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[dior-luxury]

𓂃 . 𐑞 How'd They React To You Wearing Short-Shorts ⟡

ꔫ﹒genre﹒⟢ - romance/fluff/comedy. f!reader

⏆﹒⿻ ch . bangchan . leeknow . changbin . hyunjin . han . felix . seungmin . i.n

﹙◞◟﹚﹒warnings ﹒ Possessiveness & Jealousy (Mild) . Objectification Awareness . Mild Sexual Tension (Implicit) . Male Gaze/Aesthetic Idealization .

Bang Chan (방찬)

It was one of those rare days off for both you and Chan, and he invited you over to the studio so you could hang out while he tidied up a few mixes. You didn’t think twice about your outfit — a cropped white tee and high-waisted short shorts — simple, comfortable, and cool in the early summer heat.

When you walked into the studio, Chan was hunched over the mixer, headphones on. He looked up, ready to flash his usual bright smile — and then he paused. His gaze lingered on your legs for just a moment too long before he pulled off his headphones and stood.

“Hey, baby,” he greeted, voice soft but a bit deeper than usual. “You look… uh, wow.”

You grinned knowingly. “Wow good or wow ‘go change right now’?”

He chuckled, pulling you in for a hug, arms resting loosely around your waist. “Wow dangerous.”

“Oh please,” you teased, looping your arms around his neck. “I’m just wearing shorts.”

“I know, I know,” he said, then leaned his forehead against yours. “You have every right to wear whatever you want. And you look amazing. But I swear if someone so much as thinks something weird, I’ll have to accidentally send their name to management.”

You laughed, but his protectiveness warmed you. He didn’t ask you to change, didn’t act controlling — just stayed close the whole day, hand casually placed on your thigh when you sat beside him on the couch, eyes flicking toward the door whenever someone passed.

Later, when you were alone in his apartment, legs draped across his lap, he whispered, “Seriously though, I’m the luckiest guy in the world… but also maybe the most stressed.”

Lee Know (리노)

You were getting ready for a movie date at home with Minho. It was hot, you were lazy, and your favorite soft short shorts were calling your name. You paired them with an oversized tee tucked just enough to show your waistline.

When you emerged from the bedroom, Minho, who had been tossing popcorn in the air for Soonie to catch, glanced up. His jaw tightened, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Hmm,” he hummed, eyes sweeping over you slowly. “Is that what you’re wearing?”

You raised an eyebrow. “It’s just us here.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

You snorted. “Jealous, Minho?”

He stood, walking toward you with that slow, confident swagger, arms crossed. “No. I’m territorial. There’s a difference.”

You laughed, but he was clearly not kidding. He tugged you gently by the belt loops of your shorts, eyes locked on yours. “These should come with a warning label,” he muttered, mock serious. “Side effects may include intense boyfriend anxiety.”

You leaned in, smug. “So should your face.”

He kissed you hard, effectively ending your sass. “Fine,” he said against your lips. “Wear them. But if I see a single camera pointed your way when we post that movie-night photo later, I’m deleting your Instagram.”

You smirked. “You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I absolutely would.”

Minho never stopped teasing you the rest of the night, tossing popcorn at your legs, “accidentally” resting his hand on your thigh just to distract you from the film. But his eyes were gentle, and his touch told you everything — he was proud to call you his, and he just wanted the world to know to back off.

Changbin (창빈)

You were headed to a late-night convenience store run with Changbin, a chill little errand he always turned into a mini date. You threw on your hoodie and a pair of athletic short shorts — light, comfy, not overly flashy — but when you came out of the bedroom, Changbin froze mid-sip of his protein shake.

He blinked. “You’re… really wearing those?”

You looked down. “Yeah? Why?”

He set his cup down carefully. “Because I wasn’t emotionally prepared for that level of exposure.”

You burst out laughing. “They’re not that short!”

He covered his face. “They are when you’ve got legs like yours.”

As you teased him while slipping on your sneakers, he kept glancing at your legs like they were foreign objects sent to test his moral integrity. He tried to act nonchalant, but every time someone looked your way during the errand, you saw him tense beside you.

At one point, a guy passed by a little too slowly for Changbin’s comfort. He cleared his throat loudly, then slid his arm around your waist, pulling you closer with sudden intensity.

“What’s that about?” you asked, amused.

“Just… making sure people know you’re taken,” he mumbled, cheeks burning.

Later that night, you were sitting on the couch, legs stretched over his lap, when he admitted, “I mean… you looked so good, I almost didn’t want to go out. I just wanted to stay home and stare.”

You kissed his cheek. “Maybe next time we do.”

He nodded. “Deal. But I’m still buying you sweatpants.”

Hyunjin (현진)

It was an art gallery opening downtown, and Hyunjin had invited you as his date. You wore a sleek blouse and a pair of tailored short shorts, with some sheer tights and ankle boots — a balance of classy and cool. You stepped out of the bedroom and struck a pose.

Hyunjin gasped like he’d seen a Renaissance painting come to life.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, placing a hand over his chest. “Who allowed you to look this good?”

You smirked. “You like it?”

“I don’t like it — I worship it,” he said dramatically, walking in slow circles around you like you were on display. “I’m dating a fashion goddess. People will cry. And I might cry too.”

You laughed, but he was truly captivated. His fingers traced the hem of your shorts like they were made of gold. “I swear, this outfit belongs in a museum.”

But when you got to the gallery and he saw a few heads turning — particularly one guy lingering a little too long — his smile dropped for a second.

He leaned in close, whispered, “I suddenly understand why kings used to make people avert their eyes in court.”

“Jealous?”

“Terrified,” he said. “Because you’re art, and art attracts the wrong kind of attention.”

Still, he didn’t stop showing you off, proudly holding your hand, twirling you for photos, even whispering in your ear, “Everyone’s jealous, and I love it.”

That night, you caught him sketching you from memory — in the very outfit you wore. When you asked about it, he just smiled.

“You were unforgettable,” he said softly. “I had to capture it.”

Han (한)

You were lounging around the dorms with Han, having one of those rare chill days where neither of you had schedules. The air was warm, sunlight poured in through the window, and you’d slipped on a loose tank top and a pair of denim short shorts without much thought. As you padded into the kitchen to grab some iced coffee, Han looked up from the couch and froze mid-bite of his sandwich.

His eyes widened, and his mouth hung slightly open. “Uh…” he mumbled, clearly caught off guard. His gaze flickered down to your legs, then darted back up like he was trying very hard not to stare. A blush crept up his neck and exploded across his cheeks like wildfire.

“You okay there, Jisung?” you asked, amused by his sudden stillness.

“I-I’m fine. Totally fine. Just…” He cleared his throat dramatically. “Did you always own those shorts?”

You turned around slowly, giving him a little twirl, purely to tease. “Why? Do they look bad?”

“No!” he answered way too quickly, practically leaping off the couch. “They look… I mean… they look great. Really great. Maybe too great.”

You cocked a brow. “Too great?”

He walked up to you and wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close. “I’m just saying, maybe I should cancel our plans today and keep you here. Away from other people’s eyes.”

You rolled your eyes. “Possessive much?”

He gave you that signature grin — cocky but sheepish. “Yeah. Just a little. Can you blame me?”

And despite his flustered beginning, he didn’t stop stealing glances all day, tugging you close every time you walked by. You could tell he wasn’t mad — just utterly smitten and trying not to combust.

Felix (필릭스)

You came into the dance studio where Felix was practicing, dressed casually but comfortably: a cropped hoodie and short shorts, perfect for the warm day. He was taking a break, wiping sweat from his brow when he saw you.

His eyes lit up instantly, the signature sparkle in his gaze softening with adoration. “Hey, angel,” he said with that deep, buttery voice of his. “You look cute.”

You blushed under his warm gaze, setting down the smoothie you brought him. “Thanks. Figured I’d dress for the weather.”

He walked over, his arm sliding gently around your waist as he gave you a light kiss on the temple. But then he looked down at your legs — slender, smooth, exposed — and you saw a flicker of hesitation cross his features.

“I mean… you do look amazing,” he said slowly, as if weighing his words. “But I worry, you know? People might stare.”

You tilted your head, smiling. “Are you worried about them staring at me or me not noticing them?”

He chuckled softly. “Both.”

You leaned into his chest. “You know I only see you, right?”

He sighed, then nodded. “I know. I just… you’re important to me. I want people to see you and respect you, not just… look.”

You hugged him tightly, and he hugged you back even tighter. Though he never asked you to change, he stayed close the whole time you were out later, hand always linked with yours, like a quiet shield — gentle, respectful, but deeply protective.

Seungmin (승민)

It was Seungmin’s idea to go for a walk around the park near his apartment. It was sunny, you were feeling cute, so you threw on a breezy tee and your favorite pair of black short shorts. When he opened the door and saw you, he immediately raised an eyebrow.

“Oh wow,” he said in his trademark dry tone. “Are we going for a walk or turning this into a fashion show?”

You snorted. “What, they’re just shorts.”

“Just shorts,” he mimicked dramatically. “These are short shorts, ma’am. There’s barely enough fabric here to count as clothing.”

You swatted his arm, laughing. “You sound like a dad.”

He rolled his eyes, but he was clearly holding back a smirk. “Fine, fine. I’m just saying, I might need to carry around a spray bottle to keep other people from drooling.”

Despite all the sarcasm, he kept a close watch as you two walked. When someone looked a little too long, Seungmin would casually slide in front of their line of sight or wrap his arm around your shoulder like it was no big deal. Every time you teased him about it, he brushed it off with, “I’m just making sure no one gets the wrong idea.”

But when you got home and plopped onto the couch, legs stretched out across his lap, he looked down at you with a tiny smile.

“You really did look good, though,” he admitted softly, brushing his fingers across your shin. “Just don’t be surprised if I keep making fun of you. It’s how I cope.”

I.N (아이엔)

You were meeting Jeongin at a quiet riverside café for lunch, and it was hot out, so you wore a lightweight tank and a pair of stylish, high-waisted short shorts. As you approached the outdoor table where he sat waiting, sipping on iced tea and looking at his phone, his eyes caught you mid-step.

He literally choked on his drink.

You rushed over, laughing, as he coughed and turned beet red. “Jeongin! Are you okay?”

“I’m—yeah—I’m fine, I just—” He waved his hand in a panic, eyes darting anywhere except at your legs. “I wasn’t expecting… um… that.”

“What?” you said, twirling. “Too much?”

He covered his face with one hand, trying to compose himself. “You look amazing, okay? That’s the problem. I wasn’t ready to see that level of… leg.”

You giggled, reaching out to hold his hand across the table. “You’re adorable.”

He peeked at you between his fingers, bashful but clearly proud. “I mean, I am your boyfriend, so I guess it’s fine. But if someone else looks at you too long, I might have to challenge them to a duel. Or… I dunno, an arm wrestling match.”

Despite being flustered the whole lunch, he kept sneaking glances when he thought you weren’t looking — and every time your knees brushed under the table, his ears turned crimson.

[smilepilled]

"editblr doesnt have any poc issues stfu" Yes it fucking does. you guys constantly make characters who are whitewashed the center of your themes, or otherwise YOU waterwash characters with dark skin tones. you speak over editors of colour with such a casual, uncaring frequency that it has become The Norm in your heads.

also, that's not the only issue. you guys are way too fucking comfortable being heinous people — you would rather spend hours pedantically discussing the morals behind using labels, one's consumption of dark media or even worse, the way people describe their experiences than listen to any of the REAL issues at hand. issues involving people struggling to have peace, wellbeing/health, or the basic survival — you are selfish for this, and your pleasant or cutesy aesthetics do not save you from this; no matter who you are or have been.

somehow, that's not even the end of it, which is ridiculous — too many of you are comfortable with the idea of shunning, harrassing and suicide baiting people for the most pesky, stupid things. people saying slurs that they can reclaim (in THIS context; using slurs as insults is not reclaiming them) is not gonna lay you sick in bed. someone liking the same character as you should not be a justification for you to mistreat, harrass and tell people to kill/harm themselves. that's nasty, immature, and it deserves to be called out accordingly. NEVER will it be alright to do these things, even when you think its for a good cause, because people that are "prohlematic" to you lot are often just different in a way you disapprove of (and even then, youre doing something heinous, stooping at a real bad person's level)

additionally, i dont care if you as a person of colour dont agree with this (thats your own internalized racism/colorism to undo with yourself) — so many people like yourself have been saying that the shit going on around here makes them uncomfortable, hurt, and ultimately makes them unsafe. do not fucking derail this post to say that i cannot say this due to being white, because people i love and care about are affected by this, and i shouldnt expect them to say things about their own pain. none of us should.

i'm dead serious. too many of you are quiet and comfortable being shit people, especially when it comes to "proving" your own morals. people that are anywhere near you FEAR disagreeing publicly because you people are so insufferable it bleeds into their mental health & even PHYSICAL wellbeings. you guys need to be humbled ASAP, because the high like + follower counts are throwing you into power trips that dont really exist outside of this platform— you need to grow up, or people around you will outgrow you and leave you behind.

i am not the first to say this, and i will not be the last. if you see somehing, say something. stop defending your friends because they're popular and you want graphics— call them out on their behavior. PREFERRABLY, DO IT PRIVATELY, AND DON'T DRAG PEOPLE INTO IT. thanks.

[court-jobi]

How'd You Know (I Needed This)

((banner by me! I don't own Horikoshi's (sleepy) characters/work))

Pairing: Aizawa x reader (American!Pro Hero fem!reader, set before the events of Season 1)

Words: 4.9K

Rating: T+

Warnings: Aizawa has feelings and doesn't know what to do with them, alcohol mentions, slow burn, he fell first she fell harder, the feeling is mutual TM

Summary:

Shouta Aizawa surrenders his capture weapon for the night in favor of humoring Hizashi, and is rewarded for his follow-through at his show. He wants to know you, more than he has from teaching the brats alongside you for the last few months. Wants to know the smile that reaches your eyes more intimately.

He’s happy he gets this balcony happy hour with you -out from all their eyes inside- to be able to water this sweet, small thing he feels towards you to fullness.

A/N: I've been WAITING for this one, turn it up!!! Aizawa my beloved, I've wanted to write you for so, so long and can only hope I can do you justice. The man just has such a gentle side and I just wanted to give him something nice and self-indulgent~

For my My Hero Academia Masterlist, check it out here!

Read on Ao3

Damn it, why was he thinking like this? He’s in public for goodness’ sakes, with only two sips of drink under his belt. Not two drinks- two sips of a drink.  So if that’s the case of his sobriety, why was he off in his own little headspace as if he were drunk?  

‘Put Your Hands Up Radio’ found its home recording studio attached to this lounge: a place Shouta Aizawa never frequented unless expressly invited- or when Eraserhead was needed to scout out trouble. Far too noisy, too chatty, and filled with too many grown adults losing their sensibilities for his liking. 

Through one round of begging or another, he’d been roped into joining some of the staff of UA to an evening out, in support of Present Mic. Naturally, Aizawa would go- as his presence would all but guarantee everyone else’s. Despite begrudging the plans that pushed himself out of his preferred rest mode, he kept true to his word for Hizashi’s sake.

Promise kept, and therefore, appears to have been rewarded. 

Once the show wrapped for the night, his best friend was over the moon at how things were turning into a party that Friday night. After a day of shrill, whinging teenagers he’d wrangled all week, this level of volume was honestly the last thing he needed. Yamada’s voice doubled the decibel of the entire room- and that’s without his quirk activated. He always managed to annoy Aizawa when he started fangirling about one duet matchup or another.

But truthfully? Every sound this tired hero registered around him fell to white noise while he looked at you…

Sweet Little Miss, you are; gracing the lounge with your presence. You’re a vision tonight. Insist with your lilting dip to your words they all call you by your first name, outside of school grounds and against what’s considered custom. No hero titles either, unless an emergency called for formalities- then you’d cave.

These Americans are too casual. Even down to these outfits. What’s this–  black turtleneck, necklace she won’t leave alone- moving it around her thumb like that, short skirt.. and those damn thigh highs and tights. How is it she’s driving that moped of hers, wearing something like this…

Everything on your person, down to the way you held yourself in perfect confidence and ease adorned you like a perfectly-styled pro hero. It couldn't be a more stark contrast to his tried and true wardrobe. Even this after-hours look sat perfectly around each bend and curve of you, as you listened to the group. 

You’re smiling, too. It’s subtle, but it reaches your eyes, which makes it all the more authentic.

A smile he shouldn’t want to keep all to himself. Curves he really should have no business noticing. Features that he’s actually surprised he’s labeling as ‘attractive’ in his mind because the last time he ever felt an ounce of attraction to anyone in that way, he’d barely been able to grow facial hair. 

Desire for a safe place to land his dizzying mind is driving his tired sights to look to you for relief again and again in the conversation– without you even saying a single word. 

The barely-touched drink in his hand is only a prop; something to make him blend into the scene and not something he’s actually tasting for pleasure… meaning, these are his thoughts. Nearly completely sober. Should be illegal. Just illegal-

"Yo Sho, you still with us, sleepyhead?" 

Yamada pulled him out of his thoughts. Disguising any flare of being put on the spot, Aizawa  flitted his absent gaze back to his blond friend–

"Be nice. He’s had a rough day and is a good enough sport by being here,” you chirped up catching Yamada’s pull for Aizawa to part from the fringes of your little gathering.

Now toward you? He’ll soften his edge. After all, with you sticking up for him with blind loyalty, he nearly felt guilty for spacing out and causing you to speak up in the first place.

“- yknow, I'm inclined to take a nap myself," you leaned forward to grab a few more calamari bites to tend to your seemingly insatiable appetite. Aizawa felt warm at the sweetness and straightened up at Yamada’s prodding.

From then on, he made sure to look in your direction more often when you spoke to help him pay attention. He still didn't say much, never did. But he liked the company well enough.

These nights were truly few and far between. Life as an in-demand hero left him jumping from role to role, daytime and midnight obligations. The routine split his waking hours and stretched them paper thin.  Now more than ever,  he typically shirked as much off time as he was offered. And yet, he had to remember to prioritize levity and breaks– and in this case, indulge his treasured friend’s interests and ‘take one for the team’. Good for morale, he reasoned, just this once. 

The occasion was also a way for you to integrate with the group in an informal setting– great for the transplant from the States. You’ve taken amicably to the group of alumni-turned-faculty at UA, though much still remained a mystery about you, presently being peeled back bit by bit through stories and slips of the tongue. There was only so much a dossier could truly reveal about a person- even one curated by S.W.O.R.D. to volunteer aid their Japanese counterparts in their hero work.

It couldn’t tell what kind of teacher you’d turned out to be. Even with no experience working with students, you tread the line between instilling team-centered outlooks and pushing their quirk’s limitations to their max benefit. A crafty, inventive counterpart to complement his blunt teaching style: better together, and even the principal agreed.

It couldn’t point out where your true ambitions lie or where your drive came from. There remained much to be explained as far as your hero status here in Japan– a red-tape nightmare Aizawa was still intrigued to learn about. So far, you’d shared some limitations about “immigration statuses are being vetted with a fine toothed comb, so they’re still trekking through the paperwork”, so your wings are essentially clipped down to a student’s provisional license. This doesn’t please you too much, but you’re driven as much as his finest students with the aire of a professional he’d love to see in full action.

It couldn’t explain the stillness you could dip into, that he only caught once or twice when you believe yourself alone. There’s a past was weighing your shoulders level and compliant in the eyes of the law… but an urge to push back and ‘play this out’  brought hypotheticals to your lips whenever you chatted about what hero life is like for him, and added a sparkle to the eye that he had yet to fully source.

It couldn’t give away the gentleness you hold behind a carefully guarded smile– even in this harsh hero world. Maybe it was that indomitable spirit that those foolhardy patriots overseas carried… or rather, maybe it was the way you fought against such a loud persona. So far, Aizawa has taken only a few notes, but each little mental post-it was cluttering up his headspace. You held a quiet love of tea, a comical passion for the oxford comma, and a mind to care for the little things in life– like the lizards you rescue in an inverted cup to take outside where they belong . 

Surely life must have treated you hard to elicit such softness. Something tenderized you to achieve the peace you carry around or else you’re wearing a damn good mask. No, he determines you had to have made a choice to continue on the path that’s brought you to the present– even to this table where you’re taking your fill of maki rolls while casting little caring glances his way. 

All smiles and calm surety, as he mills through his thoughts that are damn near obsessed with you.

An employee file could never record ‘heart’, anymore than it could expose anything you didn’t want to reveal.

The night progresses while Aizawa stews on these thoughts, and plenty of others… for the ones that drift to his co-teacher offer him more mental stimulation than that he finds in the club’s lights and music.

Yamada’s night of filling his social battery was made nearly perfect by the karaoke that just started. Several of the other teachers got preoccupied in round after round of song, so it left Aizawa with a moment's peace. 

Well, peace he was going to enjoy by laying back on the couch for a little shuteye–  when his gut jumped at the feeling of a hand trailing up his forearm to the elbow with a polite, companionable touch. 

Facing its owner, Aizawa caught your little smirk and nod towards the balcony. You didn't pull hard, yet he followed like a magnet out to the patio. 

From there, rather than stay by the door to listen in on their friends ‘releasing their inhibitions and feeling the rain on their skin’,  you took him to the right, where a matching lounge set positioned itself in a blind spot between the rooftop bar and the fire escape. 

"Thought you looked like you could benefit from some soundproofing~" you brushed your hair back over one shoulder to follow the breeze’s direction, and left an open spot next to you by the railing. 

Nightlife and neon didn’t hold magic for Eraserhead given as many nights as he’s spent perched on precarious heights, but through a newcomer’s eyes, he could see the appeal. This part of the city glowed at night from dusk to dawn, and you clearly loved looking out over it; Aizawa certainly didn't mind this view either. 

Your perception skills are spot on, and incredibly thoughtful as you’ve suggested some fresh air- for his sake. If he wasn’t drawn to you any of the other times he’s paid attention to the spastic moths a more romantic person might call ‘butterflies’ before…  this cements each and every one as valid. 

He likes you. He really likes you. 

Time passed with appreciative quiet until you spoke again, 

"The only thing is, you can't really see stars in the city... there’s too much light."

"The beaches have a nice view," Aizawa replied after some thought.

"Oh yeah?"

"Enough to stargaze properly,” he offered without much sentimentality. Right by the pier was the best spot he and his former classmates would go on the weekends, before their hero work took off.

"I'll have to remember to take a drive there. Y'know, sometime when I'm not in two-and-a-half-inch heels." you chuckled as you shuffled back to the rattan settee, sitting for a bit to stretch out your legs. "I don't know how Nemuri does it."

"Feet hurt already?" Aizawa snuck his hands from his pockets and came to the seat across from yours. “Night’s young.”

"Getting there,"  your laugh greeted him over, "But you know what they say, dress to impress and all that. Yamada really pitched some hype for this afterparty, so~"

Fashion was hardly something that ever swayed Aizawa’s decision-making. Utilitarian was the way to go for his wardrobe- then, as now. 

"If aesthetics are all that determine these pros’ attention, that’s horribly vain." 

You bristled in good humor, 

"He didn't mean it like that– I just meant, he said to look nice for fun instead of for work. Call it ‘girl code’ if you want. We know that means to– just– /doll up a bit/!"

Aizawa held back a snicker at how you still ran into difficulties finding the most apt Japanese equivalents in your (pretty decently executed) second language. English slang you reverted to in moments like these fell from your mouth with an odd drawl. Still couldn’t place the regional accent you carried, but it charmed Aizawa all the same. 

“//Doll up//?” he mimicked. 

"//I like dolling up//!"

Aizawa reached and pulled his glass to his lips, meant to look aloof but not hiding his interest altogether well. 

"You don’t need to put on airs to get people to notice you…" 

"Right, because the accent gives me away."

"No, it’s your-”

Finally, a coward’s streak flared deep in his belly to shut him up. A rare hesitation. Damn this. What the hell’s happening to me–

 “–nevermind."

"My what?" you’re fully  interested, knowing a secret when it's presented.

"Nothing important."

Thankfully you not-so-subtlety dropped it with a hummed ‘ok’, but kept a watchful eye for him in your peripherals. 

The pro hero mused. Better for him to be honest, right? 

Just choose your words carefully. You’ll have to look her in the eye after this, you know. 

Aizawa widened his seated stance so his knee barely breached your space. 

Your sights lifted to him while he put his best poker face on. It’s not really any different than what he’d give to a perfect stranger– the only difference here is he has to force it.

Shit shit shit you're in deep, Shouta.

"You're plenty noticeable as you are. Anyone who meets you can see that," Aizawa shared in his usual soft-spoken tone. "Give ‘em ten minutes, and you've got them wrapped around your finger. It’s a whole impression, not just the outer package. Doesn't matter if you're in a dress that costs a month’s paycheck or a black button down. You're welcoming, sincere..." 

He’s realizing he might be trailing off, but finding you listening with full attention led him on; no liquid courage required. 

"You're stunning from the inside out. Enough to get others to notice."

Aizawa heard your appreciation before he saw it, a hum preceding the a genteel smile. With the win of his walls coming down, he had to give an honest smirk back. It was only fair; you’d earned it just by being you. By your flattered look, you were touched– but your brain was still working beneath the surface, and soon showed by a fleeting expression that spit from him.

Then, you caught your bottom lip for a second, before daring to look in Aizawa’s eyes again. It’s a sneaky look– like he’d snuck a peek at a card he’d meant to hide.

"...You remember what I wore on my first day at UA."

It was half question, half amusement. So dear, but oh-so pointed.

Aizawa froze.

"Black button down. You noticed me, then?" you countered more, "And here I thought you didn't care about appearances~" 

"In professional circles, no. Personal… that's a different thing, entirely." 

He kept your  sights locked onto his, not unlike how he used his quirk in a challenge– only far softer and he could risk the occasional blink.

Even when you took his glass from his hand and placed it away on the table alongside yours, he still looked fondly after you, in fact tilting his head to the other side, studying the way one piece of your hair was caught by your neck. What he’d give to be familiar with you enough to ever-so-carefully brush it back, letting his touch send a wave of shivers across your skin and maybe even make you hum at the gesture. But he couldn’t trust himself to do it now, settling on stretching his arm around the back of the couch. Just an open move, letting you join him on the couch as close as you’d like.

Was he really doing this? He never has before, but this felt so natural. 

You smiled still– and as you sit, you’re leaning into it.  Well then. 

“What was I wearing, Aizawa?”

With free fingers, he risked some little brushes on your near shoulder, bringing a happy little eyebrow lift from you. He just took in your features in close quarters, settled in it, as he remembered that day:

Black button down, grey skirt. Biker boots -practical choice- and these damn tights.

Aizawa’s dazed in the head, but he knows he's listed it off aloud based on how your sights widen, impressed. 

"Hmmm, tights do it for ya?” you smiled, “I'm surprised you haven't jumped the darling Ms. Nemuri then."

"I know way too much about Kayama to ever consider her that way,”  Aizawa’s tempered hand twirled a finger along a blown-away section of hair, just absently enough. “You however, tease just enough." 

"Do I tease you?” you offer with a little depth, “I don't mean to."

It’s here he’s worry he’s stepping over a line- if it weren’t for the downright delicious look in your eye. You say it like you’re sorry for acting unprofessionally– but you’re urging him on, hardly apologetic for your sweet posturing.

"You may not mean it, but it's not unnoticed," 

He took second to swallow, and steps fully over it. 

"or unwelcome."

You’re pleased with this, but deflect with your trademarked humor- 

"Well now that’s saying something. You've seen me in my pjs, too- far from glamorous.  That didn't break the allure for you?"

Aizawa had to huff though his nose at that memory.

"I caught you at arguably your most real self, that first night you patched me up," His outstretched arm rubbed full circles onto your shoulder now, with the lightest touch. 

“Still have no clue why you chose me over Recovery Girl. For the harshest grader in school, that was a pretty dumb move.”

“You were closer than going to campus. It was the practical choice.”

“You didn't even know if I knew first aid.” 

“You do,” Aizawa smirked. “You're too nurturing to not have a knack for it.”

Your legs crossed over, deflecting both your words and refreshing your body movement. In doing so, you slid even closer- a move not lost on Aizawa. 

“Well, I'm still not happy about it. You needed more attending than I was able to pull off. Whatever you get into those nights,” you flitted a look to the underside of his arm that lays outstretched –where you know he sports a scar now- “It… looked like it hurt, ‘Zawa.”

Warm. Warm and cared form. Felt it then, feel it now. That's the life in his chest he gets when he’s around you. 

"Can't change the past, and I certainly wouldn't have changed that. Wouldn’t pass up seeing that sight of you for the world."

This connection, this dance, it all feels that it must be older than what it is, more rooted in a shared history than a short few months. 

Aizawa wants to ‘get’ you. Know the thoughts behind your eyes. Get you talking, even if it means he needs to give up his silent nights and muted text alerts so he can learn you.  He’s happy he gets this balcony happy hour with you, out from other’s eyes, to be able to water this sweet, small thing he feels towards you to fullness.

His eyes narrowed playfully, "Are you embarrassed right now?"

Out of this entire teasing exchange, that note seemed to surprise you and turned you shy.  Short of clapping a hand onto your cheek, you just darted your gaze away- can you be cuter if you tried?

“h-Yeah, a little!" –though you tried to snark your way out of it, "you were hurt before, and blubbery- but now that we’re y'know– awake, and talking... Pretty faces make me nervous."

Nervous? Pretty? Aizawa doesn’t like the sound of either of those.

Aizawa raised a brow and gave a look, a touch more serious.

"Hey," He tapped your chin still with his free hand, "if you want me to lay off, you say the word."

Blindly, you hold his hand from retreating away– "No. You're good, I promise."

He’s drowning in you leaning into the cool touch offered to you–

“ Heh, I–uh… I’m pretty sure ‘friends’ don’t talk about each other like this, though.”

He couldn't be a coward now– not with you melting on the spot and giving him an insane amount of hope.

“Maybe not,” Aizawa reasoned gently, “-not if they’re content to stay that way.” 

–then all of a sudden his heart soared at her next words:

"Well… I like this."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I like you, like this.” With your insistence for touch, you cupped his wrist in your own chill-tipped hand.

Hell yeah. 

Aizawa huffs another win in his foolish heart, but then watches as you keep talking–  you don’t break from your softness, but look reflective off to an absent point on his chest.

“It’s funny, y'know? Most jobs, you’d be lucky to find someone you would actually wanna talk to outside of board meetings and quarterly reports… but here in our line of work, you count on each other to save your lives.”

“That’s right.” Aizawa breathes.

“I uh.. never thought I’d be workin’ with kids- trying to keep them alive too. Teach them how to do the same. But I wouldn’t feel nearly as confident to do it, rise to the challenge, if it weren’t for you, ‘Zawa. You’re just as special. Inside and out.”

And when you look to his eyes again, fully awake and still sober, he swears he’ll say yes to any night Hizashi invites him to if it means he can have you this close. Things with you just feel lived-in. Companionable. He’s drawn to you in a way unlike others before you, because he didn’t believe he’s had the right, desire, or time to even entertain it. 

But everything’s different now. It just works, in his mind. He wants to spend his respites, his missions, everything- with you at his side, having his back. For however long you’d let him.

Touching your cheek, cursing the helmet you’d have to wear on the way home that would hide this angelic face from him once again– Aizawa curls towards you, barely tipping his head which screams ‘kiss her you ass’. You notice, and follow his lead almost halfway. 

“Yeah, I like you like this…” you sighed lightly, “--and I’d like us like this, too.” 

"Hm. Good."

...the door to the patio swinging open from around the corner startles you both. Present Mic doesn’t know his strength as he projects for the block to hear, swaggering about in his search.

You looked flustered sitting back up, but Aizawa was characteristically unphased at the sight of Hizashi finally rounding with a singsong cry of his name. 

Dammit.

"Hey kids, been looking for YOU, Miss America! There's some stateside artists on the karaoke lineup with your name on iiiiit- c’mon! I hyped you already to Nemuri– she didn't believe me that you sang with me for my English midterms!!"

"What?!” you blanched, “ Who said I was doing that?"

"I did!!” Yamada thumbed at his own brilliance, “ C’mon I'll do the first one with you!"

"First one– Dude, I don't need to be touting my Southern-ass self to a bunch of pros before I even make a name for myself here."

"This is HOW you'll do it! Come n’ wow them, break the ice- you’ll do amazing!" Yamada came to your side of the settee, tugging you up to your feet with little fight. "Tch, Sho, you're rubbing off on her, aren't you? Turning our sweet teach into a wallflower as we speak, huh?"

"She was doing me a favor- has an eye out for me when I needed an escape, unlike you." Aizawa droned, to your amusement.

"Yeah yeah fair enough. Now pleeeeeease, would you come inside?  It would be so much fun!"

From the way you’re freshening your jacket collar, you’re warmed from the neck up, caught between what just almost happened and the current situation Yamada is putting you in.

You look to Aizawa just like you did inside– a  glance, but it lingers longer than before. Like you are waiting to see what he thinks. If he’ll stay or go, should you leave. 

But Aizawa isn’t so selfish like before. He doesn’t feel it necessary to keep you to himself, because he sees your affection so clearly in your eyes now. He hosts butterflies in his stomach, yes, but they aren’t frantic and flitting about wondering what you may or may not think of him- chronically tired and a contrast to the breath of fresh air you are. You see him as a companion, too. Someone he might just get the chance to study, and learn, and adore in return.

No, he knows you like him as he is. Knows you’ll choose to meet him where he stands. He can share you, and will simply watch on as you stun him even more...

The Pro-Hero is desperate for some eyedrops in all this wind outside, but he would grin and bear it if you choose to deny Yamada’s pull on you. So instead, he merely leans forward to perch on his knees, with a hand on the lip of both your drinks. What Aizawa says in his non-answer left it open to what you wanted to do.  Stay or go, he’d follow suit.

Returning to the bright-eyed and bushy-tailed fellow teacher, you breathily gave in with your ‘ok’. 

"YEAAAAAUHHHH!"

"Damn peer pressure."

"You said yes," Aizawa smirked.

"Oh if she’s going, you're coming in too!" Hizashi was already whisking you away, and Aizawa rose on his own, following your knowing smile over your shoulder and matching it. 

With many forced karaoke and radio show nights, it’s Aizawa who braves the crowd and comes up behind you at one of Present Mic’s shows,  stepping in from the balcony where you wait by its door. He’s fresh off of work, sporting a new scar across his cheek courtesy of his day job, this time.. but you greet him with that familiar scrunch of the nose that he still finds adorable.

It’s rare he leaves campus nowadays, because he feels the stakes are higher than ever for him to remain vigilant. His students are his life, and as proud of them as he is, they are a constant effort of his mind and strength. Rest doesn’t come easy, and his rewards for a job (passably) done aren’t found in many places. 

One constant he has found helps, has been you. 

You, still alluring as ever, but who makes sure he doesn’t fixate on giving and giving of himself until he breaks– but to take his rests, reset, and even take a little jaunt over to these radio shows when he has staff coverage back at the dorms. Gives you two some time to get nostalgic, sentimental– or as close as he can get to those mushy spots in his heart about the club where he wrestled out his feelings for you for the first time.

He smooths a hand across your lower back now, when he joins you. He’s held onto your hands when they're cold, giving you whatever warmth he has. He knows each and every gap on your resume, partnered with you out on the streets, tag-teams in his classroom with this plucky 1-A Class he now leads, and is content to let you fill his thoughts when he wants to rest his eyes.

He doesn’t fight his affections now. Still would rather not simper in public too much because he’s quite averse to being the center of tabloids’ attentions, but stands by you all the same. 

"I'm surprised to not see you up there,” Aizawa greets, cool as ever. 

You lean on a hip, closer to him. 

"He's got his sets lined up today, didn't ask me-” You speak a little louder over the crowd, “I swear, your cockatoo still acts like I'm some gift from the heavens, just ‘cuz I can sing!"

"It's earned. You deserve every bit of it, and not just from Hizashi."

You turned over to him shyly, drawing his attention further– your tendencies to melt under his words encourages Aizawa to compliment you directly. Often. Whatever it is about his voice that you say you’re obsessed with, he still doesn’t understand– but he uses it to full advantage as he robs your drink from your hand,

"I happen to think you have a gorgeous voice," Aizawa speaks low to your ear. “You should sing at home more often.”

“Please. As if the kids would ever let me live it down.”

You refer -of course- to the twenty shared students between you, taking them all in stride since you’ve sufficiently bonded through fire alongside them. 

“That’s teaching for ya. Gotta push yourself beyond, plus ultra and all that.”

You chortle back in your throat, risking a kiss on his etched cheek to counter his snide remark, 

“You’re off the clock, ‘Zawa. No more hero talk, huh?” 

Aizawa cocks a brow, stealing a sip, “Sorry we can’t all turn it off like you, dear.”

The comment has you biting the inside of your mouth at the tease, and allows him a quick moment to press the glass’ condensation against his eye. 

“Want some air, hon?” you try again, softer than this atmosphere should allow.

Looking back at you -your hold on his elbow ready to guide him outside just like the first night- and Aizawa doesn’t need any more sips of the whiskey he holds.  

The retreat to ‘your couch’ is one he looks forward to any chance he gets. Bass boosted from the speakers inside becomes background noise that dulls his senses, doubled by the way you cozy up under his arm watching the skyline shift in light and color in comfortable silence. You trade roles with him: taking watch while he shuts his eyes for some restorative hydration. 

But before he gets too terribly relaxed by your weight settling his aching muscles to stillness, he registers a warm press to his mouth that he’s quick to chase after. That’s a satisfying thought, too: he doesn't have to imagine what it'd be like to kiss you anymore. 

[incendiobrock]

Boston Blues {Matt Sturniolo}

Request: Linked here

Prompt(s): A showing up to B's doorstep, soaking from the rain + "Wait, don't go. Please..."

Warnings: mentions of emotional abuse (parents), language

You had always loved growing up in Boston. The colorful leaves on the trees in the fall, the fluffy, white snow in the winter, watching the flowers bloom in the spring, and relaxing by your friends pool in the summer. Every season in Boston had its perks, and sharing those memories with three of your neighbors made it that much sweeter.

When you were in middle school you had met three boys that lived down the street from you. You were waiting at the bus stop when they had arrived and introduced themselves as Nick, Matt, and Chris. The four of you instantly became inseparable and would spend every waking moment together, considering all you had to do was walk down the street and knock on their front door.

As the years went on the friendship grew, and a special spark had formed between you and Matt. Matt was your escape from reality, the anchor to your ship. Throughout your last couple years in high school there was a divide between your parents. They constantly argued into the late hours of the night, and somehow you were always brought into it. Your parents made it difficult to be home so you began to seek refuge in Matt.

Matt was the support system you needed to keep yourself from dwelling on the fact that you had such a strained relationship with your parents. You began catching feelings for the boy, which he had reciprocated. Things were untraditional in the relationship you had formed because your parents had made you lose the longing for a true relationship. They showed you that love doesn't always last and someone you love could easily become someone you hate, and that thought terrified you. Matt understood your anxieties, knowing about your home life, and let you take things at your own pace. There was no label, due to your fear of abandonment, but you were practically dating on every other level.

Now, you were both twenty years old, graduated from high school, and trying to begin figuring out adulthood. Matt and his brothers had started a YouTube channel that grew tremendously in popularity and brought in some extra pocket change. They all loved doing it, and you supported them the whole way. As you stood in their parents kitchen late one night they began discussing their future.

"I really wish we had our own space to make content. I love filming the car videos, but it would be nice to film content in a house without having to worry about disturbing mom and dad." Chris shared, taking a sip out of his Pepsi can.

"Yeah, I've been really thinking about LA ever since we've gone those few times to visit Madi." Nick added, agreeing with his brother that they would benefit from their own space. You stayed silent as you sat at the island, scared about the thought of losing your three closest friends. The chat that night was just a daydream the boys had, nothing set in stone until about a month later.

Matt paced his bedroom, dragging his feet lightly on the hardwood floors. He was waiting for you to come over so he could tell you some news that he knew would be difficult for you to hear. A light knock on his door pulled him out of his trance, "Come in!" He said. Slowly, you peeled open the door, spotting Matt standing at the foot of his bed. You smiled widely, walking over to him and initiating a hug. "Hi Matt," You said under your breath, instantly feeling lighter in his presence.

He felt himself gulp as you pulled back from the hug, you had no idea what was about to come. "Hey." He replied, taking a seat on the edge of his bed and patting the space next to him for you to sit. You complied, plopping down on his plush bed and throwing your legs over his lap as you faced towards him. His hands rested on your knees as he began to twirl the silver ring he wore on his index finger.

"Matt, what's wrong? You seem stressed?" Your hand reached out to take place on top of his, rubbing your thumb across his knuckles soothingly. His eyes remained glued to his lap as he took in a shaky breath.

"Nick, Chris, and I are moving to LA... We bought a house over there and we will be moving in a couple weeks. I know this is really sudden but we didn't know the turn around would be so fast until our offer on the house got accepted." His eyes had finally met with yours, watching as your face fell into a frown.

"Oh-" Was all you managed to say back, now you were the one looking at your lap.

"I want you to come with me." He said, placing a hand on your shoulder which causes you to reconnect your eyes with his. Your eyebrows furrowed slightly as you repeated what he had said inside your head. You shook your head, letting out an exasperated chuckle, "You know I can't leave Boston."

"Why not? You're an adult for one, plus you hate being at your house with your parents." Matt countered.

"I know... But I don't have a steady income and I just can't." Your head was spinning, thinking about what he was asking you to do. Leave your whole life behind and move halfway across the country with him? What if he decided he hated you one day and you were stuck stranded out on the West coast?

"Come on y/n, you're being ridiculous. I will help you out, I love you so much I just want you to come with me, please." Matt begged.

You shot up off the bed, glaring at him as he watched in shock at your sudden movement. "I said I can't Matt! Don't try to force me to move halfway across the country with you!" You said, raising your voice and feeling your emotions begin to catch up to you. This wasn’t a simple request that he was asking you to fulfill, this was leaving behind everything you had ever known. Jumping straight into a pit of fire, burning you with your own insecurities of being too caught up in a relationship, leaving you vulnerable to being abandoned.

"I'm not trying to force you!-"

"Yes you are! I can’t just leave my whole life behind for you! Have fun with Nick and Chris... I'm not moving." And with that, you stormed out of his room making sure the door slammed behind you. You knew deep down that he was going to leave you eventually, you just didn't expect it to be today. This was exactly why you never made anything official between you two.

---

Two weeks had passed and you hadn't heard a single word from Matt. You spent a lot of time in your bed, unable to leave it. You hadn't felt hungry and your eyes were red from all the tears you had cried. The whole time you had been apart you reminisced on all the years you had spent with Matt and the other boys. You weren't sure you were ready to leave that all behind. Nick had messaged you a few times throughout the weeks, updating you on their move. Today was finally the dreaded day.

Rain tapped on your window as it steadily poured outside. It's like the world knew how depressed you had been, reflecting your own emotions with the weather forecast. The boys had to leave to go to the airport in a little less than two hours. The walls in your house were extremely thin, allowing you to hear your parents yelling from down the stairs. Did you really want to live here like this? A numbing headache pounded in your head as you listened to the screeching downstairs.

Without thinking you pulled a small suitcase out of the back corner of your closet. Necessities and a small amount of clothes began to pile in, only grabbing what you absolutely needed. You didn’t have time to think about your actions, knowing that your own fears were going to hold you back if you let them. If things didn’t work out then you would just figure out a new plan, or so you tried reminding yourself. After grabbing as much as you could fit into your suitcase you checked the time on your phone, 1:47pm… They would be leaving to get to the airport any minute now.

The wheels on your suitcase echoed as you dragged it down the hallway, leading to the stairs. You ran down them and into the living room, causing your parents to stop their fighting and look over at you. Shock caused your body to stop in place, wide eyes looking back at your parents as they both stood with their arms crossed over their chest, angry scowls on their face. “Where do you think you’re going?” Your dad’s voice boomed, surrounding the stagnant air. Doubt about your plan began rushing back, worried about how your parents were going to react when you told them you were leaving to move across the country with a boy that they hadn’t even met. Sure, they knew who Matt was, and they had seen him around, but you never introduced him.

You swallowed some saliva as you began to walk quickly towards the front door, trying to keep your head held high, “I’m sorry, I don’t have time to explain. I promise I’ll text you when I land!” By this point your hand was on the door knob and you were stepping out into the freezing cold rain.

“Land? What do you mean land?” Your mom yells, as you shut the front door and take off down the street, your suitcase rolling behind you. It was in moments like these you felt thankful that the triplets only lived down the street from your house. Rain drops pelted you in the face, soaking through your jeans and hoodie. From a distance you could see Nick, Matt, and Chris packing the trunk of the van with their belongings.

“Wait!” You yelled, causing them all to look up at you as your feet smacked against the wet, gravel road. Finally, you had reached their house. Your chest heaved up and down as you tried to catch your breath.

“Kid, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Chris asked, taking ahold of the handle of your suitcase and rolling it away from your body.

“Wait, don’t go… Please!” You got out, between some huffs of air.

“Our flight is at 2:45, we have to go y/n…” Matt said solemnly, feeling his heart break seeing you standing in front of him for the last time, covered in rain. You shook your head, taking a step closer to Matt and taking his hands into your own, “Not without me.” Tears formed in your eyes as you tried to choke back your emotion.

Matt’s hands immediately let go of yours as he pulled you into a hug, wrapping his arms over your shoulders. You accepted the hug, tightening your grip around his torso, snuggling your face into his chest. You didn’t think you would ever get to feel him hold again. You were thankful the trunk of the car was covering you both as the rain continued falling around you. “You’re coming with us?” He whispered, trying to convince himself that what you said was true. He felt your head nod, confirming his question and mending his breaking heart.

His hands found sanctuary on the sides of your face as he pulled your lips in for a rough kiss. You kissed him back with passion, thanking your mind for not holding you back from this moment. After the kiss, your foreheads rested against one another and a soft smile formed across your lips.

“I love you, Matt. Let’s go to LA.”

“I love you more… You have no idea how happy I am that you’re coming with me.”

[rheindell]

My thoughts on why (just) going to therapy would have not saved Suguru Geto

I see a lot of people talking/writing/musing about how Riko's death was a starting point of Suguru's downfall.

But I, for one, think that foundation for Suguru's deflection had been laid way prior his meeting with Riko. It was the way he had been taught (or simply grew up) thinking about sorcerers and non-sorcerers.

From the very beginning he had labeled non-sorcerers as "the weak", those, who need to be protected. The weakness in question being the inability to use cursed techniques and manipulate curse energy.

Ultimately, despite his initially noble and relatively collected facade, he'd been showing signs of being a classist (or racist? Considering how later he came up with the thought that sorcerers and non-sorcerers are two different species entirely) from the very beginning. He wasn't "a sincerely kind and good person", he chose to act like one, maybe because he was told to, maybe because he was youthful (and who doesn't want to be a hero, when they're young?) and untainted, but not flawless still, and thus instead of being straight up cruel and genocidal, he used to be patronizing and lowkey condescending alongside with being nice. Non-sorcerers always were a second class people for him. It's just before Riko's death he'd been wearing the mantle of the "noble protector", and after her demise and finding out how Nanako & Mimiko had been abused by the hand and will of those who, he'd thought, needed his protection, he snapped and spiralled down to straight up hating every non-sorcerer.

I see a lot of people saying that if Suguru had a proper therapy, he could have been "saved", but I can't agree with that, not entirely, at least.

Yes, he was in dire need of proper help after Riko's death, after Satoru's near death experience, he needed help to fight his identity crisis, but what he had needed way before that was a proper teacher and/or a parental figure, or a wider social circle, or a friend beside Satoru, or anyone, honestly, with a properly working moral compass who could have knocked those ideas of segregating sorcerers and non-sorcerers from each other out of his head. And, unfortunately, level-headed and responsible adults are what Jujutsu High and jujutsu society in general severely lack in (Nanami, forgive us, for we've fucked up).

It should have never been about "the strong protecting the weak", it should have been more about fighting the way one can to save lives, period. A sorcerer can't safely remove a tumor from a patient's brain to save their life, but a neurosurgeon can. A neurosurgeon can't exorcise a cursed spirit to save a life, but a sorcerer can. Both doing what they are able to in accordance with their innate qualities and abilities in order to achieve the same goal.

It's not about being better than others because one can do something other people cannot, it's about just doing what you can do. A pity there was no one to show Suguru that.

In the end, he was a child who'd fallen victim to adults' neglectful teachings and leniency, and got stuck in his simplistic beliefs. To me it feels like he'd never been given an opportunity for proper mental growth, and stagnated in his radical black-and-white (and naive, frankly) views and, eventually, his unhinged gargantuan dreams of making the world "better" in the most lunatic way possible.

And that's just sad. Not just the demise of a beloved character, but also the "what could have been".

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 3/18/2025

in which we read a lesbian romance where the highs are pretty fuckin good and the lows are not so pretty good

listening: the giver by chappell roan

reading: a bella books update, but mostly Beautiful Journey by Kenna White

watching: fallow week

playing: genshin (!) and Pokémon

making: garden update, rit dye bounty

listening

new single out. i want to hear this in EVERY commercial this summer

-

reading

special shoutout to a blazed tumblr post that led me to Haden Cross’ Uncontinented Stars, a queer moby-dick retelling. before you dismiss it out of hand here are some of my thoughts about how it neatly avoids some common queer retelling pitfalls

in this gay and lesbian romance project, i really think (one of) my (big) problem(s) is with Bella Books specifically as a publisher and their lack of quality control or editing assistance, but we are closer to done with them. with the bella and naiad conglomerate, i have two books of short stories (one naiad one bella, neither with covers i can take to work) and two more naiad originals after this. i will be breaking them up into three weeks in between kim baldwins (the insane lesbian bunker mercenary one i enjoyed).

three up this week: could not finish the one on the left due to a printing error with random missing pages, could not finish the one on the right bc of a hard-out trigger.

this is Kenna White’s Beautiful Journey, a 2008 Bella Books original (not acquired from Naiad), 276p softcover with a worse than usual application of glue to the perfect bound binding.

Kit Anderson is determined to make a difference. All around her the Battle for Britain is raging, and ferrying factory-fresh airplanes to combat bases makes excellent use of her skills as flight lieutenant for the British Women’s Air Transport Auxiliary. An American in southern England, she is undaunted by war. It’s safer than love.

The talented aviatrix could fly a crippled craft through a thunderstorm without a compass and find her way home, so it is singularly disconcerting to find herself flying in circles around Emily Mills, a too young, too attractive and too abrasive British literature teacher. Even though Emily’s grandmother is Lady Marble, it’s a time of war and scarcity and Emily needs work. Kit offers to help her find a job on the air base—and as is often true, no good deed goes unpunished.

i had zero expectations from a bella books book (and there were still a handful of misspellings and formatting glitches) but on a scene by scene level, White is excellent at setting a scene and making it come fully alive with a sort of forties wartime romcom slapstick vibe. in the back half there’s a very good very coen brothers scene with ornery pig farming lesbians, married for twenty-eight years, who (after holding her at shotgunpoint and wanting to see the American label in her American silk underwear) help Kit get her plane out of a field after an emergency landing and some intergenerational bonding. to which she gifts them her silk parachute as an anniversary present. there’s a great dramatic romantic set piece during a daytime air raid in London, where they flee a claustrophobic, unhygenic tube station and shelter outdoors in an alcove (very stupid). a big dramatic kiss to comfort someone and distract them from a panic attack. that sort of thing.

contains one of the worst reactions to a first orgasm i have ever read: i texted my bestie in horror “American lesbian successfully seduced British lesbian (found out she was a virgin, got her clothes off) and after she made the British lesbian come the British lesbian BURST INTO TEARS AND RAN OFF INTO THE NIGHT” HELLO??? EMILY WHAT??? while this is a BONKERS thing to do in real life i must applaud this specific bella book for making me go HELLO??? in this way and not in frustration bc i want something! anything! to happen. good decisions are out interesting decisions are in etc. bella books sets SUCH a low bar.

also contains straight up one of the most effective scenes ive read in this project so far, that made me tear up AT WORK:

the book has a very water-themed series of mishaps (walks in on Kit while she’s having a bath, drenches her with dirty water from a kitchen pot, doesn’t set the brake on a truck and Kit has to drop flat in the mud for the truck not to run her over, Kit ends up going back in the rain to rescue Emily from a thunderstorm, Kit rescues Emily from a river overrunning its banks, at least one more thing i can’t recall). this is a pretty amusing lesbian getting-you-wet schtick without doing a russo brothers HEY IM GETTING YOU WET. GET IT? WE FUCK NOW? and does supply some believable friction for the “why can’t they be together NOW” question. they can’t be together now bc emily is a walking disaster.

unfortunately i think this book is much weaker in the last third of the relationship, and the way they resolved their misunderstanding from an accidental eavesdrop felt like it could be very forties romantic drama in the eventual film adaptation, but felt very flimsy as a modern reader. i hope that makes sense. wretched ending, i did NOT enjoy the Kit spanking Emily scene to get her to confess why she broke up with her in the LAST THREE PAGES. it felt very strange when they were so focused on being soft and gentle for the rest of the book, and i don’t think that’s a good place to rebuild a relationship on.

yes, and the sex?

certainly better than all of the other bella books sex scenes: three? i think? with one nearly a full chapter long. i wish some of the word choice (eg “honey path”) was different. i think White’s strength is in groups conferring amongst each other and establishing non-romantic relationships, but she’s good at making me invested in them because they have so much frustration to overcome and have to establish a friendship beachhead before they can get to anything romantic.

by far the best bella book with some really standout individual scenes, but still a very mixed bag. i will probably keep it on the strength of that shortbread passage alone bc. OOF. i think it was worth slogging through the bella/naiad books for that.

-

watching

rare fallow week! hopefully i will sort myself out as i get used to working in person and need less completely silent floor time. hopefully.

-

playing

no news on the desktop front unforch BUT i did finally have a phone upgrade tick around and good god. going from an iPhone 12 to a 16 plus is insane. this thing is enormous. i get WHY genshin makes a billion dollars a year on mobile bc this looks sick but my god do i prefer mouse and keyboard. i feel a billion years old. i am glad i can get in and do my dailies and some events but i am nowhere near confident enough to do like. the fighting part of the fighting game. anyway, get a load of this guy and his thigh high demonias

with this guy the only other guy i really really want is pink fox lady Yae Miko. and woman of mystery Skirk. whenever the fuck she drops. so glad i was grinding before my pc died lol bc i dropped three mil in-game currency on making sure my beautiful sad man has maxed artifacts maxed weapon and talents to 8/10. he would be totally maxed but i have One! ONE! boss drop left and can’t quite clinch it yet on mobile. i may have to drop the difficulty level down as far as it will go :( i cannot git gud :(

but get a load of this other guy!

-

making

continuing battles with the insane microclimate on my balcony, which is extremely hot and dry yet i am constantly battling drainage issues and a fungal damping-off issue, where seedlings wither at the base before they get their first true leaves. also having a strange issue with things simply not coming up: the purple bush beans and lettuce mix i bought last year, and half the marigolds i bought this year don’t want to sprout At All even in a damp paper towel in a baggie. they’ve been kept in the cool and dark. so what gives.

however, the nearly six year old butternut squash seeds @shiny-good-rock sent me at the beginning of the pandemic? all four of those babies came up. while they sort themselves out into something photogenic, behold my beautiful little satellite array of nasturtiums. they need to be moved around a bit so they all have breathing room but that’s a problem for future kay

and finally, i so rarely enter giveaways but i entered one on Instagram and got a stupid mchugelarge box FULL of rit dye!!! i am going to commit so many synthetic crimes. gorls THRILLED by big box and so much paper

[elicit-digital]

GoHighLevel Pricing & Automation: What You Need to Know in 2025

In the fast-paced digital marketing world of 2025, automation and CRM integration are not just helpful—they’re essential. Whether you're a startup, an agency, or a consultant, platforms like GoHighLevel (also known as GHL) are transforming the way we work. From HighLevel’s marketing automation tools to GoHighLevel CRM experts, there's a lot to explore.

If you're wondering about GoHighLevel pricing, automation tools, and how it can power up your sales and marketing strategies, this guide will walk you through everything you need to know.

What is GoHighLevel?

GoHighLevel is an all-in-one CRM and marketing automation platform designed for agencies, consultants, and small businesses. It combines features like sales funnel builders, email/SMS marketing, workflow automation, booking systems, and more into one user-friendly dashboard.

Think of it as a powerful toolbox packed with GoHighLevel tools that replace several standalone software solutions—while offering white-label services that allow agencies to brand it as their own.

GoHighLevel Pricing in 2025: Plans That Fit Every Business

Understanding GoHighLevel pricing is key to choosing the right plan. In 2025, the platform continues to offer flexible options:

Starter Plan – $97/month

Perfect for freelancers or small businesses:

1 Account

GoHighLevel CRM

Funnel and Website Builder

Booking tools

GHL workflow automation

Agency Unlimited Plan – $297/month

Ideal for growing agencies:

Unlimited sub-accounts

GoHighLevel automation tools

Full access to gohighlevel sales funnel builders

Branded desktop app

SaaS Mode Plan – $497/month

Great for scaling and reselling:

Everything in Agency Unlimited

GoHighLevel white label features

Full SaaS reselling tools

Priority Go High Level support

There are also annual billing options with discounts. Many GoHighLevel experts suggest going for the Agency plan if you're looking to scale faster and offer white-labeled services to your clients.

Why Marketing Automation Matters in 2025

Marketing automation is the key to saving time, improving conversion rates, and increasing efficiency. With GHL CRM integration and workflow automation, you can:

Nurture leads automatically

Trigger personalized emails and SMS

Create advanced sales funnels

Assign tasks to your team without manual work

With Go High Level automation, businesses can build smart systems that work 24/7, giving you more time to focus on strategy and customer relationships.

Powerful Automation Features in GoHighLevel

Let’s dive into some of the automation features that make Go High Level software a game-changer:

GHL Workflow Automation

Design custom workflows for lead nurturing, sales follow-up, appointment reminders, and more. It's visual, drag-and-drop, and easy to use.

Sales Automation

From email drips to SMS triggers, sales automation helps close deals without the constant back-and-forth.

GoHighLevel Funnel Builder

Use drag-and-drop functionality to create conversion-focused sales funnels and marketing funnels. Capture leads, upsell offers, and schedule appointments all in one place.

AI & Smart Triggers

2025 brings even smarter automation. With AI-based triggers and lead scoring, GoHighLevel automations are more intelligent than ever.

CRM and Funnels: The Heart of HighLevel’s Power

A major reason businesses turn to Go High Level is its powerful CRM and funnel capabilities. Let’s break them down:

Go High Level CRM

Manage leads, pipelines, tasks, and customer conversations in one place. Many gohighlevel CRM experts highlight its simplicity and effectiveness.

GoHighLevel Funnel Builder

Easily build pages for lead capture, upsells, or webinars. It's similar to tools like ClickFunnels but fully integrated with your Go High Level platform.

GoHighLevel Website Builder

Need a landing page or full site? No problem. The built-in website builder makes it simple to create branded, mobile-optimized websites quickly.

GoHighLevel Support & Community

A big plus is the growing community and resources available for users. If you're stuck, Go High Level support is responsive, and you can also connect with a GoHighLevel consultant or Go High Level experts to help you implement your systems.

Want to see how it works? Book a Go High Level demo to explore features before committing.

Why Agencies Love GoHighLevel

Agencies especially love GHL for these reasons:

White-label options to resell as their own CRM

Automate onboarding, follow-ups, and client management

Custom dashboards with agency branding

Affordable pricing compared to stacking tools like Calendly, Mailchimp, ClickFunnels, and HubSpot

With a single login, you manage multiple client accounts—making Go High Level company setup incredibly scalable.

Is GoHighLevel Right for You?

If you're looking for a:

Centralized CRM with automation

Powerful sales and marketing funnel system

Affordable and scalable pricing

White-labeled software solution

Platform backed by growing support and expert consultants

Then yes—GoHighLevel could be the perfect fit. Whether you're a GoHighLevel consultant, freelancer, or digital agency, there’s a plan for every stage of your business.

Conclusion: 

As automation, CRM, and funnel-building become more essential in 2025, GoHighLevel stands out as an all-in-one growth solution. From marketing automation and sales automation to CRM integration and white-label services, it’s everything a growing business or agency needs under one roof.

Looking to implement GoHighLevel for your agency or startup? At Elicit Digital, we specialize in setting up, customizing, and scaling GHL systems for maximum performance. Whether you need a custom GoHighLevel website, optimized GHL workflow automation, or expert-level funnel strategy—we’ve got you covered.

Ready to automate your growth? Contact Elicit Digital today and let our GoHighLevel experts show you what’s possible.

For more information:

Visit: https://www.elicit.digital/

Email: sales@elicit.digital

Call us: +91-9111555876

[bldngiris]

꒰OKLAHOMA SMOKESHOW ꒱ . . . d winston !

pairing(s) : book! dallas winston x fem!soc! reader

in which y/n dreams of escaping tulsa but her dad is holding her back. however dallas winston listens and yearns.

requested : yes or no.

!! content warnings : yelling, swearing, r's father is an ass, r is a soc but she doesn't like being one, discrimination. movie dallas used only for visuals even though i used blonde book dallas in mind!! mentions of religion, angst

robin chirps : happy easter!! this fic is inspired by oklahoma smokeshow by zach bryan :) bold is the song lyrics!

go on and put on that dress that all the bad boys like.

y/n stood in front of her full-length mirror and took a look at herself one last time before heading out the door. if her father had caught her wearing anything other than appropriate soc attire, she would be done for. the amount of times she had been hit on by cocky high class boys who just wanted to get into her pants was numerous, alas her father didn't care. "you don't want to look like one of those greasy balls of garbage do you?" he would ask her. truth was y/n didn't want to be a soc. sh didn't want to be a greaser either. she wanted to escape tulsa and live in a city without labels and get away from all the hostility stored away in the streets of tulsa.

i know your daddy ain't home so ride with me tonight. you always wind up here in a puddle of tears

y/n had made her way to the diner with her friends. however, her "friends" had left her midway through the walk home to go hang out with a group of other socs. it had started to rain and the closest place y/n could go to was bucks. y/ns feet subconsciously made their way to the building lit by neon beer signs, ignoring the voice in the back of her head saying, "if i catch you 'round one of them greaser places.."

she slowly opened the door to the place, as a mixture of tears, mascara and raindrops ran down her face, her hair sticking to her face, her dress drenched. many eyes were on her as barely, if any, socs came to bucks. whispers, some louder than others presumably by drunk men were heard as y/n sat on one of the bar stools.

them boys are out and they're angry and they're lookin' for blood In the back of a blue old pick up truck. you've got nowhere to go although you're all gussied up

y/n sat at the barstool, a shaggy, pale, blonde boy sat beside her, a malboro cigarette hanging out of his mouth loosely.

"hey man, what're you doin' out here?" he asked the soc, curiously, in a sluggish tone of voice. y/n sniffled.

"my friends left me when we were at the diner, n' i didn't wanna get jumped, it's dangerous walkin' home by myself, y'know." she sniffled again. "plus, it's cold and wet." she paused again. dallas listened, as he hummed and nodded, understanding what she was talking about.

there's so much whiskey in his coke it'll make her nose bend

"that really sucks man," he muttered taking a sip of his whiskey and coke, y/n could smell the drink from her seat. dallas did't turn away or ignore her after that. they spent the next hour talking.

but she swears that his love is a damn god send

don't get me wrong, dallas hated socs. but y/n was different, under the high class, hair done, pretty dress facade, she was a normal girl yearning for more than just a privilege title. the two could relate on another level which dallas had appreciated. dallas and y/n both wanted more or less the same thing, both wanted to escape tulsa, but more or less everything was holding them back from doing so.

she's known god since she was a child, she used to play in the yard and she would dream of one day

y/n played in the front yard of her house with a white picket fence. she saw two kids around her age, playing over by a park around the 'border' between the west and east side.

"hi! im y/n can i play with you?" she asked the three children. they were greaser children, as seen by the difference in their appearance.

'til the world came around and took her dreaming away. told her how to dress and act and smile.

"sure! im soda, thats johnny and that one over there is steve" one said. soon enough, y/n's father had come out of the house, soon following a burst of yelling came about. "y/n get over here and away from that white trash." he exclaimed. y/n wondered, how could a grown adult be so hostile toward children? y/ns father grabbed the little girls hand and took her back over to the freshly painted house on the block.

'y/n, sweetie, you know better than to talk to those type of people." he told her. "now, im sure mrs. sheldon and mrs. valances children would love to play with you hm?" he said. the little girl with pigtails and turned around to watch the greaser kids looking at her sadly, eventually cheering themselves up and laughing softly as they played on the monkey bars.

she's an oklahoma smokeshow. he's an asshole from back home. she'll never make it out alive.

that night, at bucks dallas and y/n talked for hours. y/n told dallas about her image and how she was forced by her father to keep up the good girl act, how every soc guy just wanted to get in her pants and how she's never going to make it out alive.

dallas told her about how he grew up in the streets of brooklyn, new york because his asshole father didn't give a shit about him. his mother and grandmother didn't have enough to provide, because his dad kept taking the profit to the bottle. he ended up in juvi by the time he was ten for theft, trying to provide for his family until he just left and ended up here in tulsa.

that small town bar scene, where small vices kill your big dreams. he'd take you home but he's too drunk to drive.

"but my dad will never let me leave, not until i'm 21 at least, and if i do, he'll list me as a runaway to the police and they'll come and find me." she muttered, solemnly. it was nearly midnight now. dallas way to intoxicated to drive. y/n had used bucks landline to call a cab as she made her way home, thinking of the boy who had changed her life in a mere few hours.

well, I've been here, I've been up all night. thinkin' 'bout a life with you and i. one you'll never know 'cause you're a small town smokeshow.

dallas layed there, head empty except for the thought of y/n. it was nearly 3 in the morning at this point, but all he could think about was the girl who he had just met but felt like they had known each other for years and there he continued dreaming, because unfortunately for him only one of the two got their 'escape' from the prejudice of tulsa, oklahoma. unfortunately, it wasn't y/n. unfortunately, it wasn't the way either of them planned.

[babyjakes]

consider the following:

(warnings: slightly above canon level violence, child abuse, major character death)

a few high-ranking hydra members finding some sick pleasure in tormenting steve about bucky’s captivity. steve and the team know about bucky’s capture/the winter soldier, but they haven’t been able to rescue him from captivity yet. hydra regularly mails steve videotapes of bucky being tortured, forced to commit atrocities, and wiped at the end of it all.

then one day, new videos start arriving. they feature a tiny baby girl, not even a year old. big bambi eyes and wispy brown hair, and the tapes are labeled with black sharpie: baby barnes.

the sounds of the babies cries are cemented into steve’s brain as he watches the horror show alone, on his old cassette player, in the darkness of his small apartment. the team tried talking him out of watching them, but he wouldn’t let up. if the baby was tortured just for the sake of him seeing it, the least he could do was witness her suffering.

the particular tapes that keep him up at night are those where bucky is forced into a white room with a panel of glass down the center. he sits silently on one side, while the baby is allowed to roam free on the other. she presses right up against the glass, smacking her tiny hands against it weakly, sobbing loudly for her daddy. but bucky can’t move to comfort her, not even an inch, due to the gun pressed harshly to his forehead.

three or four tapes come like this, before steve begins noticing changes in the tiny girl. eventually she learns that her daddy will not save her; he won’t even look at her. she stops approaching the glass, stops crying, stops hoping for any love or attention from the man on the other side of the room. she learns to crawl weakly to the opposite corner, curling up on her tummy, chewing her little fingers as a fleeting attempt to comfort herself.

several months after the baby’s first appearance, bucky makes a grave mistake on a mission, and is put down like a sick dog when he returns to his captors. like everything else, steve watches from the silence of his home. a few weeks go by with no further mail, and steve fears the baby could’ve met the same fate as her father.

then one day, an unlabeled box is left outside steve’s door. when he brings it inside and opens it on his living room floor, he finds baby barnes, asleep with a makeshift iv pumping sedatives through her tiny veins.

[super-ion]

The Voyages of the Padua

Chapter 4

(1, 2, 3 | next)

The second time in her life that she woke up was significantly gentler than the first.

For one, she was warm. At some point, she had acquired a blanket. It was rough and scratchy where it touched bare skin, but it provided comforting weight on her body.

For another, she seemed to be surrounded by all manner of whispering noises. Clicks and beeps and hisses and a distant bass hum that she could feel more than hear. They were good noises. As long as those noises were going, it meant the ship was alive.

Ship…

Her eyes snapped open and she sat up with a gasp.

She was in what appeared to be a small cramped med bay. Most of the paneling was white with a high contrast red stripe around eye level. Well, white was a bit of a stretch, most of the paint was chipped and worn, with the most egregious damage painted over with what she assumed was available at the time.

Shoved into one nook was a collection of apparatus, all folded up, bearing the label “Auto-doc”. It was the sort of generic medical robot that could be found on most starships too small to have a dedicated medical team. The only difference here was that someone had glued a pair of googly eyes on it.

The mattress underneath her crackled as she shifted her weight around to get a better look of the room. Not very comfortable, likely waterproof.

“Good morning, sleepy head!”

She yelped and toppled out of the bed.

Something tugged painfully - an IV line plugged into the port on her arm. Except hadn't she been forced to bite that one off?

Panic flared. It was attached to her. She needed it out. She needed to…

“Hey! Whoa! If you break that, you gotta pay for it! Also, please don't break yourself!”

The disembodied voice cut through her panic. This wasn't the Eosphorus. She wasn't waking up alone this time.

“You good there?” the voice asked.

She let out a breath and disengaged the port with slightly shaking hands. Unlike before, it slid out easily and she dropped it on the bed.

“Yeah, I think so…” she replied.

She looked up to see someone floating in mid air. No, not floating, it was a projection on a sheet of plex, one of those holographic displays that created the illusion of space. She noted the black strip on top of the plex that probably housed cameras and microphones and whatever else was needed for this interaction.

The person was watching her with an expression of intense, playful curiosity. Wild bushy hair framed a round youthful face and an oversized pink sweater obscured most of her body except where sparkly leggings poked out.

“Um… hello?” the woman said.

“Hi! I'm Ria!” the hologram replied with an impish grin. “I use she/her usually, but anything’s good.”

Ria, or the image of Ria, stood up straight and offered a hand to shake in a show of mock solemnity.

She wasn't sure what she was supposed to do. Obviously she couldn't shake, seeing as Ria was technically a two dimensional projection of a virtual being. She settled for an awkward wave.

“I don't know what my name is,” she admitted.

“Huh… auto-doc did say there were some anomalous readings in that brainpan of yours. I really thought you might be a Cassidy, seeing as your jumpsuit says Cassidy right there on that patch there.”

She glanced down at the patch.

“Oh… this isn't mine. I'm just borrowing it… I'm sorry, what do you mean, anomalous readings?”

“Ooooh… yeeeeaaaah,” Ria let out in a long breath before sucking on her teeth. “I'm not really qualified to discuss medical diagnoses. You're gunna have to take it up with Aela, but she's defragging right now. The drift kinda scrambles her up for a bit, takes her platform a while to recover.”

That answered exactly zero questions and raised so many more… which in all fairness was about on par with her short life so far.

“So, if you're not Cassidy, who are you?” Ria demanded. “I mean, you literally just said you don’t know, but that just means you can be whoever you want. We gotta call you something... I mean, going around referring to you as “mystery woman” or whatever would probably get tiring after a while, you know?”

“Oh… I guess not,” she replied.

Ria was watching her expectantly. Oh, did Ria want an answer right now? She felt a sudden intense pressure to get a good grade in self actualization, something both normal to want and possible to achieve.

The seconds dragged out in awkward silence as her mind raced. She needed to say something, anything.

“Uh… call me... Cass?"

"Cass? As in short for Cassidy?"

"Yes... I mean no... I mean sort of. Maybe," Cass replied.

“Alright, Cass it is!” Ria replied clapping her hands in excitement. “Oh, by the way, all your stuff is over there.”

Ria gestured to a duffle bag in the corner of the room. Cass stared at it for a long moment before finally recognizing it. Somewhere between terrifying creatures and security androids, she had lost track of it. By all accounts, it should still be back on the Eosphorus… unless someone picked it up and carried it here? Who or why she didn't know.

“Tre wanted to ransack it and see if there was anything valuable inside,” Ria explained, “but Mina wouldn't let them. Whatcha got in there? Is it gold?”

Well, that answered a who… maybe. But it didn't exactly provide a why. But then, why had she packed it full of things in the first place?

Cass approached the bag and pulled the zipper open, letting out a tiny relieved sigh at the sight of the teddy bear and everything else.

“Awwwww,” Ria gushed. “That's so cute!”

Cass glanced back at her to see an exact copy of the teddy bear clutched in Ria's arms. How has she…? Oh right, hologram.

“Can I keep this copy?” Ria asked, holding out the holographic version. “I mean, you're allowed to say no. I don't want to make things weird or anything. People sometimes get weird about personal stuff like this.”

“Yeah, sure,” Cass replied tentatively. “Hey… um…”

She wasn't sure how to ask this next question politely.

“Are you… I mean… why are you…?”

Ria let out an affronted gasp.

“Cassidy! You can't just ask someone why they're a hologram!”

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean-”

Ria burst into laughter.

“Your face! Oh my gosh! No, it's cool. I'm the ship AI. Well... sort of. My official primary function is navigation. I'm not technically integrated with the Padua, but I interface with a lot of her lower systems. She's really friendly, like a big fluffy dog.”

Cass looked around the room, trying to imagine the starship as a large friendly dog.

“Hey, so…” Ria said. “Please don't take this the wrong way, but you really look like you could use a shower. Do you want a shower?”

Cass very much did want a shower.

Unfortunately the shower booth that sat across the hall from the med bay was nearly as tight as the cryo tube and the reality of being trapped in a tight wet space somewhat soured the experience.

Aside from that, the water was warm and it was still quite literally the most luxuriant experience of her life.

At least until she discovered the small patch of shaved hair at the base of her neck, and the slightly raised edge of a surgical scar that had been hastily cauterized shut. It was fresh… or had been fresh whenever Cass went into the cryo pod. She still didn't even know how long ago that had been. Days? Years? Longer?

“Anomalous readings,” Ria had said. Someone had clearly been inside her head, relatively recently in terms of biological time.

She didn't even realize she was crying until the water shut off abruptly at the end of her allotment and she found herself leaning her head against the tile, shoulders shaking slightly from the emotion.

She couldn't remember anything. That fact had been more of an abstract academic fact while the wake up drugs swirled around in her bloodstream, when staying alive and reaching safety was the only thing that mattered. Now the reality of her situation hit her full on, bringing a profound sense of loss.

She depressed the dryer mechanism and closed her eyes as assorted vents blasted her with warm air from all directions.

She was alive. She was safe (probably).

As the dry cycle wound to a finish, she opened her eyes and once again, she found herself on a strange ship, staring at a reflection that she didn't recognize. She looked better, slightly less haggard and the self inflicted scratches were healing. The cheeks were still sunken and the eyes still ringed by dark circles.

She needed a meal or three and a proper night's sleep.

And she needed answers... if there ever were any. What if there weren't? Or what if there were and she didn't like them?

The face in the mirror looked even more bewildered and lost than before if that was possible.

Maybe Ria had been right and she really could be anyone she wanted.

“Well,” she told her reflection with a weak smile. “I guess it's time to figure out who Cass is.”

[vraisetzen]

𝑨 𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒕 – 𝑲𝒐𝒌𝒖𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒃𝒐 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓

Summary: As Kokushibo does the laundry, he stumbles upon a pair of your underwear.

Tags: NSFW, 18+, Modern/KimeGaku AU, No use of (y/n)

Author's note: A short writing exercise. And I've been obsessed with writing about men jerking off lately...

It comes as little surprise that Kokushibo is fairly adept at doing the laundry – as Kibutsuji Muzan's designated secretary-slash-bodyguard-slash-handler, he is more than accustomed to managing his employer's collection of silk shirts with Italian labels and wool trousers with double pleats and monogram stitching along the inner lining.

When it comes to your clothes and his, Kokushibo has a system down pat, from sorting out dyed fabrics from his dress shirts, to polyester blends from cotton fabrics, and special netting bags for delicate garments. It was a language that only he spoke, with a frazzled attempt once on your part to take over the chores leaving him more than a little disgruntled as you turned his white boxers a darling shade of baby pink.

Hence, it has become a routine for him to find himself kneeling by the washing machine every Sunday, pawing through the laundry basket quietly and efficiently. His shirts and your pyjamas; your shorts and his gym towels. He tosses them into the washing machine, making a mental note to himself on how high he would have to set the water and rinse levels when he is finished.

And then, Kokushibo comes to your intimates – this is not foreign domain to him either. At this stage in your relationship, he is more than familiar with what you wear: the wireless bras, a unisex thong that your friends gave to you as a joke on Singles' Day, lacy pieces that you wear infrequently on special occasions. Kokushibo finds nothing embarrassing about this; he has already seen you in a far more revealing state, and this is, once again, routine.

What is not routine, however, is the strange curiosity that takes root inside him as he holds your panties in his hand, pausing for a long second. It is nothing special – a grey hipster that is a little loose around the elastic from wear – but Kokushibo hesitates as he lingers just over the metallic ring of the laundry drum. Perhaps it is the piece's simplicity; something you throw on without caring for seduction or looking pretty, something that is just there as you go about your day, beneath your clothes, something you hardly think about.

Kokushibo turns the underwear inside out, where there is a slightly darker mark on the crotch, the remnants of you on the cloth. A shot of arousal twinges through his cock as he wonders if you have ever fantasised about him while wearing this particular pair, staining the cotton with your wetness while you are at work.

Did your cheeks flush with the thoughts of him pummeling into you, stifling your moans through clenched teeth and bitten lip? Did you need to excuse yourself from the presence of your colleagues, escaping into the bathroom, checking each empty stall before choosing the one at the end? Did your hands tremble as you fumble with the lock, before pressing your back up against the door as you lift your dress up and slide your fingers into your aching depths?

Kokushibo presses his nose up against the underwear and inhales, and is greeted by the faint scent of sweet-salty musk – the same notes that he finds when he dives between your legs. His hand reaches for the tent in his trousers, rubbing himself through his sweatpants. This feels wrong – debased, even; jerking off to your underwear like some pervert lurking around the laundromat.

And truthfully, if he wanted, needed, you so badly, then you are but a text or a phone call away; but as Kokushibo growls into his hand, thinking about the silky wet of your folds, the threads of glistening juices that clings to his fingers as he strokes your cunt, there is very little regard on his part on what is right. And right now, he is stroking himself swiftly and firmly; it is not like how you do it, with your languished motions and endless patience for teasing out his pleasure – but he is not here for prolonged foreplay. The rough texture of his sweatpants makes for excellent friction, and he runts up against his hand, angling himself precisely to glide his cockhead over the fabric.

It does not take long for him to climax, and he does so with a jerk of his hips and a ragged growl into the inside of his boxers. A dark patch blooms over his sweatpants, mirroring the faint mark on your underwear, and for a few seconds Kokushibo simply stares down at his lap, dazed by the quickness which he brought himself to completion. His cock is still twitching weakly as he thinks of you, and what you will say if you were to come through the doors right now, arms full with the groceries for the week ahead. Will you scold him for making a mess? Or will you let him bend you over the washing machine, paper bags and laundry basket equally forgotten?

Alas, these questions will have to wait as Kokushibo gets up on shaky feet. He pulls off his trousers and boxers with his clean hand and washes them in the basin; and when he comes back, he gives the offending piece of garment – that wicked, ordinary pair of grey panties – a final look before chucking them all in the wash.

For more of my writings, check out my AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vraisetzen/pseuds/vraisetzen

[tenjin-no-shinja]

Image originally found on this post, thank you to @sag-dab-sar for sending it to me :D I also shared the original post which has good info, this post is just me translating the images themselves, while the other focussed more on giving expanded info.

Translation of Images

The text to the left of the family praying reads:

 "Let's Worship with Two Bows, Two Claps, One Bow!"

The text below the image of a Jingū Taima outside the holder reads:

"Please place this sheet of white paper above drawers and bookshelves to worship."

The text below the image of a Jingū Taima inside a wooden holder reads:

"You can also mount a small kamidana (Simple Kamidana)"

The text to the right of the family praying reads:

"Even those who cannot set up a kamidana due to living in condos and other housing situations, can worship in this way."

The credit for the illustrations is: Kawada Ken

Way of Worship

The kanji on the images of the ofuda:

•天照皇大神宮　てんしょうこうたいじんぐう Ofuda for Amaterasu Ōmikami

•氏神神社　うじがみじんじゃ Ofuda from your local shrine (can be local as in closest shrine to you, or a shrine associated with your family)

•崇敬神社　すうけいじんじゃ Ofuda from a shrine you decided to patronize

The translation of the text pointing to 3 white papers stacked on each other going up reads:

When stacking ofuda, the Ise Shrine (Jingū Taima) should be placed in front.

The translation of the text next to those papers inside a wooden structure side by side reads: 

When placing them side by side, they are arranged in the order shown on the left.

Offering Examples

The diagrams show two ways of arranging the basic offerings. Figure 1 (right) has 3 dishes in a row labels (right to left): Salt, Rice, Water. Figure 2 has 3 dishes and two bottles arranged in a square shape. The back row (right to left) is labelled: sake, rice, sake.  The front row is labelled (right to left): salt, water.

Translation of Bullet Points

Ideally one should put the amulets in a high place above eye level facing from south to east, also, making offerings (rice, sake, salt, water etc...) daily.

If making daily offerings is not possible, it is okay to only put them up on the first and fifteenth of the month.  Put up special offerings to celebrate on important days for family (anniversaries/memorial days) to deepen family ties.

New amulets should be obtained from a local shrine during the New Year's period, and worshiped. 

Old amulets should be brought back to the shrine they were obtained from or a local shrine, as a sign of gratitude, to be burned ritually.

[scp-detector]

good luck on the scp hunt, narcs

Thank you for the submission! Dr. Awad and myself enjoyed finding all the items in this picture. =D

MULTIPLE SCPs DETECTED! Safe, KETER

Object #'s: 335 (One Hundred and Fifty 3.5" Floppy Disks), 686 (Infectious Lactation), 1000 (Bigfoot), 2221 (Amicus), and possibly 2614 (Sometimes I Go Out In Pity For Myself)?

Item #: SCP-335

Object Class: Safe

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-335 is to be kept in a secure location to prevent tampering.

Description: SCP-335 is a set of one hundred and fifty 3.5" floppy disks discovered in a cardboard box found in the attic of former Agent ███ shortly after her termination. Each disk is individually numbered in hand-written permanent marker. Disks are to be referred to by their number; SCP-335-001, SCP-335-002, etc. Each disk has also been labeled with a human name in the same writing as the numbering. 118 are male names and 30 are female. There is some speculation as to whether SCP-335-011 "Jackie" is meant to be male or female. The names have no identified pattern.

Read more on the SCP Wiki!

Item #: SCP-686

Object Class: Safe

Special Containment Procedures: Samples of SCP-686 are to be stored under standard protocols for class 2 biohazardous liquids in G2 facilities. SCP-686 is infectious but not virulent. It can only afflict a new host when taken orally, and is not motile or otherwise 'active'. The infectious agent's mechanism of operation is not known. SCP-686 does not contain appreciable amounts of nucleic acids and prion activity is not apparent.

Due to the large quantities of SCP-686 that are being produced by various test subjects, the principal requirement for this substance is not so much containment as it is disposal. While pasteurization has proven completely effective at sterilizing the infectious agent, whatever its nature, it is recommended that all unneeded stocks of SCP-686 should be incinerated. Human consumption is not recommended by anyone other than designated test subjects.

Description: SCP-686 is an opaque white liquid consisting of a suspension of lipids and proteins that is indistinguishable from ordinary high-grade dairy milk without detailed analysis. At a biochemical level there are certain subtle differences: the protein content is much more complex, with most of the peptides so far proving difficult to sequence, and it contains a richer blend of vitamins and minerals than is typical of cow's milk.

Read more on the SCP Wiki!

Item #: SCP-1000

Object Class: Keter

Special Containment Procedures: All media reports related to SCP-1000 are to be examined for potential verifiability. All organizations and individuals investigating SCP-1000's existence are to be kept under surveillance by Mobile Task Force Zeta-1000 and discredited or administered amnestics. All physical signs of SCP-1000's existence must be retrieved and kept in Foundation custody, and replaced with decoy items if necessary. Alleged sightings of SCP-1000 must always be investigated by MTF Zeta-1000, however trivial the claim.

Absolutely no contact with wild or captive instances of SCP-1000 is allowed without prior approval by Director Jones. Any interaction between SCP-1000 and humans, including Foundation personnel, must be reported to Director Jones immediately.

Description: SCP-1000 is a nocturnal, omnivorous ape, classified in the Hominini branch along with genera Pan and Homo. Adults range in size from 1.5 to 3 m (5 to 10 ft) in height, and weigh between 90 and 270 kg (200 - 600 lbs). They have grey, brown, black, red, and occasionally white fur. They possess large eyes with good vision, a pronounced brow ridge, and a sagittal crest on the forehead similar to that of the gorilla, but present in both sexes. Their intelligence is on par with that of Pan troglodytes (the common chimpanzee).

SCP-1000 is Bigfoot.

Item #: SCP-2221

Object Class: Keter

Special Containment Procedures: Websites believed to host instances of SCP-2221 are to be isolated for examination, and civilian users are to be blocked from such websites. A team of C-Class personnel are to maintain an ongoing search for websites and software that require the user to agree to an End User License Agreement, and thoroughly examine all such agreements for signs of SCP-2221.

Given the impossibility of containing all instances of 2221-A, field agents will instead focus on counteracting their effects. Agents should remain in contact with law enforcement agencies worldwide to monitor for sudden increases in extrajudicial violence. Agents are encouraged to share information about 2221-A affiliated groups with national security agencies in order to diminish their political and social impact. Foundation policies on political non-intervention have been temporarily waived in order to respond to this threat.

Description: An instance of SCP-2221 is an End User License Agreement (EULA), of the sort commonly agreed to by consumers in order to use software. Instances of SCP-2221 are typically found attached to free or inexpensive software available over the internet. They are unusually long for EULAs, presumably to deter consumers from reading to the end. Near the end of the contract are three clauses believed to bring about distinct but related anomalous effects.

Read more on the SCP Wiki!

Item #: SCP-2614

Object Class: Safe

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-2614 is to be kept in a locked container in the personal office of Dr. Schmidt. Requests to research SCP-2614 must be forwarded to his office.

Description: SCP-2614 is a DVD copy of the fifth season of the television drama The Sopranos. The disc itself is moderately scratched, consistent with deterioration after heavy use. The object does not bear any marks of origin, although the word "BOOKSHELF" written in black marker obscures the title logo on the top face.

When played, SCP-2614 is non-anomalous unless an action is performed during a scene where a character is watching the film █████ ██████. If the Play button is pressed on any working remote device, the viewer is granted control of the camera view through the device's directional pad and the center button used for forward movement. The camera is free-moving and fully maneuverable. Upon the performance of this action, it is not possible to revert to the previous non-anomalous state without ejecting the object and thoroughly cleaning with isopropyl alcohol.

Read more on the SCP Wiki!

[schizoid-hikikomori]

Something I don't see people talking about often when it comes to schizoid pd is that idea of relatability.

I don't think I've been able to truly relate to anyone in my life. I believe part of that may come from my observations of behavior from my older sisters and older cousins and being able to learn what not to do or how not to behave.

Many people form bonds over being upset with their parents, as a very early example. Because I didn't have violent emotional outbursts like I would observe my sister to have, I wasn't punished in the same way, I didn't harbor the same frustration that other people might experience with their parents, and again, I never got to experience those dramatic emotions.

So when you start off early in life diverging from expected behavior, it doesn't set you up well. Not to mention the fact I went to a school of mostly white students as a nonwhite and multiracial/multiethnic student. White kids in this small school had established social groups they wouldn't diverge from, they looked at me differently and talked to me differently than they would their friends, and had a very distinct non-interest in interacting with me. (And the typical tropes of white girls being jealous of my hair).

Of course I had friends, but consistently it was only one or two I would be seeing outside of school, while my sisters and cousins had larger friend groups with more things going on.

I developed depression in middle school and at this point I think my more identifiable schizoid traits became more pronounced here. I was never all that happy as a child, but this is where it became very clear to outsiders that I wasn't doing well if they were paying attention.

At this time the rift between myself and others grew even larger. Kids would be hormonal, getting into relationships, smoking cigarettes and weed, drinking alcohol, and starting drama just for the hell of it. Those things people described as high school activities started in middle school.

In high school I got this feeling I was falling behind. I never experienced things other people experienced by the time they were in high school. I just wanted to drop out completely and move on. (I didn't, of course. My mother would never have allowed it.)

It became a phenomenon where when I was talking to someone new that I would get annoyed or frustrated when they tried to relate to me. I would tell them something that seems simple about me, and they would make an attempt to relate.

The issue is, they experience that specific thing for a different reason than I do. You think you get it but you really don't.

As an obvious example, people group withdrawn and solitary individuals into groups and labels but fail to recognize the reason someone might be withdrawn.

Similarly, someone might claim to despise people as I do, but still make an effort to seek out new friends and attend social events, which tells me no, you're not anything like me. Stop pretending to be.

This same phenomenon of people trying to seek relatability wherever they might find it also leads to the impulsive self diagnosis thing. People see a basic list of DSM symptoms (which are very surface level) and start imagining they have a disorder, ignoring the reasons behind those symptoms.

It's to the point where they even have to advise psychology students studying abnormal psychology to be aware of this and to avoid it.

I've seen people with other disorders able to bond over their shared experiences and provide one another with support, creating a sense of community, but there's something about schizoid pd that completely prevents me from being able to do that.

Early on, there were so many factors that prevented me from being able to properly connect with people in my family, and furthermore with classmates, which evolved into this full barrier between myself and everyone else.

I don't try to relate to anyone anymore, and it's irritating when people try to relate to me when I know they won't ever be able to fully understand.

Photo from a few weeks ago.