barely breathe.

Gojo, asleep, is not something you’ve seen before. He’s always in motion, always buzzing with energy, always running his mouth about something. But right now, he’s still. His long lashes cast faint shadows over his cheekbones, and the tension he always carries—the cocky bravado, the smirking sharpness—is nowhere to be found. He just looks… peaceful.

Cutie.

What?

The thought slips in so quickly, so effortlessly, that it nearly makes you jolt. But when you look at him again—head tilted just slightly, glasses slipping down his nose, breathing slow and even—you can’t deny that the word fits. He looks like a lazy cat napping in a sunbeam, limbs loose, utterly unguarded. It’s so unlike him that you find yourself staring, caught in the contrast.

Your fingers twitch. Before you can stop yourself, you reach forward, slow and hesitant, to push his glasses back up his nose. But you catch yourself just before you touch him, as if the warmth of his skin might burn. Your hand hovers in the air for a fraction of a second too long, and then—

You pull away.

Your heart is pounding. It’s fine. It’s nothing. You just need to get out of here.

You gather your things quietly, glancing back at him one last time before slipping out the door into the cool night air. The moment you step outside, you take a breath, deep and shaking. The world feels different now. You feel different now.

Because for the first time, it isn’t just that you find Gojo attractive.

It’s that you care.

And you don’t know what the hell to do about it.

The gym, once again, smells like sweat and overpriced protein powder.

You don’t know what’s possessed you to come here today. Maybe it’s because you keep telling yourself that you need to exercise more, or maybe it’s because you need to take a break from studying before your brain melts. But deep down, if you’re really being honest with yourself, you know the real reason.

Gojo is here.

You spotted him the first time by accident. You were on the treadmill, barely jogging at a pace that wouldn’t embarrass you, when you caught a flash of white hair across the gym floor. And there he was—dressed in a fitted black sleeveless top and joggers, casually loading plates onto a barbell.

And he wasn’t wearing his glasses.

It was a stupid, inconsequential detail, but it made all the difference. Without them, he didn’t look like the annoying academic rival who constantly got under your skin, flashing his smug grin as he beat you in exams by the smallest possible margins. He looked… sharp. Unfiltered. Effortlessly attractive in a way that made your stomach tighten in ways you didn’t like.

You’d seen him in his regular clothes before, of course. You knew he had broad shoulders and long legs, that his body wasn’t just a lanky frame hidden behind layers of sweaters. But here, in the gym, watching him roll his shoulders as he prepped for another set—it hit differently. He was lean but muscular, his arms flexing as he adjusted his grip on the bar, and for some godforsaken reason, you couldn’t look away.

You shouldn’t be watching him. You should be focusing on your own workout, pretending you don’t care. But the way his shirt clung to his back, the way his forearms tensed, the way he exhaled sharply as he lifted—

You’re so screwed.

You force yourself to look away, grabbing the smallest dumbbells available and curling them in what has to be the weakest excuse for a workout imaginable. You’re barely paying attention to what you’re doing, too busy sneaking glances at Gojo between sets. It’s pathetic, but at least no one else is watching you.

Or so you think.

Because then she appears.

A girl.

Tall, toned, and effortlessly gorgeous, with sleek hair pulled into a high ponytail. She strides over to Gojo with a confidence you could never dream of and smiles at him, saying something that makes him laugh. Her ass is definitely bigger than yours, and she’s in this coordinated, cute, pink set, looking like she walked straight out of a fitness TikTok. You can’t hear what they’re talking about over the sound of weights clanking and some obnoxious EDM song blasting through the speakers, but you can see it. The way she leans in, the way she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the way Gojo—

—smiles at her. That easy, lazy grin he always wears when he’s teasing you, except this time, it isn’t for you.

Your grip tightens around the dumbbells, something ugly curling in your chest. It gets worse when she gestures toward the squat rack, and Gojo nods before moving behind her, hands hovering just slightly as she sets up for a squat. You watch as he spots her, one hand resting lightly on her lower back, close enough to correct her form but far enough to be polite. He’s focused, watching her movements carefully, murmuring something that makes her laugh before she drops into another rep.

Your stomach twists.

This is stupid. You have no reason to be feeling this way.

It’s then that it hits you—you can have your silly little academic rival moments with Gojo, but, in the end, you’re just a footnote in his story, a fleeting challenge in a life where everything already belongs to him. He quite literally has generational wealth; he’s not going to spend his life buried in grant applications or clawing for recognition in a field that demands twice the effort for half the reward. He’ll be the one funding the research, sitting at the head of the table, making decisions that shape the future. And you? You’ll be one of the many who struggle just to be in the same room.

He’s the guy who spends his vacations on yachts or private islands—not just surrounded by wealth, but by people who belong there. Girls who glide through life with the same effortless ease as him, girls who don’t second-guess if they deserve to be in the spaces they occupy. Girls who don’t have to fight for their place at the table because it was always set for them.

Girls that are his equal—equally attractive, equally smart, equally rich.

Not you.

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to look away, but the image is burned into your mind. The easy way he talks to her. The way she tilts her head when she listens. The way he doesn’t even know you’re here.

You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t care. You shouldn’t care.

But you do.

You grip the dumbbells tighter, exhaling sharply. Then you put them back, pick up your water bottle, and walk out of the gym before you do something stupid.

The office is too small. Too suffocating. Too filled with the weight of unspoken words and the sharp-edged smile of Fred, the TA, as he leans back in his chair and laces his fingers together.

"You know," he begins, voice sickly sweet, "I really expected more from you."

You sit stiffly in the chair across from him, your hands curled into fists in your lap, nails digging crescents into your skin. Your heart pounds, but your face remains carefully neutral. You've been called into his office under the guise of "academic guidance," but you know better. You always know better.

"I don't know what you mean," you say, keeping your voice even.

Fred exhales dramatically, shaking his head. "Come on. You and I both know you're barely keeping up in this project of ours."

You grit your teeth. You're not barely keeping up. You're giving him your work at the highest level, at its best. But Fred—Fred has always had a way of twisting things, making you feel small, insignificant, like your achievements are nothing more than accidents.

“I think my progress speaks for itself,” you respond tightly. Mind you, while he was supposed to be your mentor, you’ve done 80% of the work.

But you think Gojo’s defense of you ran deep into Fred’s heart because by the way he’s sleazily smirking at you, you know he’s trying to get back at you.

He smirks. "Your progress? Sure, you’re smart. But you think that’s enough? You think anyone’s going to care about a girl like you when there are people out there who don’t have to struggle to be exceptional?" He leans forward, voice dropping into something conspiratorial. "You’re wasting your time. The best you can hope for is being someone’s assistant. Maybe a glorified research grunt if you’re lucky. Just like for me."

Your stomach twists. You shouldn’t care. You know you shouldn’t care. But the words burrow deep, hitting a place inside you that already doubts, that already wonders if you’re nothing more than a temporary obstacle in a world built for people like Gojo Satoru—people born brilliant, born wealthy, born effortless.

Fred’s eyes flick over you, assessing, smug. "You’re working yourself to the bone for what? You’ll never be at the top. Not really."

The bitterness of the situation really dawns on you—Gojo’s the one who took a jab at Fred last week, not you. But you’re the one who’s left to deal with its consequences. You’re not going to assign blame and lament that it’s not Gojo in this office dealing with him. It was in your defense, after all. 

But Fred’s words remind you. You’ll never be at the top. At Gojo’s level, who’s at the top without even seeming to put in effort.

You’ll never be his equal.

You stand abruptly, shoving your chair back so hard it scrapes against the floor. "If that’s all, I have work to do."

Fred chuckles, leaning back, clearly pleased with himself. "Sure, sure. Don’t say I never tried to give you advice."

You don’t respond. You just walk out, gripping your bag so tightly your knuckles turn white, the echo of his words following you down the hall, settling in your bones like lead.

The hallway is too bright. Too loud. Too full of people who don’t know that you’re on the verge of crumpling in on yourself like a dying star.

Your breath feels too shallow, too quick, and there’s a weight pressing down on your chest that no amount of rationalizing can shake off. It’s not even your meeting with Fred—just a slow accumulation of stress and exhaustion and frustration that’s settled deep in your bones. A grade lower than expected, an upcoming deadline you’re nowhere near prepared for, a general sense of drowning no matter how hard you try to keep up. It’s all too much, and your hands are starting to shake from how tightly you’re gripping the strap of your bag.

You just need to get out of here. You need air, space, something.

But, of course, the universe has a cruel sense of humor, because when you round the corner, you slam straight into Satoru Gojo.

“Whoa—”

Your balance is already precarious from the way you were rushing, and the impact sends you stumbling. For a split second, you think you might actually fall—your ankle twists awkwardly, the world tilts—and then there’s a strong hand gripping your wrist, another bracing against your back, steadying you before you can hit the ground.

You don’t process what happens immediately. Your mind is still stuck on too much, too fast, can’t breathe, and it takes you a second to realize that Gojo is holding you upright, his hands firm but careful, his expression hovering somewhere between amusement and concern.

“Jeez, what’s the rush?” he teases, but his voice lacks its usual careless lilt. He’s searching your face now, eyes narrowing behind his glasses, and that’s when you realize: you must look as bad as you feel.

Shit.

You jerk away from him, a little too fast, a little too sharp. “I’m fine.”

Gojo doesn’t look convinced. “You sure? Because it kinda seemed like you were about to pass out on the spot.”

“I said I’m fine.” You adjust your bag over your shoulder, shifting your weight onto your other foot, ignoring the faint throb in your ankle. “Go bother someone else.”

Most of the time, that’s enough to send him off with an exaggerated sigh and a smirk. But not today.

Today, Gojo just stands there, watching you like he’s trying to piece something together—like you’re a problem he wants to solve. He doesn’t press, not yet, but the silence stretches, and it’s unbearable, because you can feel the weight of his gaze, and you don’t want to be seen like this. Not by him.

So you give him a tight nod in dismissal, and walk away.

There’s a knock at your door. You frown because you didn’t expect any visitors, and you’re in your sleepwear. Regardless, you pad your way lazily and open the door.

To see Gojo.

What the fuck.

He’s drenched in the glow of the hallway light, looking entirely too at home despite standing on your threshold. His hair is still slightly damp from the rain, white strands falling over his forehead in careless disarray. He’s not wearing his glasses.

"Why are you here?" you demand, gripping the doorframe, willing your voice to stay steady.

He quirks an eyebrow, tilting his head just slightly. “You’re holding my jacket hostage.”

Oh. Right.

You make your way to your wardrobe, where the now-cleaned jacket hangs neatly on a hanger. Grabbing it, you hand it over to Gojo, who’s standing at your threshold while eyeing the insides of your dorm, as if trying to take in what your living space looks like. You shove it into his chest, stepping back like the heat of it burns. "Here."

Gojo takes it, but instead of leaving like a normal person, he lingers, running his fingers over the material like he’s checking for something. Then,, he lifts a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it in that way that only makes his biceps flex, his lean muscles shifting beneath his shirt. You hate that you notice.

A beat passes.

"You know," he muses, far too casually, "you seemed a little disheveled back there."

Your stomach twists. "It's not a big deal—"

"—Bullshit." His voice cuts through yours, sharp and immediate. He shifts, stepping just the tiniest bit closer, his tone losing its usual teasing lilt. “You’re lying. I saw what you looked like. What happened?”

“It's none of your business,” you say, stiffening. “Nor is it a big deal, really.”

Gojo exhales, something heavy in the sound. His eyes don’t leave yours, and for once, they aren’t filled with their usual mirth or mischief. Just something searching, something that makes your chest ache in a way you don’t have the strength to deal with right now.

"You always do that," he says, softer now, but no less intense. “Act like no one’s supposed to care. Like you’re carrying the world alone.”

Your fingers curl into your palms. Your lips press together. You don’t want to hear this. You don’t want to acknowledge the way his words settle too close to the truth.

And then, quietly, Gojo asks, “Do you not consider me your equal?”

You swallow.

Your silence must be enough of an answer because something shifts in his expression. It isn’t anger exactly, but it’s something close—something bitter and disappointed and aching all at once.

"You’re the one who shuts me out, you know." His voice is sharp now, edged with frustration. "You act like I'm the one keeping you at a distance, but every time I try to get close, you push me away."

Your throat tightens. “Why do you even care?”

Gojo lets out a breath, his head tilting just slightly, eyes scanning your face like you’re something he’s trying to figure out. Then he laughs, quiet and humorless.

“You really don’t know?”

“I—” Your voice wavers. “What do you mean—”

“For a girl so smart, you sure do act stupid.” He steps forward then, closing the space between you just enough to make you want to back away, but your feet don’t move. His voice drops lower. "Do you think I talk to you because I give a fuck about physics?"

Your brain short-circuits. “What—”

He groans, dragging a hand through his hair, frustrated. “I give zero fucks about the class or any class, trust me. I have better things to do than to try to aim for 100s on every test."

Your heart is pounding now, too loud, too fast. “Then why—”

"God," he exhales, tipping his head back, like he's debating whether or not he should even say it. Then, after a beat, he looks at you again, and whatever is in his eyes makes your stomach flip, makes your breath hitch.

Something in your chest lurches, but before you can even process it, he huffs a laugh—like he’s just remembered something ridiculous.

"You didn’t even look my way the first week," he says, eyes flicking over your face, searching. "I could tell you only cared about anyone that could challenge you. Like, it wasn’t even until I did better than you on the second midterm that you even talked to me."

You open your mouth, then close it, heat prickling at the back of your neck. Because—yeah. He’s not wrong. You had ignored him, dismissed him as just another overconfident rich kid who thought he was smarter than he was. It wasn’t until he proved himself, until he became a real obstacle in your path, that you bothered to acknowledge him.

Gojo smiles, but it’s not cocky this time—it’s small, almost rueful. "And then you looked at me like I was finally real. Like I existed."

Your breath hitches.

He shrugs, eyes dropping for a brief second before snapping back up to yours. "So, yeah. Maybe I started trying harder. Maybe I cared about all those stupid tests because it meant I got to see that fire in your eyes, that I got to be the one you were pushing against." He rubs the back of his neck, his biceps flexing in a way that would usually annoy you, but right now, you’re too busy trying to remember how to breathe.

Gojo stares at you for a long moment, gaze unwavering, like he’s daring you to say something—anything.

Your chest feels too tight, your pulse erratic, and you don’t know what to do with the way Gojo is looking at you—like you’re something precious, something worth holding onto.

But he’s wrong. He has to be wrong.

“You can’t like me,” you whisper.

Gojo frowns, expression shifting. “What?”

Your throat clenches, and before you can stop it, heat pricks at your eyes, blurring your vision. “You can’t like me,” you say again, voice cracking. “I can’t even match you.”

Gojo's face slackens, his teasing demeanor completely gone.

"You do everything so effortlessly," you force out, your fists clenching at your sides. "It’s so infuriating." A shaky breath escapes you, and you shake your head, looking down. “So why would you even want this? You make me feel this way, and I—I hate you for it.”

For a second, there’s only silence.

Then, Gojo exhales softly.

“Is that what you think?” His voice is so gentle it makes something inside you ache.

You don’t answer. You can’t.

Gojo shifts, stepping forward slowly, carefully, like you’re something fragile. And then—then he reaches out, his fingers ghosting along your wrist before curling around it, grounding you. “It’s not effortless,” he murmurs. “I try so hard. You just don’t see it because I don’t want you to.”

"You really don’t get it, do you?" His voice is quieter now, something dangerously close to vulnerable. His fingers twitch at his sides. "I care because it’s you."

You shake your head, still not understanding, still unable to believe it.

Gojo watches you for a moment, then exhales, running a hand through his hair. “You act like I just woke up one day and decided to like you.” He huffs a quiet laugh, but there’s no real amusement in it. “Do you know how long I’ve been stuck on you? How infuriating it was, realizing that no matter how much attention I got, the only person I wanted it from was too busy treating me like an obstacle?”

Your breath catches.

“I tried everything,” he continues, voice rougher now. “Teasing you, annoying you, beating you in tests, losing to you in tests. It didn’t matter what I did, because you—” He breaks off, shaking his head. “You only saw me when I gave you a reason to compete.”

Your fingers tremble slightly at your sides. You don’t know what to say, don’t even know what you can say.

And suddenly, everything—the teasing, the constant pestering, the way he always had to be around you—it all clicks into place.

Your heart hammers in your chest, and before you can second-guess it, before you can even think, you surge forward and kiss him.

It’s a mess of a kiss—too rushed, too desperate, all clashing teeth and uneven breaths—but Gojo groans softly against your lips, like he’s been waiting for this. His hands are on you immediately, one slipping around your waist, the other cradling the back of your head as he presses you flush against him.

You’re dizzy. Overwhelmed. But it’s good. It’s him, and you don’t want to stop.

When you finally pull away, breathless and unsteady, Gojo is grinning, his lips slightly swollen.

“Worth the wait,” he murmurs, eyes shining.

You avert your gaze, fully blushing now. “But I—” You take a look at him, then hide your face in your hands. “I’m a stalker.”

“Maybe I’m into that.”

“No,” you bemoan. “I’ve stalked you at the gym, and I—” Your voice drops into a shameful whisper. “You were good. Like, stupidly good. Like, making everyone stare at you good.”

His lips twitch. “You were staring too, huh?”

You glare at him, but he just grins, all teeth, clearly eating this up.

“I hated it,” you insist, heat prickling at the back of your neck. “I hated that you’re already smarter than me, that you already have all these advantages, and then—and then you also have that? Like, it’s just unfair. You’re unfair.”

Gojo is silent for a second, and you think you’ve screwed up, but then exhales a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “You are so cute.”

“Stop it!” you whine, but you don’t protest when he pulls you closer and locks your lips with his another time. You clutch the front of his shirt, drag your hands on his chest, his arms, everywhere. Then, you guide his to firmly clutch your ass, to which he freezes.

“We can stop here. We don’t have to do anymore than this, and—”

But you interrupt him, slamming your lips against his once more. Grabbing him by the shoulder you pull him into your room and slam the door behind you, pushing him against the door. “Fuck no.”

He laughs breathlessly, then continues to switch your position, now you against the door. “Thank god. Now, jump.”

You do, and you almost moan at how easily he grabs you in his arms, your legs straddling him. It’s like you weigh nothing to him as he carries you over to your bed and manhandles you into it, following not long after.

When he gets on top of you, he maintains eye contact as he pulls your shirt over your head, trailing kisses down to your neck, the valley of your breasts (but not before giving each of the girls their own tender kiss), and your stomach. With his eyes boring into you, he slowly, teasingly drags the pants you were wearing down your legs until you’re just in your panties.

You let out a noise, and he coos. “I know, I know, baby.” He gives you a gentle kiss on the top of your mound, and you clench, squirming from the contact. “Let me take my time, though.”

He gently, but firmly, lays a hand on your hip as he starts licking the crotch of your panties. It’s truly maddening—the sensation is there, but you oh so wish his skilled tongue was meeting your skin, bare and electric.

He’s taking his time laving, ravishing your taste, but you’ve had enough. “Gojo, please,” you sob, throwing your head back and grinding further into his tongue, which he welcomes. “Stop teasing.”

“Mmmm,” he pretends to think, all while focused and looking only at your crotch, now rubbing your clit in small, miniscule circles. “I can, but,” and now he’s just mocking you, with the way he adopts a babying tone, “I think you’re going to have to beg for it.”

You groan in frustration as a response, but he only clicks his tongue as his fingers reach and finally rid you of your panties. He spreads your folds with two fingers, his face oh so close to your bare pussy. But instead of finally giving you what you want,  he clicks his tongue, pouting as if you’re the one forcing him to be a bastard. “Yea, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to earn it.”

Before you can respond, he holds out his tongue and inches his face even closer to your bare folds until you can feel his warm breath over it. “You just have to say please.” Then, he ahhh-s, as if holding his tongue out to a doctor and says, “Look I’m so close—ahhh.”

You can only plead with him. “Please, Gojo.”

“No, it’s Satoru to you now, baby.”

“Satoru, please eat me out.”

He smiles. “Yeaa, that’s my girl.” And proceeds to eat you out in a way that has your toes curling.

He acts like a man eating his last meal on death row. It’s the masterful combination of laving over your folds, kissing your clit, and groaning and making noises that has you inching closer and closer to your orgasm. When you tell him, you’re close, he does exactly what he’s supposed to do—keep doing what he’s doing, same spot, same tempo, same pressure.

With a cry of his name, you come quickly, and he takes your writhing hips and their motion like a champ, easing you through it. When you feel the all-too-familiar feel of over sensitivity, you grab his hair and pull him towards your face, kissing him tenderly. 

He maneuvers his huge frame to lay down next to you, and you fall easily into a gentle embrace. It’s a comfortable silence, as he burrows his face into your chest and you stroke his hair gently.

Gentler than how you’ve ever treated him.

It’s this thought exactly that you voice to him. “You know,” you muse softly. “I was such a bitch to you.” This gets his attention, because he moves from where he was comfortable (your boobs) to look at you in alarm. “Like, I was always mean, and like acting all high and mighty—”

“Whatever you think you did, it was hot,” he interrupts you, grinning boyishly. “Like damn when you insult me I get all fired up—”

“Satoru!” You laugh, shocked, looking down at him. “You’re crazy.”

“Yea,” he winks. “Crazy for you.”

You smile softly at that, biting your lip. “I mean, I get that.” You feel his curious gaze rove over you and heat creeps up your neck as you confess, “Like I was stalking you at the gym. I saw you one time, and um. You definitely have a sleeper build.”

He hums. “I get that a lot.”

“Yea,” you blurt. “you’re really hot. Like you have really big arms, which I definitely didn’t notice in all those sweaters you wear. You could definitely throw me around.”

Silence.

When you look down at him, he’s looking at you mischievously. He sits up, takes off his shirt, and says, “Want to test that theory?”

The both of you test the theory, indeed—it’s a nice nod to your guys’ academic, theoretical physics roots. But instead of some theory involving dark matter or quantum physics debated while in class, this theory takes all night to prove.

general masterlist

a/n special thank you to @purplegemadventures ily pookie <3 we were discussing how a lot of fics so far have made seem nerd gojo really cute and shy but we tried to envision a shit eating sassy diva just like hidden inventory arc <3 like what that one anon said i need my gojo to be a little annoying cocky (but cute) bastard (or, i quote, "your gojo makes me want to oil his scalp and give him an aggressive head massage and mess his hair up"). ANYWAYS props to that one anon that dropped the "nerd gojo with sleeper build" and my beloved @tiramisuandlove i love you forever

comment and reblog to let me know ur thots!

[keeps-ache]

once again i am on the playlist lol

[ihavea-natural-curiosity]

I would like to thank Gigi Perez for not releasing Sailor Song until 2 years after my first secret, toxic lesbian situationship bc that shit would have DESTROYED ME.