#what a horrible manchild

[quinnfebrey]

will halstead is way too ugly to be acting the way he does

[blackbirdsblackberries]

I HATE THE NEW HERO

PT 1 - What teacher assigns a group project for a poster?!

Classes were always boring for you, don't get you wrong - you love the subjects, you just hate how it's being taught.

To sum it up, here is your lessons for today, Friday.

Literature, Methods Math, Biology, Ancient History, Engineering and finally Chemistry.

It's a lot and frankly you're regretting choosing half of those subjects. Even more so because of a certain billionaire playboy's ward. Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne.

You're pretty sure he's a massive fanboy of Aranea, the new spider-themed hero of Gotham who you detest with your very being.

The costume is ugly, they're too optimistic - it's Gotham, who on Earth is happy in Gotham? Most of all however, they're a two-faced bitch. You should know, after all you are them.

It's not that you hate yourself and your nightlife, just that you need to look unconnected to them at all costs. There can't be any correlation between you and your persona. You use a voice modulator while on patrol and missions, you wear a wig while in your costume and any defining features are covered by either the costume or makeup.

So, whenever Aranea is brought up you take the chance to make fun of it. The comments aren't anything horrible, mean sure.

"Ew, they're more of a roach than a spider.."

"They're actually ugly enough to be the next Joker"

"I hope they humiliate themself and everyone sees how gross they really are."

But not horrible.

Despite this Timothy seems to have thought you were the devil himself in the form of a teenager. Glares were thrown at you, false reports were made to the principal's office, public shaming on Chitter and more.

You won't lie and say it gets to you sometimes but at the same time he's being a manchild. You can't expect everyone to like who you like.

You're snapped out of your thoughts by a paper being slammed onto the desk. Your head snaps up and you glare at the person.

Timothy may as well be the devil with the way he's staring at you now, a sneer paints his pale features. His nose held high enough that you swore he was about to snort on you.

You grit your teeth and look down at the paper he slammed on your desk. You're actually going to scream and cry right now.

Scratch that, you're actually going to jump out of the window and hope to perish.

You hate Chemistry. You hate this school. You hate Gotham. You hate Timothy Jackson Drake.

You pray he'll think you're incompetent and not bother with actually working together for this group project.

A group project on Titration! Who even does a group project outside of school for that?

You look around, hoping there will be others in the group but because your luck is so thin it might snap everyone else already were in groups of 3s. Meaning Timothy and you would just be a duo.

Instead of doing what you wished you instead sighed and grabbed your pencil, probing at Timothy's hand until it stopped holding the paper against the desk.

"A poster on bases and acids in titration? Why does this need to be a two-person job?!" You huff out. Timothy's features turn more hate filled, kinda petty to hate someone for different tastes Timothy...

"Because lazy people like you won't do the work otherwise!"

"I'm not lazy! Fine, fuck you! I'll do it myself!"

"No way! I need the marks - plus you'll do it wrong!"

you take a deep breath, trying desperately to not snap your pencil in half.

"... Fine. We'll do it at my place then once school lets out. No way am I going to your place where I'm sure you'll set your family on me." You respond calmly, still glaring up at him.

After a moment Timothy nods.

Your shoulders slump in relief.

"I'll meet you at the front gate then."

"Fine. But if you're late I'm doing the project on my own." With that Timothy walks away. You feel a migraine coming on - seriously, what is wrong with him? There wasn't even a proper time set!

Some people think that Damian kid is the rudest - those people clearly haven't been on the bad, petty side of Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne.

[nkogneatho]

𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐎𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔

—a/n: you will remember this one forever if you read this.

gojo satoru is horrible with long distance stuff but it's not what you think. he is the clingiest boyfriend when he is next to you so you can only imagine how heartbroken he was when he realized he had to go away for a week.

"i don't know why you're acting like this, baby? it's just for a week," you tried to reason with the manchild as you picked out outfits for him to wear.

"yes. a whole damn week. in case you didn't know sweetest, a week has seven days." he was shooting glares your way. "how the fuck am i supposed to stay away from you for seven days?"

you stood up from the bed, and walked close to him. "this isn't easy for me either."

"then don't let me go."

"but listen. they need you over there." you took one of his hand between your palms, warming it with your love. "as much i hate to stay away from you, it makes my heart full knowing you protect people and save innocent lives." your eyes were pooling with tears.

"and who will protect you when i am away?" the room went silent because you had no answer to provide him. "exactly why i don't wanna leave you. the world is cruel, my love. i feel like if i take my eyes off you even for a moment, you'll be gone."

"nothing in this world is strong enough to steal me from you. toru...have some faith in me as well. i promise i will keep myself safe when you're away." you kissed his knuckles. "so go. i'll be fine."

"i can't even argue when you're this cute." a smile decorated your face at his comment. "you better facetime me 24/7. even while falling asleep. i'll watch over you."

"what are you? a pervert?"

"i was gonna say more like a guardian angel, but i can't promise to keep my hands off myself because you look so hot when you're drooling and snoring." you hit his arm.

"hey! i don't snore."

"you snore like an elephant." you gasped.

"okay pack your bags and get out. don't even come back here." you pushed him playfully. your ankles hit the leg of the bed and you both fell on the bed, once again bursting into laughter. gojo moved your hair off your forehead and pulled you into a kiss. "god...i'll miss you so bad."

"me too. better come home soon. then i'll snore till your ears bleed." he chuckled. "i love you, toru.

"i love you too, sweetheart. i'll be back in no time. i promise."

he never came back. when he was the one worried about your safety, he failed to save himself. he never came back ever again. at least, not alive.

[disasterofastory]

Behind the walls (Brahms Heelshire x Reader)

Behind the walls // Brahms Heelshire Masterlist Brahms Heelshire x Reader Kinktober 2023 - 11/14 Warnings: a bit of angst, bath sex

Summary: After an argument, you go and search for Brahms.

A/N: I'm sorry, I'm late again with this part, but I will post the next chapter too in a minute. Enjoy!

The house is quiet and still. Everything you do sounds louder than it should. Even your thoughts. Guilt and worry still eat at your mind, mixing with the remaining anger bubbling in your chest. You can hear your heated conversation with Brahms again and again until you start to go insane. Your eyes scan the walls of your room, finding every hole and crack on the wooden surface. He is not here. You know it.

Arguing with Brahms Heelshire is unavoidable since you spend more time with him than without him. And he is stubborn, demanding, and clingy. And he loves you in his own way; you are sure of that, but his love can be suffocating when you barely have access to the real world outside of the manor. You need to breathe. And he needs to understand that.

The sun is already setting when you have enough of the silence. You haven't seen Brahms since breakfast. You wandered around the house all day like a damn ghost, listening and trying to find that manchild who decides to hide every time he doesn't get what he wants. New-found anger awakes in your chest, but you decide to push it down. Another fight will lead you nowhere with him.

"Brahms?" You break the silence. Your voice is hoarse from being quiet all day. "Brahms? Can you come out? Are you here?"

When you don't get an answer even after half an hour, you decide to take the next step. And you hate yourself for it. Even though Brahms is still prone to spend a lot of his time behind the walls, you never thought about following him and exploring what the manor still has to offer. On one hand, you thought of it as Brahms's safe place, and on the other, you were terrified of it. "Please, Brahms," you speak up again with a slight begging in your tone. The mirror on the wall slowly creaks as you open the secret door behind it. "I really don't want to go and search for you in there." For a few seconds, you stay still and try to listen, hoping you will hear his steps approaching, but your ears meet with silence. "Fuck," you grunt, grimacing.

Being behind the walls of the manor is just as horrible as you imagined but not as dark because of the dim light filtering through the holes and gaps. The ground creaks under your steps, and everything is dusty and old. And not even a few turns later, you aren't even sure where you are anymore. "Brahms?" You call him again. "Please, come here." The tight place makes you sick and dizzy. You don't like it. Your heart thuds in your chest, wanting to jump out of your body and leave this place. "Please," you try again. "Brahms, I really need you now." Tears gather in your eyes as you fight with the tightness of your throat. Your legs shake under your weight, and your nails dig into the wood here and there as you try to make yourself move forward.

It was a bad idea. A horrible idea. And still, your heart breaks even more each second you spend behind the walls, and Brahms doesn't come to your rescue. Maybe he doesn't care for you that much after all.

A loud and sharp shriek bursts out of your lips when someone grabs your arms from behind. Your heart jumps up into your throat, and you are sure you will faint any second now. Tears escape from the corners of your eyes, running down your heated cheeks.

"Please!" You beg even though you don't know why. "Please!" Strong, muscular arms curl around your body from behind, keeping you together when you are afraid you will wall apart. "Shh," the man hums into your ears. His breath is warm. "Sh." "Brahms," you choke. "It's me, Y/N," Brahms replies, holding you close against his chest. "You are safe, Y/N. I'm here. I will protect you." You can do anything but sob in his arms as you try to calm yourself. Your hands hold onto his arms in front of your chest. His hug grounds you until you can breathe again. "Do you want to go out?" He asks quietly, kissing the curve of your neck every now and again. First, you want to scream yes, but deep down, you know if you leave now, you will be always afraid of what lurks behind the walls beside Brahms. "No," you shake your head. "Just don't leave me." "Never," he says. His chest is filled with satisfaction at your request. You need him. You want him to never leave you. He can do that. "I can show you my room," he says. "If you want." Your stomach twists at the thought of him having a room here. "Okay," you nod. "Show me."

Brahms leads you through the house, holding you close the whole time, and you cling to him without a second thought. He can't help but feel pride as you grip his hand and arm. It's a change in your relationship, and both of you notice it even though none of you say it out loud. Usually, you are the more dominant one who always knows what to do or say, while he just enjoys being under your care.

"If you look out here," Brahms points at a small hole. "You can see the kitchen."

He wants you to get more familiar with this place. With his place. He thinks if you know your way around better, you will be less afraid even if you never come back here.

"I can't believe you lived here almost your whole life," you tell him, shuddering. Brahms isn't hurt by your words. He can hear the heartache in your words, even though he doesn't entirely understand why. These narrow corridors, dim lights, and the darkness that follows them mean safety and comfort to him. "It's not so bad," he says awkwardly, but when he sees your expression as you look around his room, well, what he calls his room, he knows in your eyes, it's much worse. "Oh, Brahms." You don't want to show pity, but his name falls out of your name before you can stop it. You know he doesn't need you to feel sorry or sad for him. This small space with old furniture and even older dust is his home. It's everything he knows.

Tearing your eyes away from the small bed, you look at him. "Promise me." Brahms frowns. "Promise what?" "Promise me that one day, when you feel ready, you will come with me and see the world." You know it's not so easy, but you have to hope and plan that it will happen someday. You know Brahms is not like other men. He has his demons, fears, and the way he sees the world. He can be dangerous, bratty, and demanding. You are not even sure how he would react outside of the manor. But seeing that you are still with him and never plan to leave him, you are not normal either, and maybe you can help him with his fights. "I promise," he says after a few tense seconds. Maybe it's a promise he can't keep, but he can try. For you.

He holds you in his arms tightly, inhaling your scent as he pushes his face to the crook of your neck. Even though he doesn't entirely understand your pity or sadness, he knows it comes from care and love, and this is what Brahms wanted all his life. "Do you want to go out?" He asks. "You don't have to stay here." "Please." Your reply is muffled by his shirt. You cling to him tighter, and he picks you up in his arms easily.

He can feel your body relaxing against his when the secret door closes behind you. Your arms are still around his neck while he holds you up by your bottom. "I love you," he hums, sitting down on the edge of the bed with you in his lap. "I love you so much." Leaning back a bit, you cradle his face in your hands. "I love you too, baby." He only notices how pale you were the whole time when the color starts to come back to your face. And still, despite everything, you came after him behind the walls to get to know him better. "Do you want to take a bath?" He asks, squeezing your hips. You are dusty and dirty. "With you," you tell him, and his heart flutters. "Whatever you want."

You work together as you get ready for the bath. None of you remember your argument anymore. You take care of the water while Brahms fetches your pajamas and clean towels. "Climb in first," you tell him as you get rid of your clothes. After he adjusts himself, you climb in after him. Your legs are pressed between the wall of the bathtub and his thick thighs. "Are you okay?" You ask him. "I can move away." You would hate to do it, though. "No," he grunts, already feeling himself getting hard under you. Your soft flesh is above his length, and your tits are in front of his face. Your nipples are already hard peaks, begging for his mouth.

To distract himself, Brahms grabs the soap and starts to wash you. He cups the water in his hands, pouring it on your body to soak and warm you up while you sit limp on his lap. Your arms stay around his neck while your head rests on his broad shoulder. Your fingers play with his hair at the nape of his neck. He rubs and massages your back as much as he can from this position. His thumb glides over the line of your spine before moving back to draw circles on your shoulder blades.

"Y/N?" Brahms asks after a while. His sudden voice sounds too loud in the quiet room. "Hm?" "Oh, I thought you fell asleep," he says, moving his large hands up and down on your back. "No," you murmur "I'm just enjoying the moment." "Does it feel good?" He asks. "Yeah," you sigh, pushing yourself away from the man between your thighs before you really fall asleep on him. "Thank you." He forces a soft smile onto his face before his lips open with a sharp exhale. Your fingers rake through the hair on his upper body. His stomach clenches under your soft touch. "Y/N," Brahms says. "We don't have to…" He knows you feel his length pressing against your folds. "I know," you tell him, brushing one of his nipples with your thumb. "But I want you, Brahms. I want you as close as possible." He grunts through his closed lips. His eyes are wide and interested as he watches you caressing his chest. He has to force himself to stay still and not to buck up against your pussy.

Suddenly, the air gets steamy and heavy around you. Your hands slip up to his hair, caressing and washing the wet, dark curls sticking to his temple.

He lets you play and explore him for a while, even though he knows you know him well enough by now. Your hands smooth up on his arms, slipping over his shoulders until you cradle his face. Your thumb traces the thickest line left by the fire years ago. Brahms still barely believes that you not only want to see him but also want to touch, caress, and kiss him too. His heart flutters every time you do it.

His eyes stray down from your relaxed expression to your chest. The soft skin of your breasts shines under the light of the bathroom, and they are slippery as he lets his hands wander away from your hips. He let his fingers smooth over the underside of your tits, following their soft curve before opening his palms to knead your flesh. His thumbs tease and rub over your nipples. "Brahms," you mewl his name, grabbing onto his neck to pull him down to your chest. Your back arches to give him more space as his lips latch onto your nipple. His tongue flicks over the sensitive bud repeatedly. He can feel the bitter taste of the soap on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn't care about it. He sucks even more of your breast into his mouth, letting his teeth graze over your skin. You gasp when he tugs on your nipple, soothing it with his tongue afterward.

One of your hands is under the water between your bodies. The surface of the water ripples with every move you make between your legs. Your fingers slide through your folds to your entrance, brushing over his length in the process. The water and your juices help you finger yourself effortlessly.

"I can't wait any longer," you break the silence with an impatient edge in your voice. Your insides quiver with anticipation, and your pussy flutters around nothing when you pull out your fingers in favor of grabbing Brahms's erection. You stroke up and down on his shaft a few times before adjusting the tip of his cock to your entrance.

Your mouth falls open with a silent cry when you start to skin down on his cock. His girth stretches you out, filling your hole inch by inch. "Fuck," you groan when Brahms pinches your nipple again. You envelop him in your tight warmth to the point he can't even think. White, hot pleasure flares through his body while you sink lower and lower on him. You whimper and moan, wanting more and more of him even after you accept him fully, and he can't go any deeper. Your nails dig into the skin of his shoulders, and he can't help but hiss with your nipple still between his teeth. "Brahms." You barely sound like a human anymore. Tears gather in your eyes from the desperation thudding in your ribcage. "I got you," he whispers, sliding his hand to your hips. "Do not worry, love. I'm here." Adjusting his legs against the bottom of the bathtub, he starts to rock his hips upward, grinding his cock in your pussy. He rubs against every sweet spot and sensitive nerve you have, keeping you steady above him as you still hold onto him until his skin is red because of your nails. He hisses and grunts at the pain but pushes into you deeper. Your walls flutter around his shaft, trying to accept everything he can give you. His movements are barely noticeable because of the small space of the bathtub, but none of you care about it. You wheeze and moan in his old, pressing your chest against his as he bounces you on his lap in sync with his thrusts. "Fuck, Brahms," you gasp. "I'm- I'm gonna-" "It's okay," he grunts. His warm breath fans over the side of your face. The line of his jaw is hard as he clenches his teeth together to keep himself from cumming. He wants to feel your sweet cunt pulsing and cumming around him first. He wants your pussy to milk his cock, begging for his release.

The water splashes all over the room, soaking the small carpet in front of the bathtub. The air is steamy and smells like honey and something else, mixing with Brahms's own spicy soaps and shampoo. Your skin is soft, warm, and slippery under the man's hands as he still uses your body to grind you on his erection. He jerks and twitches inside you. His balls are heavy with the need to shoot inside you, plastering your walls.

"Cum for me, Y/N," he hisses, reaching down between your bodies to find your clit with his thumb. "Cream my cock, love, let me have it all." He is surprised he can from words with the mush in his head that was his brain once.

Your mouth drops open, and your whole body rocks above him as you chase your climax. Wails and cries escape your throat at the familiar feeling in your lower stomach. The burning coil bursts and surges through your veins. Your pussy tightens around his cock like a vice, making Brahms growl as he cums into you. Your walls squeeze on his shaft, and your nails dig even deeper into his flesh. None of you can breathe for long seconds as waves and waves of pleasure wash over you both. His arms are tight around your middle, keeping your limp, exhausted body against his chest while his cock still jerks and shoots in your pussy.

"We should take a shower," you hum with a weak laugh when you feel his seed leaking out of your hole. "I can't feel my legs," he replies, making you chuckle again as you snuggle deeper in his arms.

[watcherintheweyr]

Tamlin is infinitely more redeemable and less abusive than Rhysand and I'm so sick of the bat manchild's stans going rabid at the mouth to worship him and demonize Tamlin.

Rhys is allowed to have trauma and to make mistakes because of it (which he will then never be held accountable for and his ptsd and trauma will also conveniently vanish, never to be seen again as soon as it isn't conveniently there in order to exonerate him) but Tamlins trauma is conveniently ignored or erased and his mistakes make him worse than apparently even the King of Hybern.

Rhys can play double agent and serve at Amarantha's whims to subjugate all the other courts- mind you he does this for 50 years and somehow never gets any secrets that Feyre or Tam could use against Amarantha- but Tamlin plays double agent and DOES get secret info against KoH but he's a coward and a traitor who sits on his ass and lets others suffer for him I guess.

Tannins magic (which he has been missing for 50 years, mind you) reacting unconsciously to his emotions and lashing out without his will makes him an evil abuser who 'would punch holes in walls when angry', but Feyres magic lashing out due to her emotions and harming the LoA is never addressed again after a half assed apology is fine, and Rhys literally addressing his volatile emotions by beating the shit out of his 'brothers' is a normal and healthy way to express things. Him threatening to kill Nesta when she reveals to Feyre the secret he kept from her is justified and fine (and iirc, he never apologizes to Nesta. Only to Feyre- he apologizes to FEYRE for threatening to murder Nesta bc she revealed how he was controlling his mate's body and health without her knowledge) but Tamlins the one with the dangerous anger issues.

Tamlin locking Feyre up when she isn't listening to him telling her not to go somewhere dangerous is the height of controlling and abusive behaviors but Rhysand making a magical shield over Feyre's skin so that not even her friends or loved ones other than him can touch her is romantic as hell.

Tamlin not wanting Feyre to train in her power and magic is horrible and awful (it is) but Rhys hiding Nestas powers from her and holding a vote about whether or not she should know about her own abilities is justified and right.

Tamlin locking Feyre up 'for her own good' is evil and horrible, but Feyre and Rhysand doing the same thing to Nesta is 'for her own good' and justified as 'rehab'.

Like I just. What??? What????????

And I'm sorry but people calling him 'Tampon' is... concerning. Especially when most of the people doing so are women in my age group.

[casino-lights]

King Alistair vs Warden Alistair discourse always seems to resurface, like all of the other character-centric discourse, with each resurgence of the dragon age fandom. fandom veterans are probably tired of this by now, but since a lot of new people are playing origins and the old arguments about players making Bad Choices in this rpg are getting rehashed, here's my two cents on this topic in particular. 

I was watching my girlfriend play through some of the early levels in origins when I suddenly had a lot of thoughts about Alistair and she encouraged me to share them. throughout his introduction and his subsequent role in Ostagar and the Wilds, we see Alistair being quick-witted and snappy with his humor, but also very focused and dutiful. we see him being (mostly) respectful and polite, but also fairly confident and surprisingly authoritative considering his behavior later in the game. Alistair is comfortable here in Ostagar, and he's comfortable as a Warden not only under Duncan's command, but also over these new recruits. he doesn't shy away from his role as a mentor, the one who's supposed to show everyone the ropes and keep them on task and on schedule. he kindly yet firmly puts Jory back on track when he stumbles, he takes charge when he finds out the Tower of Ishal has been overrun, and he displays thorough knowledge of both the plan and the original expectations of what would be found in the tower. he's also knowledgeable about Blights and some Warden history, and he takes it upon himself to inform Duncan of Morrigan and Flemeth instead of just letting the player talk like he does later on.

speaking of that scene, Duncan is a bit firm but not angry or mean when he says he tells Alistair not to focus on the fact that Morrigan and Flemeth are likely apostates. he tells Alistair in no uncertain terms that this is not his concern and he needs to return his attention to the task at hand. this is not dissimilar from the way the player can later tell Alistair that people are taking advantage of him and he needs to make sure he's standing up for himself, but I'll get into this more a bit later.

what I'm trying to get at is that when we meet Alistair, he's a little closer to his hardened self than to the chronically unserious and incompetent manchild that Morrigan, DA2 and Inquisition, and some parts of this fandom treat him as. post-Ostagar, even Alistair himself seems to see himself as some class clown who can't do anything right, and characters like Wynne enable this by treating him like an ACTUAL child. while Alistair is almost certainly young, he has already proven shortly after meeting him that he's not even remotely stupid and he can obviously take care of himself. Duncan refers to the player, Jory, and Daveth as Alistair's "charges," showing that Duncan clearly trusts Alistair with a lot of responsibility and the safety and guidance of three strangers. he is far from stupid, he's far from childish, and he's obviously a layered character.

this has been said countless times before but a big problem in every fandom is the slow reduction of characters to one or two notable traits, and Alistair is no exception. I have a theory as to why. we know Duncan's death affected him deeply, but I don't think that alone explains his sudden switch from respecting the player while continuing to guide them and share responsibility as the senior Warden to almost blindly letting them lead him around and acting like if he led for five minutes they'd all die horrible deaths because he's just that incompetent. I think that during the time the player was unconscious in Flemeth's house, Alistair experienced an offscreen breakdown where he retreated behind desperate attempts at humor and making himself seem dumber and sillier to appear less competent in the hopes that someone else would be in charge so he didn't have to. if you think back to what age he was when he last experienced such a sudden, tumultuous, confusing loss of stability, routine, community, and a father figure - Eamon sending him to the Chantry as a child - you might even consider this to be a form of partial age regression. when we see him outside Flemeth's hut, he pleads with the player to not abandon him because he doesn't know what they should do or where they should go. he hasn't had this lack of direction ever since he was sent to the Chantry because after that, they dictated his life until Duncan recruited him and then the Wardens dictated his life. he's terrified and tired and grieving, and he begs us to make the decisions and help him figure out what to do. 

Morrigan gives him some shit for being quiet and sad, and he snaps at her, but otherwise we don't see a lot of that confidence and willingness to stand up for himself after this. I don't often play a character who is openly mean to any of their companions, so I don't really take any of the more dismissive dialogue options toward Alistair, but he's obviously hiding behind his humor and trying to make himself seem insignificant. in one line he even jokes that he'd hide behind his shield instead of his humor but the player would see him behind it. I think he really does just wish he could hide and grieve on his own and wait for someone else to give him a purpose again, and I think that if we actually saw the process of this breakdown from his more comfortable, confident, capable self into the Alistair we get post-Ostagar and pre-Goldanna, fewer people might be coddling Alistair and enabling this unhealthy coping mechanism. I wish the dialogue options to harden him were a bit kinder, but as we saw, Duncan was willing to tell it to Alistair straight up, and maybe that's the directness he needed from the player too. maybe Alistair needed to be told in no uncertain terms, by someone he respects and trusts, that most people he interacts with have some kind of ulterior motive and he needs to be more aware of this and stand up for himself and his beliefs. once he understands this, we can see him shift from reluctantly taking on the role of king because you and Eamon think it would be best to taking on the role of king because he understands it would be best.

bioware basically canonized this firmer, more responsible version of Alistair in their comics and even during some parts of Inquisition. we know King Alistair is their canon, but even though he shows some uncertainty about his ability to be King, we don't see any unwillingness. yet bioware also made the unfathomable decision to simultaneously show Alistair being a confident, capable king and then immediately fuck that growth up by having him look like a bumbling idiot who still doodles on royal documents at the fair age of thirty-something and still doesn't know how dictating a letter works after ten years of ruling Ferelden. they somehow invalidated both of his paths in origins at the same time, and perhaps most frustratingly, they just won't let go of the "swooping is bad" style of writing for him. let him grow. let him be as competent and brave and determined as he is in your comics. his progress has been so inconsistent it's painful.

if it wasn't already obvious, I think the best path for Alistair as a character is to harden him and make him king. he just doesn't get to prove himself as a Warden as much as he does when he's king. he's mostly alone, he doesn't seem to have a great rapport with other Wardens outside of his renown as one of the heroes of the Blight, and he just acts tangibly sadder. this could be because of the fake Calling, sure, but if he was still joking around with us during an actual Blight, I don't see why this event would have him this drained of personality and life, especially because he knows that this is not the real Calling. his line when he's left in the Fade - "tell Morrigan... tell her I just stood there looking foolish" - is another testament to the fact that he has not grown at all from his self-deprecating humor and he still hasn't come to see himself as capable and worthy of respect. we don't get to see enough of him as king, but from what little we get he seems to be wielding his power and authority well, and he's an incredibly well-respected and well-loved king. especially with Anora or a Cousland queen at his side, he's brave, commanding, and - just like he was back in Ostagar - he seems COMFORTABLE. he knows what he's doing, he sees his worth and accepts it, and he's more than willing to be firm and tell Fiona in no uncertain terms that Ferelden will not tolerate the events in Redcliffe. he's taking command and he's leading and protecting his charges, even though they're a lot more than just three Warden recruits this time. 

on a personal note, as someone who has dealt with mental health challenges, tough love from someone I respect and trust actually really helped me and I wouldn't be where I am without the occasional "you need to snap out of it." I'm not saying it's best for all scenarios, but I have experienced this firsthand. Alistair hiding from his responsibilities because they're overwhelming and he's terrified does resonate with me, but so does him actually healing a bit more and becoming more confident when someone shows him that they know he's better than this and he just needs to act like it. 

lastly, I think it's important to clarify that I don't believe anyone is playing any rpg the Wrong Way, regardless of what bioware made canon in their comics and other external media. I also think it's stupid to try and say ANY choice or route is inherently right or wrong, and every player is entitled to their opinion and preference. choices made in role playing games are usually done for the sake of playing a role, immersing oneself, and/or exploring the game's full library of content. as I said, I personally find hardened King Alistair with Queen Cousland to be the most satisfying version of his character arc, but I don't mean any of this to shame anyone if they choose or believe otherwise. no hate is intended, so don't purposefully misunderstand or misinterpret my words. no offense is intended if you just prefer one of Alistair's storylines or character arcs over the other. full offense is intended if you're the kind of person who bullies, shades, or otherwise belittles people who don't agree with your super special headcanons because you need to be the most correct player in the fandom.

thanks to everyone who isn't one of those people for reading all this <3

[dragonagitator]

House MD fans: You wake up in the PPTH ER in summer 2004. What you doing?

Scenario parameters:

All your memories of the show and the past 20 years are intact.

You are stuck there/then and cannot return to our universe/year.

You have nothing but the hospital gown on your back.

Questions:

So, what do you do?

How much would you tell House?

How would you get him to believe you?

Who else would you tell?

How much would you tell them?

Inspiration:

The author self-insert isekai fanfic "Intervention" by VivatRex (aka @acrownforaking). They've been writing it for the past 11+ years and are still updating. It's already nearly 300k words long despite only being up to the events of S02E15. I AM IN AWE.

I haven't been able to stop thinking about this scenario ever since I read that fanfic a month ago. I'd love to discuss it with other House MD fans and hear what you would do.

(Apologies to the mutuals for the abrupt blog topic change. A new brainrot has taken hold.)

My short answer:

My long answers are below the cut.

So, what do you do?

My primary objective would be to enlist House in averting the pandemic.

My reasoning: If anyone can nip it in the bud before it gets out of Wuhan, I figure that a world-renowned genius doctor who is an infectious diseases specialist, speaks Mandarin, and now has a 15-year head start would have the best chance.

Difficulty level: Babysitting a narcissistic manchild with the self-preservation instincts of a toddler until the year 2020 so that he makes it there then alive, out of prison, and with his sanity, medical license, and professional reputation intact. To quote Quantum Leap, "Ohhhhhh boooooooy."

Strategy: I'm in the "I could fix him, but whatever's wrong with him is way funnier" camp, so I wouldn't try to change him (that always backfires anyway). Instead, I'd try to change his circumstances:

A stable romantic relationship would help, so I'd seduce him if I can (I'm not his type but a gal's gotta shoot her shot), try to get him together with Dominika earlier if I can't, and tell him how horribly his relationship with Cuddy ended so he knows better than to even start it.

Avert the shooting. Moriaty was a patient so his info is in the PPTH files. I AM THE ONE WHO KNOCKS. Or for a less murdery approach, try to get him arrested in April 2006 for violating New Jersey's strict gun laws.

Warn House about Tritter so he can switch patients with another clinic doctor.

Warn House to never get on a bus with Amber.

Tell Kutner I'm from the future and he's the only one who can prevent something horrible from happening (he's a Trekkie so he'll want to believe), then unfurl my big timeline poster and point at the "Kutner suicide early 2009" stickynote and ask him "so what's up with that, dude?"

Tell Wilson everything I can remember about his cancer -- he's an oncologist and thus can work backwards from there to figure out when to start checking for it so he can cut the tumor out while it's still just a tiny baby.

I would take a harm reduction approach to House's drug use, e.g., suggest that he try microdosing psilocybin and extend his liver's lifespan by substituting cannabis for some of his Vicodin and alcohol consumption.

Methods: Even though he doesn't have one for most of the show, House mentions a few times that he's entitled to hire an assistant, and I happen to be excellent at administrative work.

I think he'd be willing to hire me because working as his executive assistant / department secretary would position me to recognize patients as they come in so that I can discreetly pass along anything I remember, e.g., the kindergarten teacher has pork worms in her brain, ask the scientist in Antarctica to show you her feet, etc.

Meanwhile, I could lurk around the hospital preventing miscellaneous shit, e.g., get the gift shop volunteer from S01E04 to go home sick, ensure that the gunman from S05E09 is promptly admitted, diagnosed, and treated before he snaps and takes hostages, etc.

Possible sidequests:

Use my foreknowlege to get rich by milking online poker bonuses until the passage of the UIGEA in 2006, use my poker money to start flipping houses until 2007, get in on the "Big Short" in 2008, and set a Google Alert for "Bitcoin" so I can start mining/buying it from day one. Unfortunately, I haven't paid enough attention to individual stocks to play the market other than knowing that Amazon would be a good long-term buy & hold.

Use my riches to change the outcome of the 2016 election and try to steer the development of the internet and society in general in a slightly less stupid direction.

Send Pete Carroll a letter postdated just before the 2013 Superbowl telling him the outcome, then suggest for the final play of the 2014 Superbowl that the Seahawks try handing the ball off to Marshawn Lynch instead of throwing it because that throw will be intercepted. PRIORITIES.

How much would you tell House? How would you get him to believe you?

Your story about being from the future of an alternate universe in which House and everyone he knows are characters on a fictional TV show is already too batshit crazy to believe even without his kneejerk "everybody lies" skepticism. How would you differentiate yourself from all the patients who pull crazy stunts to try to get him to take their case?

My answer: For the "from the future" part, I'm hoping there's some sort of test that House could run to confirm that I was indeed vaccinated with a mRNA vaccine against the COVID-19/SARS-COV-2 virus. Given that neither of those things existed in 2004, that would be physical evidence that I'm not from around here now.

If producing physical evidence isn't possible, then I know that Vegetative State Guy from S03E15 is already a patient at PPTH because he'd been there for 10 years, so I'd find him and tell House about his son. I could also tell House enough about the cases from the first few episodes that I'm pretty sure he'd believe me by Christmas. I want in on Chinese food with Wilson.

I would wait until House accepted the "from the future" part before broaching the "fictional TV show" issue. Until then, "I watched a TV show about your life and cases" is a 100% true statement and it's not my fault if he assumes that show was a documentary. :)

Once he believed me, I'd tell him everything.

Who else would you tell? How much would you tell them?

There are people out there who would literally kill for your knowledge of the future, so going public or being too open about it seems highly risky.

My answer: I'd tell House, Wilson, and Chase right away. Kutner but not before Jan 2009. Maybe eventually Cuddy and the rest of the Diagnostics team if keeping my foreknowledge of the future from them proves too difficult.

House is the only one who gets to know everything. Everyone else is on a "need to know" basis.

I might also bring Bill Arnello (the brother/lawyer of the mob informant in S01E15 "Mob Rules") into the circle of trust because he could be a very useful resource for some of my sidequests, e.g., changing the outcome of the 2016 election far far far in advance and in the most direct way possible. (Hi, Secret Service! This is a purely hypothetical discussion about time travel and not at all indicative of any real criminal intent, pls do not pay me a visit, kthxbai.)

I think the only people I would tell the "fictional TV show" part to would be House, Wilson, and Chase, because there are things I need to warn them about that definitely wouldn't have been in a documentary. Like Chase needs to know that killing Diballa is 100% the right thing to do but he seriously needs to work on his OpSec. Everyone else gets the implied documentary lie of omission.

If I get caught knowing too much by random patients, I'll just claim to be psychic. Way more people believe in that than would believe in time travel.

What would you do?

[yoimix]

genshin men + dressing (their) wounds 

ft. childe, xiao, kaeya

[ tw: violence, language ]

✽ childe is no stranger to blood, not when he’s covered in it half the time he visits you. either his body has an unending production of blood or he’s committed murder on a catastrophic scale. to be honest, you’re not quite sure childe is human at times. the exasperation he instills in you is certainly not humanly possible. you’re not sure how you crossed fate so horribly that you were sent this infuriating manchild for a friend, walking around your living room like he owns it. you’ve said this before and you’ll say it again, “if i smell blood in my house again, i swear i’ll let you rot outside” and always his reply will be, “well, what perfume would you like me to buy?” you tell yourself he’s a complete jerk and redemption would require divine interception. yet, you let him in every goddamn time. you don’t know what part of you it is that believes in him so strongly. 

“please, (name), i promise i didn’t lose that much blood this time,” childe whines outside your door.

you make no notion of unlocking the door. “then you can take care of yourself!”

“oh come on, where else can i go?”

“the fucking hospital? i’m not even trained medical personnel.”

“aw, but you can cure me no matter what.”

there’s dead silence following that. childe knocks frantically at your door.

“i’m sorry! i’m sorry i said that! please let me in, it’s getting colder.”

you sigh. there it is again. some part of you always gives in and the rest of you collapses. you must be cursed.

you slowly pull the latch, and open the door to the tall figure of none other than the eleventh harbinger.

the filthy liar. this is far more blood than ever before. you can’t even locate the source but you notice the deep red along his side and leg. childe offers you a bright, almost child-like grin. you look at him horrified.

it only lasts for a moment before he collapses forward into you, nearly knocking the wind out of you. you swear this man is a walking medical emergency. well, not quite walking now.

childe is heavier than you expected, and it takes you a few minutes and a whole lot of effort to get him to the couch. long enough for him to regain consciousness, while you bring in your first aid kit. you hate stitching.

“i’m so glad i got here on time,” he groans, trying to sit up.

“no! no, lie back down. we have to stop the blood flow.”

“oh, good idea.”

“are you an idiot?”

childe pouts, obeying your commands without further argument. he must be really injured.

“okay. now take off your shirt.” you pull out the stitches and bandages from the kit.

“woah.” childe’s eyes widen. “at least take me on a date first.”

“now’s not the time!” you yell. does he have no situational awareness? archons, he needs not only medical help but something for his loose screws.

cleaning the wounds are easier said than done. there’s a gaping hole at his side, though no organs were irreparably damaged and the gash on his leg is shallow but it’s still at the risk of infection.

“you’ve made a mess, ajax,” you mumble, getting worried. sure, you’ve stitched injuries like this back when you were with the fatui soldiers. but it’s been a while. leave it to childe to give you enough stress to last a month.

“this might sting.”

“more than the alcohol? you know i really prefer alcohol in drin—“

he hisses at the first prick, clenching his teeth in pain but he makes no other sound. he’s been through worse, you tell yourself. you try your best to fight the sympathy you feel.

“you can take it, big boy,” you mutter, focusing on stitching his the wound shut. “don’t look.”

“i’m really not,” he says through clenched teeth.

when the stitches are done, you can finally exhale a sigh of relief. childe rests his head on the headrest of your couch, looking glassily at the ceiling. 

“ajax?” you spring up, worried. “are you okay?”

you lean over to have a closer look. there’s no way this would kill him. he’s your ajax, after all. 

“ajax!” you call again, panicking as you smack his cheek lightly.

“huh?” he blinks, finally lifting his head. “oh, zoned out for a bit there. it numbed the pain though.”

“oh my fucking god, you’re the worst,” you exhale loudly. you can’t admit out loud the relief flooding your heart. teyvat could crumble into the abyss and you’d still choose for him to be safe and sound. so that’s what it is.

you’re in love with an idiot.

“next time, go to a hospital, ajax.” you breathe heavily, still trying to catch up. 

“you could kiss me better and it’d still be more efficient than the stupid hospital.” he rolls his eyes. you ignore the tiny ripple in your heart.

“or, i beat you till you’re bedridden and aren’t at my house at midnight five fucking times a week.”

“mhm, just say you want to kiss me.”

you hold yourself back from pouncing onto the man and worsening his injuries. sucking your teeth, you put the bandage roll back in, shutting the drawer rather aggressively.

“woah, cupcake, what did the drawer ever do to you?”

“i’m about to do the same to you if you don’t shut the fuck up.”

“ooh, slam me against a wall and- oof.”

the flick to the forehead was well deserved. he heaves out a sigh before shaking his head and looking at you with raised brows.

“well, someone’s gotten stronger since we last sparred,” he whistles. “your finger strength is no joke. shall we have an arm wrestling match?”

“i will literally break your arm.”

“my, isn’t that exciting?”

you hold back the urge to scream. you do not have enough sleep in your system to deal with this. “recover, ajax.”

“but what’s the point? if i’m all healthy and spry, you don’t spare a glance at me.”

you knit your brows together. “what?”

he shrugs. “right now, you’re looking at me and god, i love your eyes on me, but morning comes and you turn away.”

“i don’t understand, ajax.”

“you don’t spar with me like you used to, you don’t write to me, you don’t even keep your old insignia.” childe gulps, a somber look in his eyes as he fidgets with his fingers. “it’s like you didn’t care about how i felt at all.”

“you—what?”

“i loved you, (name),” he whispers, meeting your gaze with solemn grief. you’re certain you’ve only seen that look years ago, when he was finally found after reported missing. it unnerves you.

“you... loved me?” you try to process his words.

“i still do,” he adds, with a small smile. “so please keep patching me up. please keep looking at me.”

“oh, ajax,” you choke over your words. “i didn’t leave because i didn’t care about you. in fact, you’re the one i- you’re the only one who could’ve convinced me to stay.”

childe’s eyes widen. you nudge closer, avoiding his gaze.

“i’m sorry, ajax. the fatui life wasn’t for me but i should’ve left you an explanation.”

“so you don’t hate me?” childe’s eyes almost spark again.

“now, that’s taking it too far,” you joke, and childe laughs softly. he moves as gently as he can, like a lion cub play-hunting, and lands a kiss against your cheek, your jaw and the corner of your lips. as though waiting for permission, his lips hover over yours.

you close the distance, with a kiss as delicate as fresh snow.

“this injury thing really sucks,” childe complains, pulling back with a grimace.

“you realize that now?!” 

“woah, babe, no need to yell. i’m not going to fight a couple ruin guards at once again.”

“you did what?!” your tone gets even louder, nearing a shriek.

childe looks at you, perplexed. “what? i wasn’t aiming for this! just a few gashes so you’d fix me. i won’t do it again.”

“what the actual fuck, ajax? that’s it. you’re not leaving the house for a month. no, two months.” you frown at the man beside you, who looks the least bothered. in fact, he’s got a feline curve to his smile.

“so... do i still get get-well kisses?”

the audacity.

“...yes.”

✽ xiao can only whisper your name after fights, when he’s at your window like a cat that keeps coming back to the kind stranger that fed him. a gash on his chest, blood on his chin and cheeks—it doesn’t matter. even if you’ve never patched up an adeptus before, it is as your training goes. one thread, stitch by stitch. “it doesn’t hurt, it doesn’t hurt” he repeats as he collapses into your arms. he’s not one to take you for granted but you’re not one to give up. xiao’s skin is warm and his face is beautiful even when he’s in this state. it makes you wonder what it means to be an adeptus, though you’d dare not question. to you, xiao is just a boy you met by the crystal sea on a clear night that you refused to leave hurt. even if the hurt was a little scratch on the bridge of his nose. after all, your painted flower bandaids matched his hair all too well.

“you don’t- you don’t... have to,” xiao still manages to say, leaning against the headrest of your bed while you scurry around to bring your supplies.

“you came here, xiao.” you click your tongue. 

xiao looks down at his hands, covered in dry red. “i wasn’t thinking.”

you bring everything to your bedside table, hands shaking despite everything. you’ve done this so many times. taking a deep breath, you press the back of your hand against xiao’s forehead before flinching away. for a moment, xiao looks almost hurt.

“you’re burning up,” you gasp. “oh, mr zhongli left medicine for that. let me fetch that after you’ve stopped bleeding.”

you always blab when you’re working on a patient. whether it’s to ease their nerves or yours, you can’t say. you just know that you talk and xiao listens.

“and that’s how i stitched the hole in my foot after the whole sharp rock mess. ugh. it was horrible but hey, experience is experience.”

when you don’t get his usual hum of a response, you look up to find xiao dozed off. it’s strange, how it makes you feel. on one hand, your heart flutters at the thought of him being comfortable enough to fall asleep in your bedroom. on the other hand, you want to scream at him for coming to your house so injured. you nearly got a heart attack. this can’t be payback for you calling him at random times, can it? he appears at your call every time no matter what, even if if you called him to share ice cream with you. 

you sigh, brushing the hair out of his face. he looks so peaceful. if you can take away his pain for even a second, you’d rush to it.

“i don’t call you to annoy you, you know?” you say quietly, soft breaths departing your lips. “i just want you to be with me longer.”

his breathing stays steady, dreamless yet. you lean down to land a peck on his forehead, giggling as you pull away. he’s too cute. you think you’re the one who deserves a forehead kiss after all that hard work but you’ll let it slide. you lose yourself in daydreams so easily. just for a moment, you close your eyes.

xiao’s sudden coughing makes you startle, and you turn to him but he doesn’t face you.

“i... i breathed in too sharply,” he confesses, unable to meet your gaze. under the moonlight, you can see clearly the silken scarlet over his cheeks and ears.

“oh, you were awake,” you ponder aloud, feeling a bit embarrassed yourself. “it’s just part of the treatment process. good patients get forehead kisses.”

“you... kiss all your patients?” xiao slowly turns to you.

you scratch the base of your neck. “eh, not really. you’re just... too tempting.”

you can almost see the blood rushing to his face; you’re not sure if it’s out of embarrassment or indignation.

“what’s that supposed to mean?”

“oh, i don’t mean it in a bad way! well, this isn’t the best time for you to realize.”

xiao purses his lips. “you know i’ll hurt you.”

you raise your arms in defense. “i’m still unhurt, aren’t i?”

he clenches his jaw, eyebrows slightly furrowed. “it’s a slow death. you won’t know till you’re in the jaws.”

“i’ve lived a lot of deaths, xiao. i’m a doctor.”

“i can’t just have you ta—i can’t do this to you. i’m sorry i- i don’t know what comes over me.”

“what, when you’re getting yourself killed?”

“i always come running to you,” he mumbles, meeting your eyes. is it guilt? “it’s unfair.”

you grin wide. “you have a home here, xiao. even if you don’t pay rent.”

“what’s rent?”

you shake your head, a quick sigh leaving your lips. unable to help your self, you cup his cheeks, squishing them. there’s a solid chance no one in the history of teyvat has done this to xiao. 

“you better keep that cute face looking fresh. the day you die is the day i go out of business. do you know how many sick and injured i get every day in liyue harbor? even baizhu wouldn’t be able to keep up.”

xiao looks up at you soundlessly, eyes wide. almost like a deer caught in headlights. he moves his mouth but no sound comes.

“well, alright.” you let go. “i’ll reapply the ointment tomorrow morning so you can’t run away. and you need to take the packs of medicine mr zhongli keeps sending! i’m running out of storage.”

looks like the cat got his tongue. you don’t mind stunning him into stupor but his eyes on you make your stomach flutter.

“anyway, good night, xi—”

you’re pulled by the wrists towards xiao now sitting up. a pair of warm lips press against your forehead.

“thank you,” his whisper is hoarse. 

you look up to meet a small smile. you never realized how you yearned for it.

“of course, xiao.”

✽ kaeya would climb inside his grave himself before lets you know of his injuries. he’d much rather make sure you’re okay from the shadows, and he can’t really do that if you’re fussing over ever little gash and bruise. seriously, he didn’t ask for a nagging mother. despite being friends for quite some while, he tries his best to keep you at arm’s length. none of his misdeeds should catch up to you. enemies always start out friends, brothers even. if he were wiser, he would’ve stopped you the moment you held his hand and made him promise he’d stay safe. he regrets you—except when the soft touch of your palms press against his skin with unbound concern. this is cruel. no mater how elusive he can be, you always find him. dragged against his will to the favonius infirmary, he’s met with a constant glare from you as you grab the rubbing alcohol and cotton pads.

“it’s just a few scratches,” kaeya tries to appeal.

you see right through him. “if you move an inch from this spot, kaeya, i’ll make sure jean assigns soldiers to reporting your whereabouts. at all times.”

he grimaces at the thought. “no thanks. i’m great right where i am.”

“good.”

you dab the long gash along his bicep, trying not peek beyond his shoulder at his exposed chest. you’re not like one of those ladies swooning over cavalry captain kaeya. no, you have it so much worse. you can’t even begin to explain the stress this man gives you when he returns with bruises and cuts like they mean nothing to him. your trust must be lawless to him, as he saunters into trouble left and right.

“you’re done,” you announce loudly, a little pissed by now. helping him slip his arm into the sleeve, you huff. 

“gosh, i’d expect the cavalry captain to be more careful.” you cross your arms. “wasn’t it an infiltration job?”

“unfortunately, confrontation is required sometimes, dear.”

“oh, must be mortifying for you.”

kaeya rolls his eyes. “it was a job well done. if only someone would stop fussing over every little boo-boo.”

you glare at him. “if only someone would stop trying to get himself killed.”

“ah, how are they supposed to make me martyr then?”

“that’s not funny, kaeya.” you point a finger at him threateningly.

“sorry.” he raises his hands in defeat.

you shake your head, still annoyed at his nonchalance. you go back to buttoning the rest of his shirt. you swear you’re not looking. “archons, i can’t believe you got knocked on your ass by that little fatui guy.”

“combat was never my forte,” he mutters, chuckling. “it was all diluc back then. i wanted to be like him because i thought he was cool.”

“well, you’re not diluc.” you fix his collar. “but you’re still cool, if that’s any consolation.”

“oh? you don’t seem like the type attracted to the cold.” 

you roll your eyes at his shit-eating grin.

“attracted is a strong word. i just tolerate it. the cold.”

“tolerate it by dragging it indoors against its will? and then spend over an hour making sure it’s okay?” 

“ugh! what is your problem? i’m just looking out for you,” you huff, crossing your arms.

“by walking into danger?” kaeya raises his voice. “i told you to not follow me to the fatui camp! do you know what could’ve happened, (name)?”

“that’s your problem, kaeya,” you snap. “you assume i can’t take care of myself.”

“and your problem is that you never assume things can go very wrong very fast.” kaeya clenches his jaw, eyes trained on yours. 

you scoff. “guess we’re made for each other, huh?” 

“that we are,” he mutters.

an uncomfortable silence follows.

“i’m sorry,” kaeya speaks up first. “i didn’t mean to undermine you. i just... i want to look out for you the way you always do for me.”

“you do plenty already,” you mumble, looking down at your feet.

“hey.” kaeya hooks his finger under your chin to make you meet his eyes. “i really am sorry. i... you’re more important to me than you realize.”

he gulps, nerves on edge. he always comes so close to confessing, but it is never his intention.

“oh, for the love of god,” you heave. does he really not know the effect he has on you? when his touch, his gaze and this proximity are all driving you insane?

“excuse me?” he raises an eyebrow.

“don’t say things like that unless you want me to- to- ugh!”

you get on your tiptoes to reach his lips, yours barely ghosting over his. acting on impulse is right up your alley.

he flinches at the contact, pulling back. “lip’s still busted.”

“sorry,” you respond quickly, embarrassment flooding your face.

kaeya instantly bursts into laughter. “you really thought a busted lip would stop me? after all this time holding back? i hope you like the taste of blood, darling.”

your face heats up. “huh?”

kaeya pulls you closer by the waist, his other hand cupping your cheek like porcelain when he presses his lips against yours. and when he deepens the kiss, you do taste blood but neither of you pull back till you’re out of breath.

kaeya whistles. “never thought you’d be out here committing inappropriate workplace behavior.”

“you- you kissed me!” you sputter, heating up at his teasing look.

“ah, but who kissed me first?”

“kaeya,” you whine. “fine. have this victory. i’m leaving. you have fun alone with medical supplies.”

kaeya nearly falls off the bed trying to grab your arm and pulling you back. you glare him, even when nestled between his arms.

“hey, hey.” he pouts. “who said i’m reporting this to jean? i play nice.”

kaeya leans in, a smile brighter than the summer ocean. you’re so distracted, you can barely react to his kisses. 

“okay, enough. if you kiss me aga—mmpf—kaeya, i swear—mm—stop kissing me! i’ve had enough of the blood!”

kaeya’s frown deepens though he tries not show it. “so what? i’m supposed to tell the enemy to spare my face next time?”

“yes. and this means you’re also focusing on recovery full time.”

kaeya’s mouth hangs slightly agape. “you can’t deprive me like this.”

“you can stay deprived a week or two. that should teach you not to fight senselessly and then have the audacity to avoid me.”

kaeya can only sigh. “alright. this victory’s yours now.”

you grin. “you get one last kiss for admitting that.”

kaeya’s eye lights up immediately, and you nearly melt. you cup his face, and press your lips to his, telling yourself it’s the last. (no, you didn’t give him three extra kisses just because he looked cute with his messy hair and bright lovesick smile.)

[seeingivy]

pls do "the story of us" for ur gojo x taylor swift series 🙏🙏

the story of us

satoru gojo x f!reader

**part of my satoru as taylor swift songs series

content: gojo is ur roommates best friend, he is annoying (more teen gojo I am arrogant bastard vibes then sweetie teacher baby gojo), hoes are fighting, hoes are in the most complicated situationship on the planet earth, mistletoe, ice skating, sukuna as an annoying ex, mysterious evil dad figure for gojo

an: proof im the most annoying writer ever. made a poll for taylor as gojo to, for a second time now, ignore those options and write a completely different songs. sincerest apologies but gojo as taylor fans come get yall juice.

--

“Good morning, you hag.” Satoru states, in a fell swoop, crashing any hopes you had of having a good morning. 

“Good morning, you garden troll.” you respond. 

You rub the sleep out of your eyes, rummaging through the cabinets for a bowl, as he jumps up off the couch and joins you in the kitchen, keen and eager to annoy you bright and early in the morning. 

He’s leaning on the granite countertops at your side, his blue eyes peering over those god awful sunglasses he’s always intent on wearing - despite the fact that it’s quite literally raining outside - and gives you a jeering smile. 

“So, do all girls wear granny nightgowns or is it just you?” he asks, twisting the end of your pigtail braids in his hair. You immediately smack his hand off and glare, turning around to reach for the milk. 

“Do all boys have tiny dicks and overcompensate with a shitty personality or is it just you?” you iterate back, earning a satisfying glare back from him. 

With his snow white hair and annoyingly glimmering blue eyes, your roommate's best friend, Satoru Gojo, is quite literally the biggest nuisance you’ve ever met in your life. Clearly a rich kid, trust fund type, you can tell that Satoru, in earnest, has never worked a day in his life. And his lack of tact and self awareness truly reflects that. 

It’s embedded deep in the way that he acts. Because Satoru saunters from place to place, showing up at your apartment with no consideration or respect for you and Suguru, bats his pretty eyes at his professors when he’s failing, flirts with girls before he cheats off of their tests, and the list goes on and on. 

 One thing is clear. That he’s a spineless, pathetic little manchild. 

And you’re not sure why, what it is specifically about you, but he’s clearly made it his personal mission in life to antagonize and irritate you.Maybe it’s the fact that you yelled at him the first time he ever showed up in this apartment, that you couldn’t help but disagree with every word that came out of his mouth, that at his core he just agitated you - but it led you to this horrible predicament that you’re in now. 

That you ended up having to room with Suguru, when Sukuna dumped you and kicked you out. And that, of course, the universe was always in your favor, and you ended up at the one place Satoru was when he wasn’t shamelessly flirting with any living organism, which was right outside your room. 

Right on cue, the front door slams open and Suguru’s barging in, wildly out of breath and panting. His usual fixed, pristine bun is in a mess, his pupils wide and dilated as he looks at the two of you. 

“Fucking perfect!” he pants, leaning down on his knees and trying to catch his breath. 

“G’morning Suguru. You okay, there?” you ask, giving him a strange look. 

“Okay, okay. You guys are dating.” 

“Huh?” you both ask, eyes boggling out of your heads. 

“You’re dating. Be-be in love, I don’t know, be in love!” he shouts, immediately running back out of the door and slamming the door shut. 

You and Satoru give each other a look before shrugging, returning back to your bowl of cereal and Gojo to his phone. And on cue, Suguru strolls back into the apartment, more calmly and with a girl at his side. His cheeks are still flushed in pink, the panting subsided but still present in his voice.

“Y/N, Satoru, this is Hiromi. Hiromi, this is my roommate Y/N and her boyfriend, Satoru.” 

You swallow hard, realizing quickly what’s happening here. And out of the kindness of your heart, groan at the fact that you’re going to have to oblige. 

Three months ago, you got dumped by Sukuna. Because as much as you and the two of you had moved past, he had finally exhausted all ends and had enough of you.

Quite literally, enough of you, because he went as far as packing your things and taking your key, fully intent on never letting you back in. And out of the kindness of his heart, one of your only friends - who was free of any attachments to Sukuna - had an empty room in his apartment that he offered to lease to you. 

Suguru, naturally, was the perfect roommate. Always cleaned up after himself, offered to listen whenever you needed him, saved leftovers for you when you had a long day. Except for the stupid white haired plus one that came with him, it was perfect. 

For you. Because while Suguru was all but willing to offer you the spot in the room, insisting that it never caused an issue, he might have been fibbing the truth to save your feelings. Something you found out from Satoru, who is naturally a loudmouth. 

That since Suguru has a female roommate, you’ve put a damper on his…..romantic endeavors. Because they’re increasingly enthusiastic, so into him, until the shit hits the fan. 

They find out that you’re his roommate. And you think it’s a little ridiculous, but they all cite the same reason for not talking to him past the second or third date. Because to them, there’s no way in hell that he isn’t crushing on you, that you don't cuddle at night, and that you definitely coddle each other in a way no one else does. 

Because nothing is more ironic than losing a guy to the girl he lives with and they’d rather cut their losses before getting involved. 

Which proves that Suguru must really like this girl. Because if he’s going this far, lying to her the second before she walks in, it must mean that he really wants her to stick around. 

Is it moral? No. Is Suguru lonely? Yes. 

“Hiromi. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Y/N.” you respond, setting your bowl down and extending a hand to her. 

She gives you a warm smile back, laughing at Satoru flaunting some stupid line about chivalry before he presses a kiss on top of her knuckles. Satoru must be enjoying himself too much, because he’s now snaking his hand around your waist, leaning down to press his temple against yours. 

“Would you like to stay for breakfast? Poor Suguru has third wheeled with us far enough.” he asks, as she politely nods in response. 

You and Satoru lead Hiromi to the breakfast table - Satoru now eating your bowl of cereal - as Suguru starts setting out to make breakfast for all of you. You and Satoru sit side by side, sparing each other an awkward glance, as Hiromi shamelessly ogles you. 

“So how long have you guys been dating?” Hiromi asks, politely folding her hands flat on the table. 

“Well. Um, I moved here right after I broke up with my ex-boyfriend. He kind of left me with no place to live and I kind of met Satoru here. And then it just happened.” you mumble, cheeks turning pink. 

Satoru, again, has no concept of personal boundaries. He slings his hand around your shoulders, planting a wet kiss on your cheeks, before responding to her. 

“Don’t mind her, she just gets really shy when she talks about her feelings for me.” 

“Satoru.” 

“But rest assured, I promise you that you don’t have to worry about Suguru and Y/N, if that’s what you’re trying to pry about.” 

Her face immediately goes pink, as you look over at Satoru, who flashes you a knowing smile and squeezes your shoulder. 

“I-I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to pry, I hope you understand. It’s just that…it’s kind of a weird situation. And I know that probably says more about my insecurities than anything but-” 

You reach over, placing your hand over her folded ones. 

“It’s a normal thing to be concerned about. If I was you, I probably would have asked a hundred berating questions already.” 

“Yeah. She gets really possessive.” Gojo unhelpfully adds. 

You shoot him a glare, before returning to look at her and smiling. 

“But I promise, you have nothing to worry about. I-I don’t even think about Suguru like that. And we’re never here alone, Satoru’s always here with me.” 

“Like you, I too am possessive over my girl. Despite the fact that she quite literally makes it so easy for us by wearing the most unflattering pajamas, I’ll be here to stamp out any budding feelings, if that makes you feel better.” 

“Yeah. Satoru really knows how to take the romance out of a room. I know better than anyone.” you respond, earning a laugh from Hiromi as she releases that awkward tension in her shoulders. 

 

You kick the tiny divots on the floor, patiently waiting for your matcha latte at the bar. Your anxiety is growing by the second, the unexpected morning rush and the heavy foot traffic outside indicating that you were going to be late to your morning class if your drink wasn’t made in the next few minutes. 

You’re thrown out of your thoughts by a tapping on your shoulder, only to find a boy, with blonde hair and brown eyes smiling at you. 

“I like your shirt.” 

You look down, at your boygenius the record shirt, and look up to smile at him. 

“Thank you! What’s your favorite song?”

“We’re In Love.” he responds, giving you a warm smile. 

You’re not sure why, but hearing him say the words has the blood rushing to your cheeks. You hold your hand out to him, swallowing that deep warm pit in your throat. 

“Y/N.” 

“Kento. It’s nice to meet you.” 

And really, the moment - your stupid coffee shop meet cute - comes crashing down when you hear that agitating, grating voice at your side. 

“And I’m Satoru!” Satoru states, standing at your side and too blissfully happy for seven in the morning. You glare at him, as he gives you an annoyingly irritating smile. 

“Your drink is here, babe.” Satoru states, holding your dark green matcha latte in his nimble hands. From the way it’s half full, you can tell he already downed half of it in the few seconds you were talking to Kento. 

“Thank you.” you grate out, giving Kento an awkward smile. 

“Well, Kento. It was nice meeting you but we have a class to get to.”  Satoru adds. 

He cocks his head to the side, blue eyes peeking over his sunglasses, as he looks at you. 

“Ready to go?” 

You groan, knowing internally that whatever shred of a moment you just had was gone, as you sigh. 

“Yes. Bye Kento.” 

You glare at him as you walk out of the store, Satoru reaching over to pull the hood of your rain jacket up, as the two of you start marching through the downpour. He’s walking at your side, sporting some very light clothes for the way it’s raining down. 

“I don’t like matcha. We should start getting iced vanilla lattes.” 

“I didn’t realize we were sharing. And that was really rude, Satoru.“

“Everything that’s yours is mine, sweetheart.” 

“Really? What are the three numbers on the back of your credit card, boo boo bear?” 

“666.” he responds, flicking the side of your cheek. 

“That’s fitting.” you murmur back, as he slides the drink out of your hand, again. 

You and Satoru march in silence, trudging through the puddles collecting in the holes of pavement, the silence enveloping the two of you. 

And really, for what seems like the hundredth time, you’re racking your brain trying to figure Satoru Gojo out. You’re not sure what it is about him, what drives him to act the way he does, but every answer you find leaves you with a hundred more questions you want to answer. 

In the few months you’ve been living with Suguru, you’ve been able to ascertain a few things. 

First and foremost, there is no one Satoru Gojo loves more than his friends. From the way he affectionately talks about Suguru, and their hometown friend Shoko, it’s evident enough that whatever friendship he has with the two of them means the world to him. 

Second, Satoru Gojo is extremely comfortable in his sense of self. From the way he carries himself, enthusiastically chats with strangers on the train and feels so comfortable stealing your lattes after the bar, you can tell that no one has tried to stomp that spirit out of him. Other people, more meek and timid like you perhaps, get that childlike wonder stamped out of them. But here Satoru Gojo is, at the ripe age of twenty-one, still sporting it like a proud badge he wears. 

And third, Satoru Gojo loves to irritate you. You’re not sure what it is about you exactly, whether it’s the fact that you’re Suguru’s roommate so it leaves you off limits to any of his usual charming compliments he leaves for other girls, but Satoru treats you like no one else. Always pulling at the ends of your hair, “lovingly” making fun of your clothes, and obviously, stamping any chance you have of romantic endeavors. 

Satoru swings the door open for you, walking all the way to the front of your class. He holds out a five dollar bill and gives you a cheeky grin.

“What for?” 

“Thanks for the latte, princess.” 

You glare, snatching the bill out of his hands. 

“You’re welcome.” 

Right on cue, a girl all but appears out of thin air at your side, giving you and Satoru sickly sweet smiles. 

“Hi Satoru.” 

Satoru’s leaning against the frame now, an irritating move you’ve seen him do countless times - one to show off his stupidly toned arms - as he leans down and smiles at her. 

“Hi Sammy. How are you?” 

“Pretty good, now that you’re here.” she responds, twisting the ends of her hair in between her fingers. 

You fight the urge to gag as Satoru laughs, leaning forward to tuck the stray hairs by the side of her ear. 

“Right, so. I’ll see you later, babe?” you ask Satoru, giving him a smile. 

He looks over, glaring with his bright, angry blue eyes. 

“Y/N.” he responds, tone warning. 

“And Satoru, sweetheart? Do remember to grab toilet paper on the way home. Suguru is getting really tired of cleaning up your skid marks.” you respond, reaching forward to pinch his cheek and settling into your seat at the front, watching him seethe at the front door. 

--

When you walk into the apartment, Satoru’s incessant comments are the final nail in the coffin on what might be the worst day ever. 

“Ouch. I think I just went temporarily blind. You look horrible.” Satoru asks, momentarily taking his eyes off of the movie he was watching with Suguru and Hiromi. 

And the comment - so pathetically hitting you the last place you needed it - is enough to send you crying in a fit of your tears, as you lock the door behind you. 

Satoru looks over to find Suguru and Hiromi glaring at him, Suguru more angry and Hiromi more disappointed. He can’t pick which one is worse. Well actually, you crying in his face is the worst thing that happened in the past few minutes, but their reaction is right up there with them. 

“What?” Satoru asks, shrugging. 

“Satoru.” Suguru berates.

“What? I was just joking.” 

“I don’t understand how you and Y/N are dating. I mean, you can hardly even call it that.” Hiromi states, looking at him rather unhelpfully. 

Suguru’s eyes go wide at her side and Satoru swallows hard, thinking of his collateral. Because in earnest, Satoru’s not really sure what Suguru sees in Hiromi, why he would ever think this would be the best solution to his issue. 

But when you followed Suguru’s lead, all Satoru could really do was oblige. 

“That’s just how Y/N and I communicate. It’s our love language.” Satoru says, giving her a halfhearted smile. 

“You know she hates it right?” Hiromi asks. 

“Well, I don’t know about-” 

“Who would want to wake up every morning and have someone just constantly berating them? Just teasing them, making fun of every little thing you say. And sure, it’s fun sometimes to banter with your partner but…it can’t really be easy for her. She doesn’t have many friends. And the one person who's supposed to like her being…rude can’t help either.” Hiromi adds. 

“Well, I just…tease her because that’s how I know to talk to her. That’s just how I am. And she has plenty of friends.” Satoru responds. 

“Not anymore. They’re all friends with Sukuna, who I’m positive she wants nothing to do with. It’s probably why she even tolerates you in the first place. Granted, I’m not trying to speak on your relationship but from what I’ve seen, it’s….you kind of have to make adjustments for her.” Hiromi states. 

“I don’t know if that will-” 

“Just be there with her. It’ll help her. I think deep down, she just wants someone to be there with her. At her side to support her.” 

Satoru gives Suguru a glare, before obliging and knocking on your door. He takes a deep breath as he walks in, finding you slumped on the floor next to your vinyl player. The gray vinyl is scratching on the table, soft guitar music emanating from it as you lay on your side. Satoru follows suit, lying flat on the ground next to you until the two of you are face to face. And in earnest, Satoru feels horrible. At your pink eyes, flushed cheeks, and puffy skin. Because for god knows whatever reason, what he had said was enough to make you cry. 

Satoru never understood it. Why people assign him so much importance when anything he’s ever had to say has been discarded all together. It’s why he’s unsure of what to say to you right now, when he’s never had to say anything at all. 

“Hi Y/N.” 

You stare back at him blankly, his blue eyes void of any of their usual excitement as he stares back at you. 

“Are you okay?” he asks. 

You divert your attention, the question so…agitating, that all you can do is watch your vinyl spin around on the table, at the little pin digging into the plate. 

“Is um….I don’t really know how to do this whole…comforting thing. It’s kind of awkward. Is this that band you like?”

You give him a meek nod, which he smiles at, before squinting at the small print on the vinyl. 

“Ah. I get it. You’re trying to be Cool About It. Whatever it is that’s bothering you.” 

“That was lame. Even for you, Satoru.” you respond, wiping the snot off of your nose. 

“Well, I personally think you’re hot. Being Cool About It was never going to be your thing either.” he responds. 

He’s not sure what it is about what he said, but suddenly your face is falling and you’re kind of…glaring at him. You pull your hood up and turn away from him, because the embarrassment of having Satoru Gojo in your room pitying you right now would be the actual nail in the coffin before you went full on off your rocker crazy. 

Satoru’s quick to move, now sitting crisscrossed near your head and looking down at you. 

“Are you playing hard to get so I’ll call you hot again?” 

“No. I’m trying to get you to stop pitying me.” you murmur back, pulling the hood over your face. 

“I don’t pity you.” 

You stand up, crossing your legs on the floor, as you turn to face him. And you know that Satoru in no way deserves any shape of the wrath that’s coming out of your mouth, but you can’t help it. 

“You don’t?” 

“Well, of course I-” 

“Yes, Satoru, you do. Because really, you’re only here because Suguru or Hiromi asked you to be. They asked you to put whatever the fuck it is that you have going on inside your head and think for one fucking second how it is that you make me feel. When you make fun of me constantly, do every last thing to agitate me, quite literally flirt with every living microorganism on this goddamn planet but me. I know that you really, truly do not care. You’re just here because they asked you to be but god, please spare me of whatever shitty response you’re trying to muster up to make me feel better because there’s no point. I just feel horrible when I’m around you.” you shout. 

You lean back against the back of your bed, your chest heaving, as you knot your fingers together and groan. Because if the day couldn’t get any worse, you just yelled at Satoru. 

For no reason. After he tried to comfort you, in his own weird way. 

He scoots up at your side, sliding his hand around your shoulder once again, and leaning your head against his shoulder. Your stupid tears are falling again as he rubs into your skin, the touch soft. 

“All that because you’re mad I won’t flirt with you?” he murmurs. 

“Of course that’s what you got out of it.” 

He laughs, the lack of anger in his tone at your words soothing down the bouts of guilt in your chest. 

“You’re not the type of girl I can flirt with.” 

“Jeez. Thanks Satoru. You really know how to make a girl feel special.” 

He reaches forward to pinch your nose, before continuing. 

“I mean, I’m obviously a guy who lacks self-awareness or tact, in quite literally any conversation.” 

“Naturally.” you respond. 

He gives you a pointed glare, before continuing. 

“But I have self awareness when it comes to these types of things. I know I shouldn’t flirt with you.” he responds. 

“And why’s that? I’m too ugly of a hag for you?” you spit. 

“No. You’re the type of girl who could take my heart and run off with it if I let you.” 

You shrug his hand off your shoulder, rolling your eyes. 

“You’re full of shit, Satoru Gojo. And corny as hell.” 

“You know you’re no good for me, right?” 

You look at him, at his deep, ocean blue eyes for the first time, filled with an emotion you can’t quite place. 

“You’d put me in my place too fast. Maybe too eager, too curious to figure out what it is I’ve got going on up and here. And I don’t know the answers to that either, but you’d want to make me figure it out. Whatever mess of things going on, I-I’d want to fix it for you. And as nice as that sounds, you’d probably break any semblance of structure I’d have left the second you go running. Which is something even I can’t handle.” he responds, lifting his hand to take yours in it. 

You cross link your fingers with his, linking your hands together. And try to place the emotion, that dragging sound in his voice. 

It’s desperation. 

“Why do you think I would leave?” you ask, looking down at your intertwined hands.

Satoru smiles in response, reaching forward to trace his fingers along the edge of your lips. 

“You’ve just proved my point.” 

And when he pads out of your room, you realize that once again, he’s left you with a hundred questions left to answer. But the one you’re sure of is this. 

That the emotion that was welling in his deep, crystal blue eyes was impassioned. That it was real. 

--

In the following weeks, things change between you and Satoru, but not too drastically. You’re not required to keep your show up for Hiromi too often, because she’s quite literally too enamored with Suguru to even think about the two of you, and Satoru Gojo stays the same way he is. 

He steals your lattes, pulls your hair, lovingly calls you an old hag, and stamps out any hopes you have for romantic endeavors. But somewhere around the grayness of November, he doesn’t stop by your apartment for three days. 

“Hey. Where’s Gojo?” 

Suguru looks up from his phone, giving you the most obscene look you’ve ever seen him muster. 

“Huh?” 

“Gojo? Satoru Gojo? That gangly idiot that’s always hanging around here?” 

“Yes. I’m well aware who he is, Y/N. Why are you asking?” 

“Dunno. He’s always around and now he’s not. Are you sure he’s not dead in a ditch somewhere?” you ask. 

“He might as well be. His dad is in town. Spending time with him.” he responds, turning back to his phone and looking away from you. 

You frown, leaning against the counter, as you reach for your phone. And you’re not sure why you do it but you slide into your chat with him and start typing. 

you: are you enjoying your father daughter time? 

satoru: are you missing me?

you: missing the free lattes that come from going to the coffee shop with you :/ 

you: come hit on the girl at the paper lantern. im craving a matcha latte. 

satoru: i would never waste a free drink on a matcha latte. 

satoru: and quit trying to whore me out for free drinks. 

you: then buy me one. 

satoru: well played. 

satoru: the ice skating rink, on sixteenth and rockfield. i’ll be there in an hour. 

You smile gleefully, wrapping your scarf carefully around you, as you head out into the cold to the ice skating rink Satoru had picked out. And you catch the back of his snow white hair, leaning against the railing as you eye the big, bright Christmas tree at the center. 

You walk up to his side, lacing your hand through his, as you turn and give him a smile. He returns the gesture, some part of his demeanor muted today, as he turns to you. 

“Hi Y/N.” 

“Satoru. Where’s my drink?” 

Satoru rolls his eyes, before reaching for the two cups on the ground and handing you one. 

“Your shitty matcha latte. As requested.” 

You smile, wrapping your arms around the drink, as he leads you to the stand to get your skates. His hand is soft on the small of your back as you walk up to the girl giving out the shoes. 

“Sizes?” she asks. 

“Eight.” you respond. 

“Eleven and a half.” Satoru provides, as the girl whisks off to grab your shoes. 

“Eleven and a half? What are you, Bigfoot?” you respond. 

“You know what they say. Big feet, big…” 

“Ego. But we knew that already.” you respond. 

The two of you take the skates and head over to the bench, Satoru too quick with his own skates that he’s suddenly tying yours and dragging you onto your feet. The two of you stand at the front of the tiny little opening, the sudden awkwardness of the situation dawning on you. 

That you don’t know how to ice skate. 

“What are we waiting for?” Satoru asks, hands on both of your shoulders as he stands behind you. He rests his chin on the top of your head, his breath tickling the hair on your scalp. 

“The rink to open up. There’s a bunch of people, I don’t want to crash into them the second we get on.” 

Satoru frowns, bringing his hands around your chin and lightly moving your face to his. 

“Are the people in the room with us? There’s like nine people here. And four of them are under the age of seven.” he deadpans. 

“I don’t want to knock over a kid.” you whine. 

“Yeah, that would be goblin on troll crime.” Satoru responds. 

“Am I the goblin or the troll?” you ask. 

“Troll. Obviously.” he responds, bringing his hands around your waist as he lifts you onto the ice with him. 

You’re suddenly wobbling too hard on your feet and holding onto his extended arms with a deathlike grip, the cold air biting your skin as your legs turn to noodles. 

“Okay, Raggedy Anne. Face me.” he states, voice soft as he turns you towards him. His hands are locked in with yours, the hold firm as he smiles. 

“Satoru.” you whine. 

“Just try to glide with me, okay? Our goal is to get to that side of the rink, by the end of our game.” 

“What’s our game?” you ask. 

“We’re going to play twenty questions.” Satoru states, mimicking the gliding motion as he instructs you.

You follow his suit, clutching hard on his arm every time you wobble, as Satoru starts to distract you with the stupid game he’s intent on playing. 

“Me first. Why did you text me?” Satoru asks. 

“Just wanted to make sure you weren’t dead in a ditch somewhere. It was surprisingly peaceful for the past few days, so I knew you had to be in some type of mortal peril somewhere.” you respond. 

Gojo hums in response, as you try hard to pick the hundreds of questions you have to ask Gojo. 

“Where were you the past few days?” you ask. 

“Did you want me there?” Satoru asks, tone hopeful. 

“You’re supposed to answer before you ask again. And I’m not sure if want is the word. But…I don’t know. It’s weird not having you around. All quiet.” you respond. 

“My dad’s in town. Was kind of busy.” 

You hum in response, rolling over the words in your head. 

“I did want you around.” you add, earning a smile from him. 

The two of you skate in silence, the wobbling minimal now as you try to reach the railing at the end of the rink that Satoru had pointed out, right near the small, brightly decorated Christmas tree at the end of the rink. 

“It’s your turn, Y/N.” Satoru reminds. 

“Right. Do you like your dad?” 

“No. What happened with Sukuna?” 

You swallow hard, so caught off guard by the question that you fall straight into the ice. You must have been holding onto Satoru too hard because he goes tumbling down with you, lightly rubbing the spot on his head that made contact with the ice. You reach forward, cradling his head in your hands. 

“Fuck. Sorry, Gojo. That caught me off guard.” 

“That’s my bad, princess. It came out of nowhere.” he responds, standing up on his knees as he holds his hand out for you. He’s wiping the excess ice off the sides of your clothes and you mimic his motions. 

The two of you start silently skating towards the end of the rink again, hands linked together, as you figure out the right words to say. 

“I live with Suguru because of him. He wasn’t the best.” 

“I know that much, Y/N.” 

“He…kicked me out. Like, put all my things in a box, put them outside, and kept my key.” 

His hand tighets in yours as you swallow hard and continue. 

“Dunno. I guess he just kind of sucked. I was trying to convince myself I liked him, that we were in love for a really long time. I’d write him all these really long love letters, that he basically read days after the fact that I wrote them. He’d compliment me once in a while, but then I realized when it was only when he wanted something.” you respond, sighing. 

Satoru doesn’t respond, only squeezes your hand in response to the entire bout of word vomit you just gave him. 

“Why don’t you like your dad?” you ask. 

“He thinks I’m perfect.” Satoru responds, sighing. 

“Boo hoo.” you respond, joking. 

He smiles in response, his hand lightly loosening in yours. You tighten your grip against his again, giving him your best smile. 

“I’m joking, ‘Toru. What did you mean by that?” 

“I just mean. He expects so much from me, because I’m his only son. And when I was a kid, he was really hard on me for it. Made me attend all these shitty classes by myself, isolated me from other kids because I was meant to be something great. And I obviously pulled away from him because of it. But then, he kind of…shifted. He was vying so hard for my attention now, that suddenly I became free of all blame, all faults.” 

“Well, we both know that’s not true.” 

He snorts, dragging you to the end of the railing by the Christmas tree, as you both lean against the little glass panes. 

“I just wanted him to be real with me. Tell me when I was good, tell me when I was bad. Not where he was criticizing every move I made but not when he was praising all of them either.” 

You nod, turning to your side to hold both of his hands in yours. 

“Well, you’re shitty when you’re mean to me. But you’re nice when you’re like this.” you state. 

He smiles, that stupid lopsided grin, as he brings his hands around your neck and pulls you in against him. His lips are soft and warm, though you’re not sure how, against your almost frostbitten, cold blue ones. But the warmth that’s blooming in your chest, under your skin, from his hands, from his lips on yours is enough to bring you down. 

He pulls back, resting his forehead against yours as he places a light kiss to the tip of your pink nose. 

“What was that for?” you ask, breathless. 

“Mistletoe.” Satoru responds, pushing off the little railing and slowly skating away, waiting for him to join you. 

You look up, fighting the urge to smile at the small little bundle of leaves and berries above you, as you skate out and join his hand to go around the rink. 

--

There’s an incessant pounding on your door that wakes you up, as you pull on the closest jacket and your glasses as you pad to the door. You open up to find him there, half bored on his phone, as he looks up at you. 

“Oh. Hey. Was the spare not under-” 

He all but lurches forward, wrapping his hands around your neck as he presses his lips to yours. He’s all too eager, because he’s walking into you so fast that he’s all but pushed you up against the wall behind you, his lips hanging off yours as he smiles into your mouth. 

“Y/N.” he hums, smiling into your face. 

“Good morning to you too.” 

He smiles, wrapping his hands around your wrist, as he leads you back to your bed, quickly peeling your hoodie off your frame as he tucks you into the bed with him. And instead of doing what you thought he was going to do, he’s tucking you tight against his frame, your face tucked into his clavicle, as he brings his arms around yours and holds you tight. 

“Did you come all this way to cuddle?” 

“I came all this way to kiss you. This is just a bonus.” 

You burrow yourself into his skin, leaning your head against his, as your thousand questions swim around in your mind. On what you’re doing, on why he’s here, on if you can even ask. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing.” 

“You have a weird, pinched up look on your pretty face. What is it?” he asks. 

“Oh. I was just thinking.” you respond. 

“About?” 

“Um, what we’re doing.” 

“We’re cuddling, silly.” Satoru responds, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your forehead. 

“I know. But what does that mean?” 

Satoru brings his hands up around your face, cupping your cheeks in his hands as he smiles. 

“It means that I just had a really annoying fight with my dad. And I just want to hold you and not think about it.” he responds. 

“Oh. Okay, yeah.” 

You burrow yourself back into his arms, the two of you a mess of tangled limbs as you hold onto each other. And you’re not sure why you start talking, but you’re filling the silent space with your voice. 

“I saw Sukuna the other day.” you murmur. 

Satoru brings his hands down, rubbing into the side of your arm as he hums in response. 

“Was it okay?” 

“Kind of stupid.” you murmur. 

“Why?” he asks. 

“He came up to me to ask if I was going to go to the end of year banquet that they hold for the seniors going into the masters program.” 

“And?” 

“I mean, I was planning on it. And then he just felt the need to warn me that he’s bringing his new girlfriend and it was really awkward. He asked me if I was bringing anyone and I said no, just for him to smile in response and then walk away.” 

“You should have said you were bringing me.” 

“I wasn’t aware that I was bringing you.” 

“Well, now you are. Plus, my dad…he always gets on my back to go to shit like that since he’s one of the donors. At least now I’ll have something to do there.” 

“And what’s that?” 

“Annoy you!” he responds. 

You reach forward to flick the side of his cheek, before reaching forward to push the hair off of his forehead. The touch must be somewhat soothing to him, because it coaxes him to talk, in the slightest. 

“When I was a kid, my dad forced me to go to events like that. All the time. And when I was there…he’d always yell at me for all these different things. My hair was too messy, I wasn’t standing right, I was too loud.” 

You brush your thumb on the skin of his cheek, before reaching forward to press a kiss to his skin. 

“And after I kind of figured it all out, I was so…irritated that I ever listened. And I’ve tried to stamp it out, that voice telling me to be quiet all the time. But sometimes when I see him…I don’t know. It just comes flooding back.” 

You prop your hands up against his chest, resting your head on top of your hands as you look down at him. His eyes are shut as he faces your ceiling, a hand resting behind his head while the other one is secured, firmly around you. In the ray of sunlight peering out of your window, you notice that Satoru has the smallest patch of freckles around his nose. 

“I always wondered why you were like that. But somehow, this makes it better.” 

“Huh?” 

“You were always so…you that sometimes it made me jealous. That you had this unstoppable, vibrant spirit, that you probably had life so easy that no one had stamped it out of you.” 

You reach forward, tracing the skin on his cheek, as you continue to talk. 

“But this is better. Someone tried to do that to you and you didn’t let them. You’re not weak or timid like me, you don’t let people like that shut you up like I do.” 

“You’re not weak or timid.” he responds, cupping the side of your face. 

“Satoru.” 

“You’ve always stood your ground. Especially when it comes to me.” 

“Well, you’re you. Sukuna is…” 

“Nothing. You can handle an idiot like Sukuna. And I’ll be there, if he tries to say anything to you and you need me.” 

You halfheartedly nod. 

“And I’ll be there. If you want to annoy me instead of talking to your dad.” 

“I’ll take you up on that offer. Always.” 

--

Satoru presses a kiss to your cheek before running out the door, late for his class. And when you turn on your heel, you find Suguru giving you a wide smile, with an almost teasing look on his face. You glare in response, moving past him to do the dishes. 

“Do you need something, Suguru?” 

“Are you guys dating?” he asks, resting his chin in his hands as he gives you a jeering smile. 

“What’s it to you?” you ask. 

“My best friend…my roommate…seems like a very big deal to me.” 

“Well, we’re just talking. I don’t know if it’s official, but I think it’s exclusive.” you respond. 

“It’s definitely exclusive. He’s liked you for a while.” 

You snort, as he comes up at your side and starts drying the dishes. 

“No, I’m serious! I promise, he’s not coming around this much just to see me. And I’m sure you’ll make him very happy. Keep him in his place.” 

“That’s what he said.” you murmur, smiling. 

“Just, don’t get too heated if you guys get into an argument. You’re both the most stubborn people I know, but don’t let that get in the way of anything.” 

“Okay, I’ll definitely take relationship advice from someone who pathologically lies to his girlfriend everyday.” 

Suguru yanks on the edge of ear and you splash a good amount of dishwater at him in response as you both laugh. 

“I’ll have you know, that I told her almost like two days afterwards because I couldn’t stomach it.” 

“Huh? Why didn’t you tell us?” 

“It was just funny watching you guys try to be nice to each other. And then Hiromi was dead set on matchmaking the second she figured out Gojo was all but in love with you.” 

You roll your eyes at him in response, as you turn out to walk to the coffee shop before your next class. And as you march to the coffee shop, music blaring in your headphones, you feel a tugging on your elbow as you almost walk in. 

You turn around to find an older man, with blue eyes and light hair, smiling at you. And as you tug your headphones off and hear him talk, you know without a doubt that this has to be Satoru’s father. 

“Are you Y/N L/N?” he asks, his hands folded perfectly against the crisp pressing off his suit. 

“Sure. Who are you?” you ask, yanking your headphones off so they're resting around your ears. 

“I’m Satoru’s father.” 

“Oh, okay. Can I help you?” you asked, running through your thoughts as you think of what Satoru would want you to do most. 

Walk away? Be polite? Insult him? 

Insulting him is surely what you want to do. But knowing him, he wouldn’t even want you to talk to him for a second, so you should try your best to abort the conversation in its tracks. 

“I’d like to talk to you about your intentions. With my son.” he responds. 

“I'd love to do that. But I have to run to class, so I’ll have to go now.” 

“Class? What’s your major?” 

“Education.” 

That must not be the answer he wanted, because he stiffens his jaw before talking again, which just builds onto another reason that this man irritates you. 

“Right, well. I’ll be off then.” you respond, trying to move past him. 

“Are you dating my son?” 

“Not yet. But I think it’s headed that way.” you respond. 

“Well, if you’re so intent on attending your class, here’s my phone number. I’d like for you to call me the second you’re out of your class so we can discuss more.” he states, handing you a shiny piece of cardstock. 

You begrudgingly take it, shaking his hand as you all but sprint off to your class. But unbeknownst to you, Satoru was watching the entire thing play out from the window, with an ice matcha latte in hand just for you. 

He trashes the cup as he walks out. He’s always thought matcha was disgusting anyways. 

And three days later, you find Satoru in the library. In what might possibly, the most compromising of situations. 

You’re a few weeks out from finals, the banquet at the end of the week, and buried with term papers that you need to write. Hence the need to procure your matcha latte, lock yourself in the library for the rest of the week, until you can go to the event with Satoru and let loose before you go home for break. 

Except when you’re trekking through the library looking for a place to study, you find that a really large group is populating your usual prime spot near the window, with the big white board that you like to use. 

But even more jarring than the stupid white board and spot you’re comfortable in, it’s who is taking up the spot. Because Sukuna and his friends are taking up the entire face and there’s a certain white haired idiot sitting all the way at the end, headphones over his ears as he types away on his laptop. 

And you can hear your blood rushing in your ears as you walk up to him, all but yanking the headphones off your ears. 

“Hi Satoru.” 

“Hi Y/N.” he seethes back, matching the anger in your voice. 

“I got you a drink, asshole.” 

He looks down at your matcha latte, before looking back up at you and rolling his eyes. 

“Always intent on not listening to me, aren’t you?” 

“I learned from the best, asswipe.” you respond, marching off to the apartment and fighting down the angry tears that are falling out of your eyes. 

--

With the load of finals behind you and the quietness that populates your apartment, you find yourself begrudgingly dragging yourself to the banquet. And curse yourself for letting Satoru convince you, for already putting in an RSVP so early that now you can’t take it away. 

The room’s uncomfortably warm, the masses of people moving around each other, cheeks blushed pink from the drinks and flutes in all of their hands. You swipe one off of the tray as someone walks past, intent on filling that cold, awkward feeling in your chest with whatever warmth it can give you. 

You take a spot near the corner of the room, a nice vantage point from where you can spot, eye who you can talk to first. Your partner from your English class is stuck talking to your professor, which is frankly a bleak option. 

There’s the group of girls from your cohort, but they’re all talking to Sukuna and his girlfriend, which is a big no for you. And you’d love to talk to your advisor, but you’re positive occupying the solo spot on the wall is better than talking to the one professor that everyone hates. 

And you spot Satoru, his white hair stark against the crowd, as he talks to Hiromi and Suguru. He’s all dressed up, his tie loose around his neck and the top buttons are undone. You suppose that’s as well as Satoru can present for an event like this anyways, and your heart stings at the premise.

Because there's nothing you want to do more than point it out. That everyone’s dressed up, but he can’t even be bothered to put himself together for this. And you want him to argue back, to sport that stupid shit eating grin he always uses when he argues with you. 

It’s irritating. How much it’s killing you to not be with him. 

You pull down the edges of your dress, trying to soothe through the creases that are lining on your green dress, as you try your best to stop that tense, uncomfortable feeling from settling in your skin. 

On the most annoying cue ever, Sukuna walks up to stand by your side, two drinks in his hand. He gestures for you to take one, which you oblige, as you swallow the irritation on your tongue as he starts talking. 

“Y/N.” 

“Sukuna.” 

“Did you poison my drink? Or are you morally above attempted murder?” 

“I believe I am.” 

“Shocking, given your track record.” 

“Are you here alone?” he asks. 

“What’s it to you?” 

“It’s just that you RSVP'd for two people. Yet you’re the only one standing here.” 

“Are you stalking me now?" you ask, eyeing him.

“Maybe a little bit. I was just curious to see who it was you were seeing now.” 

“What’s it to you?” 

“Just have to make sure that they take care of you. That’s all.” he states, shrugging

You roll your eyes, putting a sizable amount of distance between you two. 

“That’s rich coming from you. Leaving me without a place to live is a real gesture of compassion, Sukuna.” 

“Well, I think that-” 

A girl, with short brown hair cuts the two of you off, as she excitedly points to the wallpaper above you. 

“You’re both standing under the mistletoe!” 

You look up, to find a small lock of the plant above the two of you, as you fight the urge to internally groan. 

“Right, well. That’s my cue to leave.” you respond, setting the glass down on the table. 

Sukuna wraps his fingers around your wrist, pulling you into him as you stumble on the edge of your heels. 

“It’s just mistletoe. You have to honor it or that’s like…really shitty luck.” he states, giving you a smile.

“I’ll take my chances. It couldn't possibly be worse than this.” 

“Look. I really hate being on bad terms. You were really important to me and I hate to think that you’re out there being mad at me.” 

“Right, well. Get used to being disappointed then because I’m clear on where I stand.” you respond. 

You make the motions to move again, as Sukuna yanks you back again. Except this time, Satoru’s at your side, nearly shoving him into the wall. He gives you a look, devoid of any emotion, as he adjusts his tie around his neck. 

“You’re not going to kiss her.” he states, teetering on the edges of his heels. Like he’s almost bored, so disinterested in the conversation that he’s having with Sukuna right now. 

“I was just joking. It wasn’t that serious, I wouldn’t even consider it honestly.” he states, as the words sting your ears. You don’t know whether to be relieved, offended, or extremely agitated by the premise of his comment. 

“You’d be so lucky.” he snorts, as you swallow hard. 

“Right. We are talking about the same girl, right?” he sneers. 

Satoru groans, looking up to the sky, before taking his jacket off and handing it to you. You give him a confused look, to which he smiles, before turning back to Sukuna. 

“Rather unfortunate that you chose to mess with the wrong girl. That and the fact that I have no semblance of manners when it comes to these types of things.” 

And then Satoru swings straight for his nose, wincing and shaking his knuckles in the air as Sukuna slams into the wall behind him. There’s a loud gasp, head turning to look at the three of you as you swallow hard. There’s a small amount of bright, red blood falling out of his nose as Satoru gives him a shit eating grin. 

“Thanks for holding it.” Satoru states, taking the jacket from your hands as the two of you watch Sukuna walk off into the side. 

“Right, well-” 

“Satoru.” 

The two of you turn around to find his father, nose flaring and undoubtedly mad, as he appears at your side. Satoru storms out of the room, agitated, as you follow and run behind him. The air outside is significantly colder, snow sticking to the concrete. 

“Are you okay?” you ask, the air so cold that you can see your breath in the air. 

“Yes. Are you?” he asks back, turning around to look at you. He’s kicking the tiny flakes of snow in the ground, averting eye contact with you as he talks. 

“Yeah. Now, I can yell at you.” you respond, shoving him. 

“What’s your problem?” 

“What’s yours?” he asks back, seething. 

“You. You ignored me for like two days and then I found you in the library being all buddy buddy with Sukuna. And then you punch him in the face for no reason?”

“It wasn’t for no reason.” 

“Right. Your hand just jerked through the air and just happened to hit his face.” 

“What do you want me to say? That I’m sorry?” 

You groan, bringing your hands up through your temples, as your frustration comes to a head. 

“Why are you pretending this is nothing? Like we're nothing?” you scream, tears burning your eyes at you look at him. 

“When did I say this was nothing?” 

“’m fucking dying over here to be the person standing next to you, because there’s nowhere else I want to be, and instead I’m standing in the corner trying to avoid you like the plague.” 

His eyes twitch, his hands almost fidgeting at your sides as you angrily wipe your tears off your cheeks and smudge the makeup pressed to your face. 

“You…you’re so fucking aggravating. You’re mean to me, then you’re nice. You act like you love me, but then you don’t. Your best friend tells me that I basically mean the world to you and then your stupid dad ambushes me outside a coffee shop and basically insults me but-” 

“What?” he states. 

“What? I just like…don’t know what page you’re on. You make no fucking sense, you’re so..so hot and cold with me instead of just telling me what’s going on. If you didn’t like me anymore, you should have just said that instead of hurting my feelings.” you state, crossing your arms as you turn back from him. 

He comes up at your side, eyes wide as he looks down at you. He quickly takes his jacket off, wrapping it around your shoulders as the tears stream down your eyes. 

“What did my dad say to you? Was it at the coffee shop?” he whispers, hands braced on your shoulders. 

“Huh? How’d you know that?” 

“Just, tell me.”

“Well, I was going to get my latte. He kind of pulled me aside. Asked me what my intentions were with you. Made some weird backhanded comment about me being an education major and-” 

“And?”

“Gave me his business card. Told me to call him because I kept trying to leave. I think I threw it in a trash can or something.” 

Satoru groans, leaning his forehead against your shoulder, as he curses. 

“Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.” he murmurs, eyes pinched in regret as he lifts his head back up. 

“What?” 

“Shit. I-I got mad at you. For talking to my dad, behind my back and not telling me. I thought…he was asking you for information about me and you were obliging. That you took his card so you could call him.” 

“You watched that entire thing?” 

“Yeah. And I saw you shove the card into your pocket as you walked away and I just got so angry that I-” 

“That you what?” 

“Hung out with Sukuna. To make you mad.” 

You glare at him, shoving him again for good measure. 

“You did what?” 

“I was upset! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to it was just that-” 

“You didn’t even think to ask me? You just had to be petty?” you scream, your frustration building. 

His eyes go wide, as he swallows hard. He burrows his hands into his pockets, lifting them from your shoulders as he casts his head down. You can tell that his skin is burning, it’s turning slightly pink, as you realize that the reason the two of you weren’t here together, stupidly laughing at everyone, was because of a simple miscommunication. 

“Satoru.” you groan, lifting your hand to your forehead. 

“Y/N. I’m so sorry.” 

“In what world was that fair to me? You didn’t even think to ask?” 

Satoru takes both of your hands in his, lifting them up to cover his eyes with. Your knuckles are flat against his forehead, the ends of his hair tickling your skin. 

“Y/N. I’m so shit at this type of stuff. You’re far too put together for me.” 

“I’m not expecting you to be put together. Just to kind of…work with me here.” you murmur, as he rests his head against your frame again. You’re wrapping your arms around his torso, deflating into his touch. 

“Yeah, well. All I know how to do is fight and-” 

“If you say you’ll love me rather than fight with me, I’ll forgive you.” 

“Huh?” 

“Just promise. That you’ll try to love me. And forgive me before you turn to fighting.” you murmur, cupping his face in your hands. 

“Y/N. I-” 

“You have so many walls that I’m trying to break through. Just try to work with me here when I’m trying to do it.” you whisper. 

“There you go. Doing that thing again.” 

“Doing what?” 

“Seeing the best in me. Making me want to be better.” 

You smile, leaning your head to the side. 

“Is that so bad?” 

“No. No, just. Try to be patient with me? I know I’m really shitty at this type of thing but-” 

“As long as you stick around. And don’t ignore me for five days like a fucking asshole, I promise I will.” 

He leans forward, pressing a kiss to the palms of your hands still secured around his face, as he leans his own forehead against yours. 

“Okay. Just, give it to me straight when…when I do stuff like this.” 

“Okay. I hate it when you’re stupid as fuck and jump to conclusions. Like genuinely, it’s really irritating that I spent all of finals week sleeping in my bed alone when it was obscenely cold and you weren’t there. And you just had to assume shit when you didn’t-” 

“Okay, I get it. Get to the good parts now.” 

“Ego-maniac.” 

“Cmon. I’m wounded here.” he states, holding his bruised hand up to you. You take it in yours, pressing a kiss to the red skin before continuing. 

“I like when you talk to me. And when we get to keep moving forward, past this type of stuff. It’s like…the best part of a story. You get to see the conflict be resolved and then keep going.” 

He smiles hard, nodding at your words. 

“You have to kiss me.” he states. 

“Why?” 

“I’m going to pretend I’m not offended by that heinous look on your face at the thought of kissing me. But, mistletoe.” 

You look up, to find a set of tiny Christmas lights with little embellishments in them, one of which is mistletoe. 

“That doesn’t count.” 

“Yes, it does.” 

“That’s not real mistletoe.” 

He pouts, rolling his eyes at you. 

“Fine. Don’t kiss me then.” 

You wrap your hand around his wrist, yanking him down by the tie to press a kiss to his soft, warm lips. They’re enough to warm up your frozen, nearly frostbitten blue ones, as he shakes his arms around your waist, pulling you closer and smiling into the kiss. 

And you take solace in the fact that at least for that night, the conflict is over. And the story continues.

--

the satoru as taylor swift songs series masterlist

taglist:

@porridgesblog @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @luna0713hunter @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme @gojoswifeyyys-world @cutiejg

lmk if you would like to be added to the taylor as gojo taglist or my general taglist <3

[badass-queer-couples-battle]

Gay wrongs tournament, semifinals of the minor bracket

Propaganda:

For Lord Hater and Commander Peepers :

Lord Hater is the self-proclaimed "universe's awesomest evil-doer", an immature, attention-seeking manchild with electric powers and a short temper. He rules the Hater Empire with Commander Peepers as his second-in-command (technically third, after his beloved pet spider-xenomorph, but who's counting), however it soon becomes *very* clear that the cunning, remorseless, hardworking Peepers is the *real* brains behind the empire. Peepers might be frustrated at Hater's incompetence at times and isn't above manipulating him to reach an end goal, but he'd never dream of usurping him because, well, he's really gay and in love with him (as much as he can be in an early-10s Disney cartoon, anyways). Hater might take Peepers for granted a lot of times, but as his oldest friend and closest confidante he's the one who Hater is closest to. Whether it's invading other planets or kicking puppies for fun, these two are *delightfully* terrible jerks and the epitome of gay wrongs. 

Commander Peepers is both Lord Hater's right hand man in villainy AND his jilted stay-at-home-wife-guy (Also in villainy. Hater is really good at getting distracted from productive and efficient villaining.) Lord Hater was the greatest villain in the galaxy thanks to how well he and Commander Peepers worked as an evil team to run the Hater Empire!

Lord Hater conquers planets and is such an edgy bastard. Peepers is the actual brains behind the operation. Peepers is often pushed aside by Hater, they are besties and yet Peepers is always pining for this guy who will never notice. Peepers is so horribly gay for him if you watch the show he wants his stupid boss so bad. Peepers is so scared of him season 1 but then starts yelling BACK in season 2 and has to deal with him like a babysitter or something and yet STILL idolizes him and that’s just such a fun dynamic. His password is H8RNP33PRS43VR (Hater and Peepers forever). They are so evil and everyone fears them and they are villains and they are gay and the side of the fandom that draws them as a married couple that needs counseling is absolutely correct. The fanart of Hater openly liking him back is wonderful but I swear you don’t even need that. They are so gay and villain you have to love them they are

Villains that conquer planets and do evil stuff, my favourite characters, not really canon but they are the best :)

For Wu Zetian x Gao Yizhi x Li Shimin: (propaganda from previous poll here)

They are in a poly and are so morally gray and I love em. The triangle really is the strongest shape

They're gay because they're all bi (literally in Shimin and Yizhi's cases, kinda more implied for Zetian). Zetian and Shimin tortured a man for information (and also because he tortured them first) while Yizhi cooked back in their apartment. They made a plan to destroy their government and take over instead. Yizhi killed his dad because he was talking shit about Zetian and trying to sway his trust in her (it didn't work lmao). Instead of a love triangle (it REALLY seemed like that was what it was heading towards) they all love each other and would (and have) committed atrocities for each other. There's a whole thing about how they're stronger together (like, metaphorically and on the battlefield (Shimin and Zetian pilot a giant mecha together and Yizhi balances them))

They're a canon polyship who are all a bit deranged and down to kill for their goals and/or to protect bae. Two have tortured a man to death together and came home to the third making celebratory cookies for them. 

What's more gay wrongs than trying to take over your country and torturing a man together

[tangibletechnomancy]

Neural Nets, Walled Gardens, and Positive Vibes Only

the crystal spire at the center of the techno-utopian walled garden

Anyone who knows or even just follows me knows that as much as I love neural nets, I'm far from being a fan of AI as a corporate fad. Despite this, I am willing to use big-name fad-chasing tools...sometimes, particularly on a free basis. My reasons for this are twofold:

Many people don't realize this, but these tools are more expensive for the companies to operate than they earn from increased interest in the technology. Using many of these free tools can, in fact, be the opposite of "support" at this time. Corporate AI is dying, use it to kill it faster!

You can't give a full, educated critique of something's flaws and failings without engaging with it yourself, and I fully intend to rip Dall-E 3, or more accurately the companies behind it, a whole new asshole - so I want it to be a fair, nuanced, and most importantly personally informed new asshole.

Now, much has already been said about the biases inherent to current AI models. This isn't a problem exclusive to closed-source corporate models; any model is only as good as its dataset, and it turns out that people across the whole wide internet are...pretty biased. Most major models right now, trained primarily on the English-language internet, present a very western point of view - treating young conventionally attractive white people as a default at best, and presenting blatantly misinformative stereotypes at worst. While awareness of the issue can turn it into a valuable tool to study those biases and how they intertwine, the marketing and hype around AI combined with the popular idea that computers can't possibly be biased tends to make it so they're likely to perpetuate them instead.

This problem only gets magnified when introduced to my mortal enemy-

If I never see this FUCKING dog again it will be too soon-

Content filters.

Theoretically, content filters exist to prevent some of the worst-faith uses of AI - deepfakes, true plagiarism and forgery, sexual exploitation, and more. In practice, many of them block anything that can be remotely construed as potentially sexual, violent, or even negative in any way. Frequently banned subjects include artistic nudity or even partial nudity, fight scenes, anything even remotely adjacent to horror, and still more.

The problems with this expand fractally.

While the belief that AI is capable of supplanting all other art forms, let alone should do so, is...far less widespread among its users than the more reactionary subset of its critics seem to believe (and in fact arguably less common among AI users than non-users in the first place; see again: you cannot give a full, educated critique of something's failings without engaging with it yourself), it's not nonexistent - and the business majors who have rarely if ever engaged with other forms of art, who make up a good percentage of the executives of these companies, often do fall on that side, or at least claim to in order to make more sales (but let's keep the lid on that can of worms for now).

When this ties to existing online censorship issues, such as a billionaire manchild taking over Twitter to "help humanity" (read: boost US far-right voices and promote and/or redefine hate speech), or arcane algorithms on TikTok determining what to boost and deboost leading to proliferation of neologisms to soften and obfuscate "sensitive" subjects (of which "unalive" is frequently considered emblematic), including such horrible, traumatizing things as...the existence of fat people, disabled people, and queer people (where the censorship is claimed to be for their benefit, no less!), the potential impact is apparent: while the end goal is impossible, in part because AI is not, in fact, capable of supplanting all other forms of art, what we're seeing is yet another part of a continuing, ever more aggressive push for sanitizing what kinds of ideas people can express at all, with the law looking to only make it worse rather than better through bills such as KOSA (which you can sign a petition against here).

And just like the other forms of censorship before and alongside it, AI content filtering targets the most vulnerable in society far more readily than it targets those looking to harm them. The filters have no idea what makes something an expression of a marginalized identity vs. what makes it a derogatory statement against that group, or an attempt at creating superficially safe-for-work fetish art - so, they frequently err on the side of removing anything uncertain. Boys in skirts and dresses are frequently blocked, presumably because they're taken for fetish art. Results of prompts about sadness or loneliness are frequently blocked, presumably because they may promote self harm, somehow. In my (admittedly limited) experiment, attempts at generating dark-skinned characters were blocked more frequently than attempts at generating light-skinned ones, presumably because the filter decided that it was racist to [checks notes] ...acknowledge that a character has a different skin tone than the default white characters it wanted to give me. Facial and limb differences are often either erased from results, or blocked presumably on suspicion of "violent content".

But note that I say "presumably" - the error message doesn't say on what grounds the detected images are "unsafe". Users are left only to speculate on what grounds we're being warned.

But what makes censorship of AI generated work even more alarming, in the context of the executive belief that it can render all other art forms obsolete, is that other forms of censorship only target where a person can say such earth-shaking, controversial things as "I am disabled and I like existing" or "I am happy being queer" or "mental health is important" or "I survived a violent crime" - you can be prevented from posting it on TikTok, but not from saying it to a friend next to you, let alone your therapist. AI content filtering, on the other hand, aims to prevent you from expressing it at all.

This becomes particularly alarming when you recall one of the most valuable use cases for AI generation: enabling disabled people to express themselves more clearly, or in new forms. Most people can find other workarounds in the form of more conventional, manual modes of expression, sure, but no amount of desperation can reverse hand paralysis that prevents a person from holding a pen, nor a traumatic brain injury or mental disability that blocks them from speaking or writing in a way that's easy to understand. And who is one of the most frequently censored groups? Disabled people.

So, my question to Bing and OpenAI is this: in what FUCKING universe is banning me from expressing my very existence "protecting" me?

Bad dog! Stop breaking my shit and get the FUCK out of my way!

Generated as a gift for a friend who was even more frustrated with that FUCKING dog than I was

All images - except the FUCKING dog - generated with Dall-E 3 via Bing Image Creator, under the Code of Ethics of Are We Art Yet?

[pobopolybius]

Comparing the project moon situation to harry potter fans really does go to show not only do you people not know what the fuck you are talking about but also that you are performative as fuck and don't care about Anyone but your own self righteousness.

Get this through your heads: someone being into a small indie company that has a manchild for a CEO is nowhere comparable to an antisemitic, racist, transphobic misogynistic anti-scottish and irish liberation scumbag which uses her writing to promote her views and donates money to make sure trans people are put through hell.

The artists situation is horrible. Of course. It is. It fucking is. But equating looking at fanart and youtube videos of something that does not perpetuate hateful ideologies to actively consuming transphobic and antisemitic propaganda that is getting people killed is abhorrent.

None of you know what the fuck you are talking about.

Do better. Get your heads out of your self righteous asses. Scumbags. Fuck you for equating a legal dispute to the deaths of queer and jewish people. You are scum.

[autistic-ben-tennyson]

as someone who relates a lot to both Anakin and Padme because i grew in a stressfully abusive enviroment (not being allowed to express too honest emotions and fear, having to mask my neurodivergent tendencies, not being able to raise my voice ever or cry or be angry, etcetc) and i was a "gifted kid", and on top of that i'm queer. So for a lot of my teenhood i "attached" *badly* to anything that would remotely give me comfort, mostly objects but also people and friends, it's been quite healing to read your analysis about how "attachments" are presented in SW and how the fandom tends to twists attachments as something toxic and selfish, it's understandable when people don't like him but when everyone runs to say he was evil just for getting attached or feeling "too strongly" about something is quite hurtful

victims should be accountable for the things they do wrong, and anakin outright did so many many horrible bad things, but it's cathartic for me bc he shows how victims of abuse and trauma aren't and can't be perfect, and they react in ways that are inherently affected by the enviroment that shaped them, and in the end, anakin had one of the most famous and iconic returns ever, so it's really important to me, and your analysis are great

Thanks anon. I had a period over a couple months where I was very hardcore pro Jedi/anti anakin which in retrospect was really just to fit in with what was popular on tumblr since all the big SW blogs like Kanansdume/antianakin or GFFA are Jedi apologists. I regret a lot of my past behavior and how I treated some Anakin fans. A lot of Jedi stans like to paint anyone who likes Anakin as a right wing dudebro and it doesn’t help that there are a few people who are that way such as caripr94 or Otnesse. Yet their side isn’t much better. There’s a lot of ableism, victim blaming, and queerphobia rebranded to sound progressive. For all their pseudo-wokeness, a lot of them sound like conservatives when they put the blame entirely on Anakin for his fall and refuse to acknowledge systematic and psychological issues he had because they’d have to accept that the Jedi were flawed and not perfect.

Fandom in general has become a lot more puritanical and moralistic. People insist that you can’t show any sympathy or depth for villains, possibly as an overreaction towards movies like Maleficent or Cruella as well as the rise of Trump, hence why everyone felt Big Jack Horner was refreshing and propping up TOH as the anti SU for killing Belos. The SW fandom is no different. Antianakin has a whole pinned post ranting about not just Anakin but Padme, Ahsoka, Kallus and Crosshair too. People insist you must view Anakin as an allegory for a white boy radicalized by 4chan and Jordan Peterson but one could argue he’s closer to those in the global south who live in poverty and oppression as well as queer people who have to hide their relationships or risk being rejected by their communities.

SW isn’t even close to my top fandom or favorite media but I do post about it if it relates to stuff I do like more like anime or Ben 10. It’s easy to write off a character as just born evil which removes the tragedy knowing that he was a good person at one point and dehumanizing villains allows people to reject the idea that they could become that way. I like a lot of characters who are flawed or abrasive because of trauma or abuse they suffered such as Shinji and Asuka from NGE, Hodaka from WWY, Raven from TT or Homura from PMMM. Anakin/Vader is an interesting character who has been dumbed down to just a “fascist MAGA manchild” by some when, for all my criticism of him, is not what Lucas wrote. As a side note, knowing that all 4 OT Vader actors have passed away is sad. RIP Sebastian Shaw, Bob Anderson, David Prowse and James Earl Jones. May the force be with you all.

[hypnoticmoth]

okay 1: sorry for asking something again today :P

2: i assume you like Valentino because of his design and/or voice like most Valentino lovers, (me included), but his personality is quite interesting and it kinda makes me like his more, if that makes sense? Not like the abusing and being a terrible person, but the fact he does it is unique and i dont know many characters with those traits! So I like the *idea* of being abusing and shit, but him actually doing it, I dont, does that make sense? Anyway the actual question is: do you like Valentino bc of his design and such, or also the *concept* of his personality?

It's ok !!

About why i like Valentino, it's a combination of everything. Yes, he does have an amazing design, and his VA does a stunning job at voicing him.

But i also like the way he's written. He's an unredeemable villain who does absolutely horrible things (and he'll get what is coming for him). He's threatening and detestable and i just enjoy it.

He's also quite clever and manipulative and i think a lot of fans don't give credit to his intelligence.

He's also pretty goofy in the way he acts, acting like a giant throwing tantrum manchild, bedazzling his gun in the middle of a meeting with the other two Vees, ect. And despite that, it doesn't remove any of the threatening aura he has, and i just think it's pretty neat to have a truly irredeemable villain that doesn't lose that threat and edge about them while also having some fun and goofy moments.

All in all, i love the Vees, I think they're good villains, i'm excited for season 2. They're all as awful as each others and they'll be a fun trio of antagonists.

[linkspooky]

"Ultimate Strength... and the Solitude it Brings!!"

So this is a thoughts for chapter 233, and also a meta on the whole Gojo and Sukuna fight in general as we're nearing the end. My biggest question here is what exactly does this fight mean for Gojo's character? Why is he fighting and how does that compare to Sukuna?

Before the fight even begins on the eve of Gojo's unboxing we're given a reminder of the loneliness that is at the core of its character. That his central motivation is to raise strong companions so they'll be able to live out the springtime of their youths. That they won't be left alone the way that he was, and the way that also Geto was before he fell from grace.

It seems like Gojo's takeaway here was "I need to intervene earlier" otherwise another Geto will happen. Which is why he his next action in the manga is to find Megumi and recruit him, with the warning that if he's not strong enough he'll be left behind. Because this is Gojo logic we're working here strength = good.

If he raises strong enough companions he'll finally have equals. If he raises students who are strong enough, they won't fall to the corruption of the Jujutsu World.

He doesn't want children to be left alone the way he was left alone as a child, and the way Geto was. However, he also rather condescendingly thinks that the only people who could possibly be on his level are those who are physically strong. There we see Gojo's good intentions mix with how ingrained he is into the society that he was raised in.

The foundation of Jujutsu Society is might = right.

I'm going to borrow a quote from another manga to explain it. Don't read it because the author is a criminals but Makoto Shishio espouses views that are pretty similiar to all of Jujutsu Society as a whole (and yes even Gojo).

Saitro: Kill evil quickly. Shishio: Kill evil quickly? Am I evil? What is evil? In my eyes weakness is evil, raw power is justice.

We actually see this theme repeated over and over again "the ugliness of the weak" or how wekaness itself is considered a crime.

Ironically these two characters who decry the ugliness of the weak then go on to be mass murderers... so you know. Look in the mirrors, guys. People who are victims are often condescendingly spoken down to, lambasted while they're in pain, told they are wrong.

Then you have characters like Toji who while being horrible people are almost fetishiticallly praised just by the virtue that they are strong. Like yes, Toji abandoned his son, solid him, then gambled away all the money he got from selling him, and then killed a high school girl by shooting him in the back of the head but... he was so strong.

Maki becoming more like Toji is apparently a good thing, because you know... he was just so strong. Toji is a pathetic manchild and a loser but because he fits Jujutsu Society's ideal of raw strength so well he ends up being held up regardless as some kind of gold standard.

Which kind of just goes to show how twisted the ideals of Jujutsu Society are. "Weakness is evil, and raw power is justice."

No one embodies this viewpoint more though than Sukuna. In his brief fight against Yuji he almost quotes another Makoto Shishio quote word for word.

Makoto Shishio: "The weak's reason for being is to be food for the strong. Those who are even too weak to be food have no right to exist and the strongest of the strong are at the top of the food chain. The Meiji government is weaker than I am and has no right to be in control of this country. Power belongs to the strong, it belongs to me alone. Taking over this country is my right by natural law. If you're strong you live and if you're weak you die."

Sukuna even says something similiar early on that it's ridiculous that Gojo isn't in charge of the entire sorcery world because of his position as the strongest.

Sukuna just like Gojo before entering the fight receives another reminder of just how alone he is as an individual in his fight against Yorozu, which is where the quote about the loneliness of the strongest emerges from. Yorozu's fight ends with a flashback of Yorozu in the heian era recognizing how alone Sukuna was while the rest of his crowd was worshipping him and despreately wanting to be by his side.

Whereas, before entering the fight Shoko reflects on how Gojo would never allow her to be by his side even though she's been right next to him for years.

The parallel is pretty clear here, these are two people who stand alone at the top of the food chain. They are the extreme version of "right of the individual" or "right of the strong." To borrow from another manga Tokyo Ghoul this time on how to define right of the strong.

"Every disadvantage in the world is from a lack of competence..." or translated in other version's a lack of individual competence. It's the extreme form of individualism that both Gojo and Sukuna represent, if you're tramepled upon, violated, abused, it's your fault for being weak and letting it happening. If you were simply strong enough you could have prevented it from happening.

Gojo and Sukuna both see the world in that black and white logic, however, Gojo has the added burden of his duty as a sorcerer of protecting non-sorcerers that he took on from Geto. Gojo can't kill without meaning or just use his power to stomp over others because Geto drilled it in his head at his weakest moment post Riko's death and awakening that it's important for sorcerers to have meaning to their actions.

In every other way though Gojo is a believer of right of the strong. IT's what he preaches and practices. Hence why his problem solving method is just to win the big fight all alone. Every conflict in the world and every problem to be solved is just a matter of being strong enough in Gojo's eyes.

Which is why I wonder if that explains Gojo's attitude towards this fight with Sukuna. Megumi's life is on the line, the chips are down on the table, but Gojo just seems to treat this like it's a champion prize fight.

Gojo's attitude is notably different from when he was fighting in the beginning of the Shibuya Incident Arc.

Gojo's angry that Jogo and the cursed family are trying to gang up on him and win using strategy rather because none of them are individually strong enough to beat him on their own. He's vicious and brutal the entire fight because it's almost like they've insulted him by trying to challenge him.

Whereas with Sukuna despite the fact that the emotional stakes are way, way higher. Despite the fact one of Gojo's students is in danger and he may even have to kill said student, Gojo just jokes around the entire time and seems to be enjoying himself. It seems like this would be the fight for Gojo to get lose his mind and get unhinged but no.

Yuji and Gojo are both characters who admit they might have to kill Megumi in order to resolve this situation, but look at the differences in their reactions.

Yuji's horrified, and to be fair in Yuji's defense even if Yuji is forced to kill Megumi in order to "save" him. Yuji was the previous host of Sukuna and he was one hundred percent willing to get killed by Yuta or Gojo if he ever went out of control again.

However, Gojo's response to the fact that Megumi got possessed is... let's say less serious.

"I can totally beat up Megumi."

Now, in Gojo's case in comparison to Yuji. Yuji is just a child of Megumi's age and he was also in Megumi's position of being taken over by Sukuna before this and was willing to risk his life on that. Gojo is in a position of power over Megumi. He was obligated to protect Megumi, and now having failed in that obligation isn't really making any attempt to save him.

Now, do I think Gojo is actually trying to kill Megumi?

I'm hovering towards no at the moment. His line here indicates that he thinks there may be a way to revive Megumi after he kills Sukuna once.

However, I think the author wants us to quesiton whether or not GOjo's priorities are really in the right here. After all the other characters are questioning if he's actually trying to help Megumi. Megumi's already been on the receiving end of the unlimited void because of Gojo using his body as a punching bag.

Rather, I think the takeaway here is that Sukuna is bringing out the worst in Gojo because Sukuna represents Gojo at his worst and most toxic. Gojo totally believes in that individual right of the strong.

He thinks that it's the way the world works, everything comes down to how individually strong you are. If you want to fix something? Well just raise a buch of strong children into strong adults and that'll solve everything.

This fight is everything that appeals to Gojo's black and white world view, because he can fix this whole situation with a heavy weight prize fight match between him and Sukuna. Which is where we get to the line this chapter that I used as the banner image.

Why is Gojo fighting here?

Is it because he wants to save Megumi? Is it because he needs to save all of his students and Tokyo as a whole from Kenjaku?

Or is he just fighting for personal satisfaction to be secure in his position as the strongest?

The situation we're in right now reminds me so much of his lines towards Amanai shortly after he awakaned as the strongest. He should be angry for Megumi's sake but...

At the moment the only thing that seems to matter is his fight against Sukuna and the satisfaction from winning.

I guess that's just what happens when you're a main character in a Shonen Manga.

[imbecominggayer]

Writing Prompt: Modern Retelling

I would love to see a modern retelling of "God Vs The Morning Star" but instead of the story being like:

"demons and hell are sexy fun badasses and God is boringly evil👿"

it's an updated story where the Devil is truly evil in the most horrifying way possible as society has developed an updated idea of what true evil is.

Take Christianity which has been oversaturated with mysogynistic ableistic conservatives and make the Devil the personification of evil who wishes to corrupt everyone into those assholes.

For example, "The Devil believes that women should be slaves and Lilith is the original not-feminist Girlboss who is willing to throw all other women down in order to succeed"

or

"The Devil left Heaven once he saw that God was allowing gay people to exist without torturing them."

or

"The Devil is a massive abuser who will try and manipulate anyone into believing that it was his daddy issues that made him this way so that's why it's perfectly okay for him to do whatever he wants"

Instead of the Devil being an insanely attractive perfect guy with a bad boy exterior, why don't you make him an abusive incel with a huge superiority complex and the most manchild-infused tantrums ever?

Make God the omniscient compassionate God they are supposed to be.

Make evilness seem unattractive, immature, and horrible to be the victim of.

Make goodness the most attractive option