#when you think about the fact that rob

[charmac]

x

[lotus-pear]

rewatched madoka magica again today bc i fucking hate myself and to absolutely no one’s surprise i went through all five stages of grief in a single evening

[dennisboobs]

firing off rent lowering charfrank gunshots every time i see another person post about how macdennis aren't young or hot enough to want to see them bang anymore

[dukeofthomas]

"Angry robin" "violent robin" "misbehaving robin" shut up and accept my alternative; spunky Robin. Determined and head strong, can out-stubborn the Batman, has a strong moral-backbone and does what he thinks is right regardless of what anybody else says, Robin. Jason who was sassy and quippy and made crude jokes with a smile on his face. Jason who hid in Bruce's cape and whispered gossip to him. Jason who, if Bruce refused him something, could keep bothering endlessly until Bruce caved. And also dramatic Jason. If Bruce tells him no, it becomes a whole theatrical show; a monologue, a narration, embellishments, and falling onto the floor in his grief upon the fact his cruel father has denied him once again.

(Jason who has suffered through abuse and homelessness and poverty and starvation, who is the Fight out of Fight or Flight, who's built up defenses and walls and when pushed and triggered responds with the thing that's always protected him; anger. He's sweet and kind and funny, and when he sees a pimp hitting a prostitute he gets furious and responds with violence.)

[riddlerosehearts]

i'm so casually/vaguely interested in good omens that i was sad about "season 3" basically just being a movie for about 10 minutes before i moved on. but i can't stop thinking that if people really cared that much about terry pratchett and his legacy, they might wonder if he would've even wanted a good omens seasons 2 or season 3... considering the book did not have a sequel and he literally had his hard drives destroyed with a steamroller as one of his last wishes when he died because he didn't want other people to capitalize on trying to complete and publish his unfinished novels... or they might also be more upset on terry's behalf that neil gaiman spent decades of friendship with him hiding what a rotten person he really was, and that if anyone or anything is damaging terry's legacy it's entirely neil's fault. also, terry's legacy consists of dozens upon dozens of other books that have nothing to do with that guy anyway!

[strawberry-pockii]

🩷🩷🩷 Send this to ten other bloggers that you think are wonderful. Keep the game going, make someone smile!!! 🩷🩷🩷

give me your rendering skills rn this is a highway robbery

YOU TOO????? SNOWWWY!! wwwahh o(TヘTo) everyone is so nice 🧍wait...

SNOWY GIVE IT BACK!!! HEY I NEED MY RENDERING CAPABILITIES BACK. YOU ATE THEM!! WHAT THE HELL MAN. ..

[thedrotter]

Re:Kinder Fun Facts of the day☺️!!! Have you ever wondered who talks the most from the main cast in Re:Kinder?? Well, I did😊. Today I'll be answering this question with some graphs and as a bonus telling you what words each character uses the most! I will warn you, this will be a bit long and I don't know how to be less verbose so, yeah!!!

First, I've made some basic rules as to what I counted regarding how much the characters speak. Not all lines really count as speaking, after all.

Any of the incoherent screaming lines don't count. There's a lot of screaming since the characters die a lot (as expected for a horror RPG game), but I don't really count that as speaking unless they're saying proper words. In that same vein, I didn't really count any of the panting or sniffing and such that are conveyed through words. Again, I don't really see that as a character actively speaking their thoughts!

If I cannot tell who a line belongs to, I will not give it to anyone. This happens for certain lines, so I felt this rule was important.

I won't be counting repetitions of the same line if it's on a variation of the same scene. This may sound a bit strange, but when a character dies, the game goes on to the same next scene it would regardless (unless the scene that follows it is an ending), with variations and new lines here and there to account for the dead character, but a lot will be reused and placed in the exact same beats it normally would have been in originally. So, this rule is here for that. Oh, and also the scenes with bits of Yuuichi's backstory that appear in Shunsuke's head won't be counted twice, because some appear twice line by line.

Of course, the "..." lines won't count. I am so sorry Aya!!!!😞

Now that the ground rules have been set, there's just one thing I want to mention. Though I will count all the total lines for Takumi and Yuuichi like any other character, I just want to mention that first I will have two separate counts for them! Takumi | Takumiel and Yuuichi | Yuuichi's Heart respectively.

Takumiel is separate because I was curious about how much Takumi spoke as an archangel compared to when he was alive. Yuuichi's Heart is because he speaks so much he feels notable enough to be given his own division, even if he and Yuuichi at the end of the day are one person

(I count the silly mind telepathy where Shunsuke is being directly spoken to [and being told things normal Yuu would avoid saying at that point] and the comical theater as Yuuichi's Heart. I clarify in case one assumes he only starts being counted the moment he's directly labelled as Yuuichi's Heart. Any line that can't be distinguished between Yuuichi's Heart and Yuuichi will be given to Yuuichi by default.)

With nothing else to be clarified let's get to the numbers!!!😊😊

First, the line counts with Takumiel and Yuuichi's Heart counted individually!! Here are the rankings:

Shunsuke (With a lead of 535 lines over second place!!)

Yuuichi

Rei

Yuuichi's Heart

Hiroto

Ryou

Sayaka

Aya

Takumi

Takumiel

You may be thinking— woah, does Shunsuke really speak that much?! You could say that, for a good chunk of those lines are from how he describes interactable points around the map and his inner thoughts, so they aren't all exactly said out loud. The benefit of being the protagonist, I suppose ww

Funny enough, Yuuichi's Heart has almost as many lines as Yuuichi does for not having that much time in the game, being on the higher end between the characters that don't get the benefit of being a protagonist (lol)!

Admittedly I had expected for Rei and Hiroto to have a more similar amount of lines given their nearly equal amount of presence, but for what it is Rei surpassed Hiroto by 51 lines! I also had expected for Takumiel to speak a little bit more than Takumi but turns out the opposite is true.

While the lack of lines of Takumi and Takumiel are to be expected due to their short time on the game, what stands out is Aya not even reaching triple digits between her other peers who are in there for most of the game. This is because a good chunk of Aya's lines in game are silence!^^" And thus weren't counted. If ellipses were a word, she surely would have reached triple digits, but unfortunately they're not.

Now the line count with combined sums of Takumi | Takumiel and Yuuichi | Yuuichi's Heart!!!

In here, the ranking isn't affected, with Yuuichi remaining second place and Takumi being last place. But the disparity of everyone's numbers compared to Takumi's feels a bit more clear to see when Takumiel isn't individually counted.

With Yuuichi's line counts combined, Shunsuke remains 318 lines ahead of him, but it also means Yuuichi has a 59% the amount of Shunsuke's lines; and impressive feat for someone who doesn't get the benefit of being the point of view for everything you press... Although he does also have an upper hand over everyone by essentially being the plot of this game ww

But maybe line counts do not suffice to tell how much a character speaks. Yes, Shunsuke has a bunch of lines from everything he interacts with, but is it really reliable to say he speaks all that much in all those lines? A good chunk of those could easily have 3 words each! So with this in mind, let's do a word count.

Even in a word count, Shunsuke has the lead, having a lead of 2,247 words over second place. But we'll see about that when we combine Yuuichi's numbers. Anyway, here's the ranking!

Shunsuke

Yuuichi's Heart

Yuuichi

Rei

Hiroto

Ryou

Sayaka

Aya

Takumi

Takumiel

This time, Yuuichi's Heart is the one at second place!!! It's pretty funny that he speaks more than his physical counterpart ww. I genuinely didnt think he'd out yap himself that way when I chose to count for him individually 😭!!! He has a lead of 63 words over himself, but a lead nonetheless.

In here, Rei and Hiroto are more even than in the line counts, with the difference seeming more minimal when put into words. But it also showcases that despite Rei having more lines than Yuuichi's Heart in the line count, those only get to have a bit over half of the amount of words he talks (To be fair he does get to infodump a lot in his section of the game).

And here's the combined word count!!! Suddenly Shunsuke's lead is only by a mere 55 words! So Yuuichi speaks about as much as he does with 318 less lines.

I must admit that I genuinely did not expect it to be that close. When I chose to count the lines for when you interact with things for Shunsuke, I thought he was granted to speak an absurd amount more than anyone else. But turns out that Yuuichi speaks about the same amount out loud when most of Shunsuke's are his own thoughts ww. But it does make sense! He is still the plot of this game.

So, after all those charts, here's the average/middle point of lines and words for characters to have, because why not, it's fun.

Average Line Count (YH and Takumiel counted individually): 197 lines

Average Line Count (When combined): 247 lines

Average Word Count (YH and Takumiel counted individually): 1,333 words

Average Word Count (When combined): 1,666 words

So there it is. That's how much the characters in Re:Kinder speak!

But wait!!! I am not done. I will share with you an additional fun fact... Did you ever want to know what word each of these characters said the most?! This one will be quicker, I do promise.

When it came to counting these words I did not count stop words, that being common words that are used all the time by everyone in English. "I, you, me, the, to, a, my, your, yes, no"... Words like that! Otherwise everyone would have one of those as their most said word and it'd be rather boring to look at. With that said, here are the words these characters say the most!

Shunsuke: Yuuichi - said 40 times! (this genuinely confused me so much im sorry he uses interjections so much I had expected it to be something like "huh" or "um" but no i dont know how this passed by me as i was rounding up all the lines he says or proofreading or writing all of those lines WHAT?!?! its been two days and it still takes me out)

Ryou: Shunsuke - Said 14 times

Sayaka: Murderer - Said 7 times (All in one sentence!)

Takumi | Takumiel (counted in one for how little he speaks.): Takumiel - Said 3 times (That name is so important, he said it thrice.)

Aya: Sorry - Said 5 times

Rei: Hell, gonna, look, Yuuchi - said 8 times (Most of the repeated words she says are stop words for she doesn't tend to speak about the same things repeatedly.)

Hiroto: Shunsuke - Said 17 times

Yuuichi (separate from YH): Problem - Said 17 times

Yuuichi's Heart: Mama - Said 24 times

Yuuichi (Overall): Mama - Said 31 times

So that is finally it. That is the fun fact of today.😊😊 Use this to woe your friends at parties!!!

I am aware Mami speaks about enough to be counted in, but this is pretty time consuming to do and I'm not sure anyone is invested on her enough to count her in. But if there's enough curiosity regarding that, I'll try counting her in. But for now this suffices.☺️ Thanks for reading!

[indooroutdoorboyfriend]

i genuinely cannot stay asleep for longer than twenty minutes at a time so i am gonna be weird and introspective instead. evan character analysis. btw no i am not in a crisis or anything i'm just trynna dr house my neuroses. delete that "are you good??" dm right now

[pimento-playing-hopscotch]

🤐🫣🫣

[magicalgirl6]

remember the april fool's day of smile precure. that was good I liked that. yayoi’s a disaster. anyway poisson d'avril or whatever hi

[chronic-conjuring]

Warning: this is a bit of a rant but..

Honestly the fact that anyone tries to argue otherwise is insanely stupid imo. It has ALWAYS been extremely clear that Roddenberry wasn’t only far ahead of his time but also very aware of the time in which he lived.

The only reason TOS didn’t have openly gay characters is because he knew it’d get his show taken off air and felt that he had enough of other very important messages to wait for the right time for that. Honestly I have a personal theory that all that subtext and intense queer undertones between Kirk and Spock were an attempt to covertly portray them as a couple. I haven’t seen anyone talk about that in-depth as of yet but I’m sure someone has done a deep dive on it. The subtext and energy between them feels to well poised to be a completely incidental theme especially since Gene knew people were writing gay fanfic of them and wanted that content.

I cannot express how much I despise Rick Berman’s interference with my favorite Star Trek series. I feel that they could’ve been so much better in so many ways if he could’ve just been kicked to the curb or at least consistently overruled like he deserved. I don’t particularly care that he was there to “ensure” the shows got aired without too much controversy, that man’s very obviously homophobic and pushed back against VERY LOUD AND OBVIOUS INTEREST in there being LGBT characters among the main cast and the audience. Johnathan Frakes ASKED to have Riker be depicted as being at least bisexual by changing his one love interest to identify as a man instead of a woman. Fans ASKED directly for gay characters, practically begged for it with Garak and Bashir, and Roddenberry himself said he wanted to include them BECAUSE IT WAS TIME TO DO SO.

All this is to say, I think Rick Berman might be a major factor in why so many people seem to have this bizarre idea that Star Trek isn’t supposed to be progressive media making commentary on complex social issues. He actively suppressed the voices and depictions of marginalized groups, especially queer representation, and I do genuinely think that was harmful to the show and its fans as well as the progression of LGBT acceptance at large. By trying to appeal to conservatives (why you would even want to with a premise like Star Trek is The Privilege Talking imo) he alienated a large portion of the already existing fan base and then continued to shove us aside in favor of keeping things “palatable enough” or whatever for television. He pandered to an audience that I feel the show wasn’t really meant to speak to, and now that audience seems to insist that older Trek just wasn’t progressive. The fact he succeeded Roddenberry is one of my biggest gripes with the franchise, and I think he actively made those series worse in a lot of ways. Many of which are ABUNDANTLY clear in Voyager imho. Who the Fuck decides to make a character that’s canonically TWO YEARS OLD DATE A 34 YEAR OLD????. I personally don’t really give a fuck that she’s considered an adult and fully grown by her people’s standards, there were better ways to go about that. In fact I found Kes’s relationship with Paris more compelling and less creepy than her relationship with Neelix. The age gap is extremely creepy to me and I personally don’t feel it was ever actually properly addressed (obligatory disclaimer that I have not gotten around to finishing Voyager. It legitimately just isn’t one of my super liked series so far and Chakotay as a character makes me want to throw things at concrete in anger) But it’s stuff like that and the ridiculousness of Seven of Nine’s costume being so tight that Jeri notoriously had problems being able to breathe in it that diminishes some of the intent and core messaging of the show, at least for me personally.

Anyways if you think trek is “too woke” or suddenly progressive you’re kind of stupid as fuck my guy and I’m not convinced we’re ever really paying attention to what media you were consuming. A lot of themes in earlier trek have become more commonly accepted up to present day, of course you’re not gunna look at the episodes that proclaim “Racism Bad” and “Save the Whales” and think of them as being necessarily progressive and radical ideas in our day and age. And guess what!! That’s because the show did its part to normalize that stuff!! Shocker!!

A reminder that Gene Roddenberry's intent of Star Trek was that it was always meant to be a commentary of modern society.

[yameoto]

butch pussy + femme cock = using you

tw; free-use, somno, cnc, morning sex, butchpussy (vi) femmecock (cait), implied bratty!reader. wc; 1.2k

vi and caitlyn linger at the doorway, to your shared bedroom. patrols are a bitch—and it is not always that they can get home, early. it's never been a problem exactly. except—

“ah..” vi’s mouth waters.

dawn crawls on the horizon. its heralding light seeps in through gossamer curtains, spilling out to bask your sleeping form in an unmitigated glow. your very nude, sleeping form. as if teasing them—you let out the most adorable yawn, in the midst of sleep. your leg curls upwards, covers slipping off.

caitlyn swallows, hard.

the two of them are immediately seized with an irrational jealousy for being so robbed from witnessing you, like this. “since when does she sleep naked?” “suppose it’s hot nowadays.” caitlyn answers airly, as if her nails aren't digging into the heel of her palm and the tent in her trousers' isn't stiffening. urgently. since when did she have the libido of a teenage boy? vi elbows her, voice teasing—if not equally as hoarse. “cupcake. you’re packing.”

"like you're not thinking the same." caitlyn scoffs, and vi can't argue with that. she is thinking the same. if the same, is the idea of hovering over your blissfully relaxed figure, splayed out on the bedspread. tearing off her pants and—

“..perhaps, we could.. indulge.”

“oh, baby. you read my mind.”

you wake, to a burning in your lungs, and your cunt. there's a stuffy headiness enveloping your head, something hot and wet and slippery pressing up against your chin. you open your mouth, only half-consciously, when your tongue meets salt and your eyelids flicker open in sleepy befuddlement. heat, and muscular thighs clamp down on either side of your head. a rough hand twists in your hair.

vi jerks you tongue-first into her cunt. your, whatthefuckisgoingon??? comes out more like; "mmrmgh?”

"poor baby. can't breathe, huh?" vi only shoves you deeper up the wedge of her thighs, your nose burrowed into the curls of her hot-pink bush and mouth at her sopping pussy. "oh, right there, princess."

she hisses, wresting you by the hair and rubbing her slickened folds against your face. your hands are scrambling at the mattress, each and every attempt at speech muffled by the squeezing of vi's legs. she pants in pleasure, as you pant in need, into her pussy—choked out by the sheer force of which vi's thighs are coiled around your head. she eases up, just enough for you to wriggle your mouth to gasp for air, and release a breathy, plaintive whine—eyes sleep-glazed and blinking hard, trying to get your bearings. c'mon, now—get with it; you're being suffocated by your girlfriend's pussy. not four AM on a workday and your chin is coated with slick. vi lets out a petulantly dissatisfied noise when you're gulping air for too long—shoving your head back down with a low growl. "don't—hah—you fuckin' stop."

you're so preoccupied with trying to breathe, head spinning, cogs whirring at a slow, slow pace as it attempts to process the fact you're gasping into your girlfriend's pussy; you almost don't realise the burning in your belly has rescinded to a low simmer. mistake.

"don't tell me you forgot about me, darling." like caitlyn can sense your distraction, there is a blinding jolt of lightning that crackles through your body as she gives you an idle jerk. something twitches, and you realise, belatedly, there is a cock inside of you. you tense up, and your walls clench. caitlyn's moan is dizzying.

"ah—ah.. fuck, sweetheart. you feel almost as good as you did, before."

vi presses up flush against your face, groaning as she rocks, grinding picking up the pace. of course, the tighter she holds, the less you can breathe, and your limbs jerk, fingers fisting into the sheets.

"stop squirming. you're only going to make it worse." caitlyn's pace is leisurely, manicured nails pinching either side of your hips. she rolls her hips forward, teeth biting down at her bottom lip. "it's a shame. you made such a good cocksleeve. all relaxed. pliant." 

it feels wrong to hear words so vulgar rolling off her silken tongue, so casually, so early-in-the-fucking-morning, as if you haven't heard filthier come out of her mouth. the shock of it is wearing, giving way to the blazing warmth that so throbs in your pussy that you can't believe you hadn't noticed. though perhaps, that was the whole point.

"you didn't expect me to wait my turn, did you?" oh, caitlyn is definitely smirking. you can hear the smug undercurrent in her voice; even if you can't see a thing, other than the swollen nub of vi's clit and the hastily-cut bristles of her bush as she gets off, chest rising and falling in shallowing breaths. caitlyn, however, is still only working in idle, languid pumps. like she's savouring your sleep-ridden compliancy; how you are, for once, thoroughly silenced by the clench of vi's pussy and vice of her thighs.

"you—mm—do look pretty when you shut up." vi gasps out, and you can feel her cunt pulsing around you, you want to whine, grumble, protest—anything—but the press of your lips only spurs her on, the hand in your hair yanking you deeper. vi's breaths stutter, tensing. "..shit." vi cums, her weight on your chest shifting, smushing you against the mattress as she squirts, right down your throat. caitlyn barely moves, content to, apparently, continue using you as her personal cocksleeve as vi humps out her orgasm against your face, milky fluid and your own saliva—from having nowhere to go—completely immersed in heat. caitlyn's thrusts are lazy, and vi's grinding vigorous. your chest is tight, thoughts almost nothing in your light-headedness, mindlessly gaping open and simply taking it.

the second vi collapses, thighs finally, finally lifting off your shoulders—caitlyn rams her cock into you. no longer muffled by vi's cunt (though, her cum still dribbling out from your lips), you cry out. you really can't catch a break, can you?

"shh." caitlyn commands, and now, you can see her eyes flicker up at you in annoyance, though beneath the gaze—gleams amusement. she slides herself in, deep, and your own hips rise in instinctive reaction, whimpering, lungs all used up.

you manage to do as caitlyn says, and shut up, chests heaving as you needily gulp in the mercy of fresh air. vi's large hands skim your bare chest, circling your nipples, thumb swiping underneath your breasts. "easy," she husks, voice gravelly, as if you have the energy to go anything but. or perhaps, she's talking to caitlyn. you can't tell, because caitlyn is certainly not going easy—and you are paying the price. in fact, she's begun to jam her hips with vicious force, pace vigorous—pulling out, ever-so-slow, before plunging back in again. there is no longer any restraint; as if she has held herself back, enough, and deserves this. to plow your pussy and drink in each and every broken gasp it elicits.

she thrusts, particularly brutal. you gasp—throat raw—and you unspool all over her cock, body betraying you. caitlyn's pupils dilate, just like that, at the sight of your cum oozing out in thick, creamy bursts around her base, with each slam of her body—has her head falling back, throat baring. her hips falter, before she drives inside you, harsh and hard—one last time—and paints your insides sticky.

[wanderingbue]

Turns out, Wilson thinks he’s gay.

He drops that bomb on a Thursday night, sitting on House’s couch, where they’re splitting a greasy pizza and a large order of onion rings. Wilson’s not nearly drunk enough for it to be a joke, is the thing. His hands and voice are steady when he explains how it’s haunted him since he was a teenager, how he ran from it and into three failed marriages, how he cheated because he liked the thrill of the chase but was always unsatisfied with the outcome. He wants to tell the important people in his life to ask them for support in this new era, and House is the first one to know.

And yeah, it could explain things. A lot of things. Like the haircare routine, the regular mani/pedis, the shoe collection. This wouldn’t surprise many people. But House isn’t sure he believes him.

Still, Wilson is his best friend, so he tries.

He doesn’t interrupt the first time he sees Wilson getting a little too close and smile-y with a male nurse. (He interrupts the second time, because he knows that nurse is a vegetarian, and House can’t have that influencing Wilson’s cooking and takeout habits.)

He doesn’t sabotage Wilson’s first date with another man. (He does steal Wilson’s phone the next morning and delete the guy’s text asking for a second date, because anyone asking so soon is desperate, and Wilson can do better.)

He tells Wilson which shirts, ties, and pants make him look gay, only this time, he means it positively. He starts TiVoing Queer as Folk for them, instead of The L Word. He offers Wilson poppers one weekend, then has to explain what they are, and how he came to find out about them in the first place (he used to rave in the 80’s, so what?).

House is being supportive, really. Even if he still doesn’t totally buy that Wilson is actually gay.

Mostly, he doesn’t think Wilson is gay because nothing changes.

Wilson still comes over most nights to watch trash TV and drink beer. He still dutifully drops his responsibilities at work, albeit briefly, to provide a diagnostics consult, or to assist in some borderline illegal scheme. They still hang out, and argue, and laugh, and bicker, and celebrate wins together, and are there for each other in the quiet aftermath of loss. They’re still the same.

Maybe Wilson is just confused because he expected to have a wife and kids, and to live in the suburbs by now. Maybe he thinks the reason for this heteronormative failure is that he’s been chasing the wrong kind of tail, instead of the fact that he spends half his time at work and the other half with House, leaving no room for anything or anyone else. And maybe House should feel guilty about that, about robbing Wilson of the life he deserves and forcing him into a fake midlife sexuality crisis, but he doesn’t.

He sort of feels bad about that part, though—the fact that he doesn’t feel bad at all.

But he’s forced to acknowledge his faults when Wilson approaches him in his office one night, trembling before he can even get the words out, I can’t hide how I feel anymore, I need to tell you the truth.

House accepts that he’s selfish because he lets Wilson kiss him breathless, knowing Wilson will never be able to kiss anyone else like this again, knowing that when he tells Wilson to take him home, he’ll never be able to leave. Now he gets it all, the early mornings and the late nights, the warm beds and the cold shoulders, the biting words and the gentle apologies, and every jagged edge left will be weathered by time.

He understands that he’s greedy because he drinks up all the praises and pleading, every filthy word Wilson moans into his ear and whispers into his skin. There’s a lifetime of hunger behind it, a cosmic collision of pain and joy and grief and devotion. It’s a wine aged for twenty years between them, bottled want and yearning, poured into an overflowing glass.

He recognizes that he’s possessive, because he knows he’s got him now, and it's for good. There’s no more sharing attention, or waiting his turn, or swallowing the bitter bile of jealousy. Wilson will stray from any map to follow his true north.

So, whatever, maybe Wilson is lying about being gay, but at least House is honest about being worse.

[tentakrool]

why does remmick seem like a little freak when other vampires have natural charm and appeal?

tl;dr — sinners challenges the audience’s preconceived notions of vampires by throwing one into an atypical setting, subverting audience expectations to create a fresh vampire story rooted in historical and societal realities

saw a post comparing remmick to other vampires in media, specifically how unlike most vampires, he freaks people out and doesn’t have this suave, unearthly charm… but here’s the thing. he isn’t the one they’re freaked out by. they were suspicious to begin with, because of the sociocultural atmosphere of the time

1. should be obvious why the black characters suspected him of foul play. most white people in 1930s Mississippi did not seek out black companionship. if a white person wanted to deal with black folks, there probably was some kind of nefarious ulterior motive — case in point, the klan guy selling the mill to smoke and stack.

2. the white people in the film had reasons to suspect remmick as well. 1932 set us smack dab in the immediate fallout of the stock market crash of 1929 — the Great Depression. things were rough, and it made desperate people so desperate things. people would walk up to a house claiming to need help, then rob the family blind and sometimes even kill them. for remmick to run up to a white couple’s home out of nowhere and beg for help… that would be a red flag. his offer of money and appeal to their racism helped smooth that over, but their immediate suspicions of him came from the desperate atmosphere of the times and their own struggle for survival. you can tell they’re not wealthy from the ramshackle appearance of their home and their simple clothes. they don’t want some vagabond to waltz in and kill them for what little they have.

3. this would require a much longer post to fully flesh out, but i would argue that remmick does have that otherworldly charm — just for the right kind of person. while most people are suspicious of remmick from the jump due to their experiences with racism, poverty, etc., mary is the one person who seemed to fall for his platitudes and charm… and i would argue it’s because of who she is.

stack tells us that mary has a rich white husband that owns a successful, lucrative farm. she has no need to worry about her livelihood or safety from strange white people. in fact, she is probably used to them kissing her ass because she’s rich, pretty and passes for white. remmick, bart and joan are just white people to her, and they show her empathy and compassion when they learn her mother passed away, which further disarms her. only when they begin exhibiting monstrous behavior (the drooling especially) does she really clock that they’re dangerous.

i bring this up because in a lot of media, vampires find success in charming others because they can relate to them. yes, they are depicted with glamoring powers that can draw people in, but think about the classics.

dracula targets jonathan harker after placing himself in a position of power over him, then goes to hunt mina and lucy, both members of higher society. they defer to him because he is a count — a powerful person societally. his strangeness is offset by their unwillingness to challenge or question his authority.

or perhaps a newer example — lestat and louis in the amc iwtv show. louis is less suspect of lestat early on because he has made a living from dealing with white people, playing to their position of power above him and deferring to them. lestat uses this to get close, then begins appealing to louis’ desire for power over the white men who disparage and control him. again we see that while it’s true that the vampire has an otherworldly charm, it’s their knowledge of power and societal dynamics that makes them effective

we don’t normally see poor white trash vampires, so it seems like remmick isn’t as successful at charming others, but really what’s happening is that the film is challenging our preconceived notions of what a vampire looks like by throwing one into an world that we normally wouldn’t find them in. vampires aren’t normally poor, wounded and hunted — they have power, money, influence and good looks.

that said, remmick still uses the same playbook as other vampires; he just has his work cut out for him, and has to navigate an inherently desperate, dangerous world in more calculated ways to protect himself. otherwise, he never would have had a chance in hell of getting close enough to the juke to achieve his goals. coogler did this on purpose. which is just another way this movie slaps major ass.

gahhhhhhhh this could be a whole paper and i’ll be damned if i don’t wanna write it

[strangunddurm]

Gyltig

Pairing: Michael Robinavich x reader

Word count: 5.2k

Warnings: PinV sex, unprotected sex, fingering, masturbation, swearing, dirty talk, possessive, toxic behaviour, oral! male receiving, established relationship, age gap, angst, alluding to child loss, breeding, pregnancy.

Summary: Michael has a secret that he was too guilty to tell anybody about. Especially Heather Collins.

A/N: I think this might be a mix of everything I personally like when reading a fic hahaha. A complete mess but oh well 🤗

Guilty (adj.) - Originates from the Old English form gyltig "crime, sin, fault, fine, in debt".

Michael Robinavitch felt guilty. Hearing Heather bare her heart to him, her struggle, their shared cluster of cells that never got to be. The possibility that he could have been a father to her child. How different would his life had been? He felt bad because he wouldn’t mourn it. Wouldn’t grieve over the potential what-ifs that would plague her.

And then he had you. The happiness you brought him. The guilt he felt everyday for the life growing within you despite being the happiest he had ever been. Seeing you swell, your body change because of him had awaken a primal need inside of him that he was unfamiliar with up until that point. Sure, he had Jake and he loved Jake like his own but it was different this time around.

It wasn’t that he was ashamed of you. He was ashamed of the fact that he should’ve known better. He had robbed you of your youth, the supposed best years of your life, just for you to end up stuck with him. You and him would share a bond that could never be broken from now on.

Should he have told her? Told Heather about how his life would never be the same again whilst hers was… empty. It was crude and crass. Mean in a way he never wanted to be but it was the truth. Within his hands he held what she wanted the most, and he hadn’t even wanted it for the first few fleeting moments of knowing. That had filled him with guilt as well. How could he regret something so precious?

Those thoughts scared him. He was scared of the concequences. Of the potential karma, middah k’neged middah, that could come back to bite him in the ass for even thinking like that in the first place.

It was a coincidence that he met you. He wasn’t meant to. He should’ve been at work, he was always at work, but then he actually got to leave on time for the first time in weeks. As he was tiredly making his way up his front steps he was startled by an unfamiliar voice calling out his name, causing him to swivel around dangerously fast.

“Whoa, there.” You let out a giggle as you reached out in an attempt to steady him.

He didn’t know you. Had never seen you before. But god did he want to know you.

“Do I know you or-?” He let his voice trail of as he furrowed his brown in contemplation.

“Definitely not, sorry. My nana lives a couple of doors down. She insisted I left some of the cookies we made on your doorstep, didn’t think you’d be home!”

“Nana?”

“On number 4?” You waved your hand down the drive and he understood. That sweet old lady that was always kind to him, always checked in, always admired him for the work he did.

“Thank you.” He smiled tiredly as he accepted the plate of caramel cookies, his stomach rumbling appreciatively.

“You just coming back from work?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes. Busy day.” He laughed awkwardly as he studied you. You were beautiful to put it plain and simply. A face he would never be able to forget. A body he would think about as he fisted himself that night.

“I can image. Could never do that. Be a doctor.” You smiled again and he sighed.

“You visit your nana a lot?” He shouldn’t have asked. Should’ve left it at that, turned around and crawl back into his cave but you had captivated him in those few simple moments. Ensnared him in your being. Trapped him in between your loins without you even knowing it.

It had been inevitable after that. He sought you out. Spent more time on his lawn that he had never cared for before. Made sure to leave work on time whenever he could. It had been a welcomed change, a good change, he felt better for it but yet those thoughts still plagued him. The guilt for wanting to sink his dick into a girl that was too young for him to be thinking about. He wanted to hear you whine in his ear. To taste your slick as you gushed around his fingers. To melt into your entire being without abandon. And he would, eventually, and you would welcome him.

The first time he got you in his bed was one month after the first time he had seen you. You had been stopping by after you’d visited your Nana every Thursday and Sunday. Sometimes it was just for a chat. Sometimes he would invite you in for a cold beverage. And, eventually, it became so much more.

It was you who’d let yourself in after he worked a long shift, creeping through his house that you had grown more familiar with as you searched for him. He was sitting on the couch, hunched over his own lap with his head in his hands after another long shift, breathing heavily as he tried to will the adrenaline to leave his body.

“Long day?” Your hands slid over his shoulders as you asked your question in a way that was far too alluring for a question asked between simple friends.

“You have no idea.” Michael sighed as he leaned back, welcoming the way your hands moved to his shoulders, rubbing them firmly.

“You wanna tell me about it?” His eyes opened to meet yours as you moved to face him. He should’ve left it there. Should’ve talked to you, unload some of his burden through words yet he couldn’t do it. Instead, his hand grabbed onto your shirt, pulling you down so each of your legs rested on either side of him. You let out a giggle over his actions because they didn’t startle you, you had been greatly anticipating them. You had seen the way he would watch you, eyes heavy with lust whenever your shirt would ride just a little bit too low or your skirt would rise too high to still be decent.

“Do *you* want me to tell you about it?”

“Of course.” You ran your hand over his hair, caressing it as your hand came to rest on the back of his neck, watching as his eyes traced your face with wonder.

“Maybe later.” He murmured before reaching up to connect his lips with your own. It was like Michael could never get enough of you, biting and pulling at your lips. His tongue explored your mouth with a delighted moan. You couldn’t help but grind your hips down into his lap, gasping as you felt the large growing bulge that pushed against you. His lips found their way to your neck, suckling and leaving wet kisses in his wake. You grew wetter with every nibble.

Michael guided you to his bedroom, pushing and pulling at your clothes to undress you as you went before pushing you down on the bed as he hurriedly worked on pulling off his own shirt and jeans.

“I’ve had a really stressful day, honey. You gonna make it all better for me?” Michael asked as he gazed down at you, already dazed as you laid there on his bed. The bed that smelled like him, that was soft against your skin, and you never wanted to leave.

“Yeah.” You nodded eagerly. He was still in his boxers, hands running over your legs, up and down as he memorised the way you felt.

“You’re so sweet to me, honey, aren’t you?” He mumbled before crawling over you, his stiff cock rubbing against your thighs through his boxers as he went. You couldn’t help the moan that slipped out, and a small smile grew on Michael’s face as he heard it. Your moans were a symphony, singing through his house as he admired it.

As his lips connected with yours again, your hand trailed down, rubbing him through the material. The thickness overwhelmed you, your breath hitching as you pushed the fabric down frantically, need ing to feel it.

“Aren’t you an eager girl?” Michael pressed a kiss to your cheek, letting out a moan as you finally wrapped your fingers around him. Somehow, he felt thicker this way, long and throbbing for you as you pumped him timidly.

“God, you feel so good.” Something came over him as he heard you puff out those words, seeding with anticipation. He never thought he’d hear you say them and it awoke something in him that he couldn’t entirely control.

“You wanna have a taste, sweetheart?”

You were eager as you moved slightly to the side so he could lay down, sinking into the pillows as you came to your knees between his parted legs. Of course, you were compliant, eagerly opening your mouth to take him in. You rested your hands on his thighs to steady yourself.

He was quick to rest his hand on the back of your head, guiding you as you took him in your mouth. There was no easing into it. Not this time. Not when your mouth practically watered over the thought of tasting him, of feeling the slight tangy saltiness of him on your tongue.

Michael softly encouraged you to take him, the length of his shaft being swallowed as far as you could go, gagging around him as he hit the back of your throat.

“Shh… gentle, honey. Don’t hurt yourself.” He muttered softly, caressing your head before getting lost in the feeling of your hot mouth wrapped around him, moans and groans slipping out through his clenched teeth.

Your eyes watered as his hips almost involuntarily bucked to meet your mouth, but you loved the taste of him and couldn’t get enough of him as you hollowed your cheeks, trying to take him even further.

‘*Fuck!*’ He groaned out. You were watching him from under hooded eyelids and his gaze was intense as he stared back, eyes practically glowing with lust.

“You’re doing so well for me.”

You moaned around him, a small dollop of drool trailing down your chin. One of your hands moved from his thigh to gently play with his balls and he moaned before giving a final, small thrust into your mouth and then withdrawing himself from you.

There were tears of pleasure trickling down your cheeks and you couldn’t help but smile in satisfaction as you wiped your mouth clean with the back of your hand.

“Come here.” Michael went to take your hand but you drew it back, shaking your head as you smiled at him. You didn’t say anything as you turned around on the bed, sinking your front down and spreading your knees for him. Your face was down, ass up as you glanced at him over your shoulder, wiggling slightly to tease him. You needed him inside of you. You were already so unbelievably wet, practically dripping onto the sheets as your walls clamped down on nothing again.

He was admiring you. Taking his sweet time as he thought this would be the only time he would do so. You weren’t enjoying it as much as he appeared to be. You *needed* to be touched. There was this incredible yearning inside of you, it felt like your entire body was buzzing from how horny you were and the ache between your thighs was becoming unbearable. You couldn’t help but slide your fingers closer to your core, ready to plunge them into yourself to get some kind of relief. He stopped you before you could get any further though, caressing your fingers as he used his other hand to sit up behind you.

“You’re too perfect.” He muttered it quietly to himself but you still heard him, causing your body to flush with further heat.

You were hyper-aware of his proximity, he was so close you could feel his heat against the back of your thighs, and you were ready to beg for any kind of touch, you just needed to *feel* him. But you didn’t need to beg for Michael to slide his massive fingers down the curve of your spine just a few moments later. He palmed your ass, kneading your cheeks with both hands.

“So gorgeous.” He breathed out shakily, completely enamoured at the sight of you presented for him.

“Could keep you like this for days. Fucking you until you swell.” His words sent a shiver down your spine and you were flooded with wetness again. Your thighs almost jerked as you impulsively moved backwards, seeking some sort of further contact.

“Do you want me?”

“Yes! Please, Michael, please.” You could’ve started sobbing from the need right there and then, you couldn’t take the wait any longer.

Michael spread you wide in front of him, lining up his knees with your own as he gently and slowly dragged his thick cock through your folds, coating it in your slickness. You were sure that he enjoyed torturing you; your entire body was close to convulsions caused by the anticipation, it felt like it was eating you up, swallowing you whole.

“You sure, honey?” Michael teased you, sounding far too calm and unaffected by the situation, “You sure you want an old man like me?” He started withdrawing himself from you, hands leaving your flesh, but you reacted quickly, sitting up and grabbing a hold of his wrist before he was too far away.

“No, no, no, please, Michael. Only want you, only you, please just-“You usually weren’t one to plead but it was impossible not to, you needed him more than you’d ever needed anyone before.

Michael loved hearing you beg; it was obvious from the satisfied look that flashed across his face. It was so painfully obvious that you were ready to do just about anything for his cock.

He motioned for you to get back into your previous position on all fours and then, *finally*, he pushed in, in one slow, agonising thrust, burying his thick shaft to the hilt inside of you. The entire room practically shook from the loud groan he let out as he split you open.

“Jesus Christ, you take me so fucking well.” Michael sounded like he was almost in disbelief, ecstatic from the sight of his throbbing cock disappearing into the sweetness that was you, buried deep inside your slick warmth. The burn from the stretch was welcomed as pure bliss and you couldn’t help letting out a shuddering gasp.

He let you adjust, pressing himself into you and just resting there for a moment. The way you pulsed around him was killing him. He could feel the way your body urged his to move and all he could do was heed. He moved with small, shallow thrusts before he lost the small threads of the semblance of control he had managed to somehow maintain. He pulled back, his cock leaving you entirely for a moment before he started pounding into you.

You cried out, hands bunching up his sheets as bliss ran through you.

“Feels so good.” You breathe out shakily between urgent thrusts.

“Yeah?” Michael cooed as he pulled back out. “You like my cock? I’m gonna make you feel so good.” He promised.

His thrusts were sharp and precise with an unrelenting and frenzied tempo. His grip on your hips was so becoming almost painfully tight as he used it to slam you back against him, but you didn’t care, too lost in the waves that were overtaking you. You would cherish any marks left by him on your body.

“You feel so good around my cock, honey.” He praised in a murmur. “So fucking tight.” Michael grabbed a hold of your arms, pulling you up as he continued pumping into your sweet cunt. He had you pressed flush against his chest, back arching as the sound of skin slapping and the wet squelches of your sopping wet pussy echoed around the room. It made you even more drenched; the mixture of your pleasure pooling around the base of his cock, running down the inside of your thighs.

One of Michael’s hands shifted to palm gently at your breast while the other travelled downward to roll and lightly pinch at your clit while rolling his hips and you writhed against him.

“You gonna be a good girl and cum around me?” He asked lowly in your ear. “You gonna beg me to cum inside you?”

“Yes! Yes, yes, yes, please, Michael.”

Michael pushed you down onto the bed, unsheathing himself from you.

You didn’t even have to begin to miss the feeling of him before he had wrestled you into the position he wanted you in with legs wrapped around his waist and back to the bed so that he could easily drill into you in deep but short strokes.

You felt yourself slowly losing whatever composure you had left as your muscles tighten over the coiling tension. Your walls gripped him tighter and tighter until finally, your eyes rolled back as you reached your peak, walls spasming and moan bouncing around the room. You were seeing stars as your legs shook uncontrollably from the overwhelming feeling.

Michael was relentless as he continued pumping into you throughout your convulsing climax, determined to make you feel the best you ever had, although the pace was much slower than previously. His breaths were coming out in short pants whilst your own breathy moans as you trembled.

You reached up, treading your fingers through his hair to pull him down slightly to connect your lips in a kiss. It was soft. A sort of ‘thank you for making me come’.

“You haven’t begged yet.” He murmured after a few pecks, picking up the pace of his hips once again, balls swinging as they slapped against you every time he fucked into you.

His pelvis was rubbing against your clit in a delicious way, driving you toward the edge again but you were conscious enough in your own thoughts, not yet completely lost in the pleasure again, to follow his command.

“Please, Michael, cum inside of me. I need it.” You pleaded in his ear, causing him to let out a hissed groan.

“Fuck, honey. You sound so good when you beg. He praised with a wet kiss to your lips.

You were sure he was just about to cum, but then he surprised you, flipping you over so that you were on top. Michael placed his hands behind his head, studying you with a bold look.

“Wanna make me cum, honey?” He asked and you were more than happy to comply, quickly moving to the right position so you could easily bounce up and down his cock. Was it possible for him to be as deep as he was? Your hips snapped down over and over, hands stabilizing you on his chest. You loved it when Michael was in control but seeing the way you made his mind hazy underneath you were a sight for sore eyes.

Michael’s orgasm washed over him with a deep jerk upward, spilling deeply into you with a deep groan. Your previously vigorous bounces became softer as your walls milked him dry of every last drop. You bite your lip with a smile, running your hands over his chest for comfort. He was so solid beneath you, ropes of muscles flexing involuntarily.

“You look so pretty just like that.” Michael caressed your cheek sweetly.

Now, here you were. Months later and swelled with his child. With his love. With his devotion. You would so often tell him that he made you the happiest you had ever been but he didn’t know if he truly believed you. Jealousy plagued him whenever you would go out together and he would see the way others looked at you. You were an **enigma**, lusted after by many. And that green, sickly little monster that steadily grew beneath his skin roared its ugly head whenever he would catch their eyes lingering longer than appropriate. He’d placed his heavy hand at your waist, place a kiss beind your ear, and caress the skin of your arms when he did so, showing them that you were claimed by him.

He knew what they all thought. That he was too old, you were too pretty, it would never work. But he knew you. You wanted this life with him more than anything, basking in the happiness of sweet domesticity that had enveloped you and your little family. It was forever you and him until the end, you both had ensured that.

It would be foolish to think that others hadn’t noticed the change in Robby’s demeanour. The weight that had rested on his shoulders for the last few years was lighter. Glaringly obviously so. As much as he thought he could hide it before, the act of no longer trying was abundantly clear. Michael Robinavich had found his way back to happiness.

Yet, he did not tell them why. They could guess, muse over what they thought the cause to be. Maybe he started going to a new therapist? Tried a new workout form? Finally got laid?

No matter how relentless the questions where, the teasing glances, he never let them know. Not until you happened to walk into the E.R. on a Thursday afternoon.

You waltzed in to the Pitt with a smile that tasted of sunshine, with glee evident in every stride. Your hips swayed under the weight of your belly, yet the literal pep in your step couldn’t even be held down by it. You had slinked in through the ambulance bay, just as he’d instructed if ever you needed to. as much as he wanted to keep you all to himself, to never tell anybody of his precious, he couldn’t bring himself to stop you from seeing him whenever you wanted to or needed to.

Dana saw you first. Eyebrows raising slightly over the apparent audacity of sneaking in and then furrowing with worry when she saw your belly, concerned that something was wrong with you.

“Miss, can I help you?”

Her voice had startled you for a moment, mouth forming into an ‘o’ as you abandoned your search for something she wasn’t quite sure about.

“Oh, yes please! I’m looking for Michael.” You smiled and Dana was puzzled.

“Michael?”

“Doctor Robinavich?”

“I think he’s busy right now. Perhaps one of our other doctors can look you over? Is something wrong with the baby?” Dana led you over to one of the chairs in the hallway, nudging you to sit down as you cradled your stomach, letting out a small huff as you did so.

“No, I don’t think so?” You were puzzled, too tired to understand why she was concerned.

“It’s best if somebody has a look.” She said with a tone of finality that left you speechless, nodding your head as she apparently knew best.

It was a rush and tumble of limbs as Doctor McKay introduced herself to you, pulled you up with a helping arm, and had you ushered into a room and onto a gurney in the huff of a breath.

“How far along are you?”

”Oh, ehm… 32 weeks” McKay pressed gently and firmly on your stomach as he asked you some routine questions that you tried to answer to the best of your ability.

“Have you had any pain or tenderness today?”

“Could you get Dr. Robinavich?” Your question caused her to pause in her movements, a contemplative look being shared between her and Dana.

“Have you been to the E.R. recently?”

“No?” You looked unsure over your own answer.

“Dr. McKay, do you need help in here?” Michael’s voice carried through the room with a startle, yet it didn’t scare you. He pushed the curtain aside, pausing as he saw you laid there with your round stomach bared to the world, his child inside of you, and all sense of composure left his body. Your name left him almost breathlessly as he felt a cold shiver of fear run through him.

“Hi!” You chirped, happy to see him despite the situation you had somehow found yourself in. “I brought your lunch.” You motioned to the bag you had been lugging with you that was now resting on the floor.

“Lunch?” It wasn’t he that asked, it was McKay who had taken a step back from you, looking even more bewildered than before.

“Mhmm… I made lasagna.” You smiled at her.

“Lasagna.” Dana inserted herself, looking at Robby with an expression that was clearly asking for an explanation. “You said you were hurt?” She questioned you and Robby felt dizzy again over the possibility.

“No, I don’t think I said that…” You sounded unsure once more, hands smoothing over your belly as if yo check.

“You hurt yourself?” Michael asked you, ignoring his coworkers that were watching the situation unfold.

“You left before I gave you your lunch.” Your voice sounded small and Michael felt his heart ache. He crossed the small space, coming up beside you, taking your hand in both of his.

“I’m sorry.” He gave you a small smile, overwhelmed by the way you *cared* for him. He hadn’t felt that in a while, not in this way.

“Baby okay then?”

“Yeah, baby okay.” You nodded your head.

Dana and McKay watched as Robby caressed your stomach in a way that was too familiar, looked down at you with a softness in his eyes and a too sweet smile for you to be just a patient.

He helped you up and they quite slinked out through the curtains, sharing a look that screamed “what-the-fuck” before Dana looked around as if wondering if she had imagined it all.

“What the hell is going on today?” It was a rhetorical question. Asked to herself more than anyone else. Had she overworked her self so much that she was imagining things? But, of course, she wasn’t. Not to that extent. She hadn’t been alone with you and Robby.

The curtain was drawn back with a startle. Ronny walking out and you followed behind him, stomach tucked away in your shirt but it was still there. Still real.

“Sorry about that, ladies.” Dana almost wanted to laugh at Robby’s attempt to brush them aside. She knew that he knew she wouldn’t just let this slide.

“Let me follow you out.” Michael murmured to you, placing a tender hand on your lower back as he steered you toward the exit.

“I’m sorry.” You said as the two of you came to a standstill outside of the Pitt, looking down at your shoes with uncertainty.

“You don’t need to apologise, honey.” Michael let out a small laugh as he encircled you in his arms.

“But I- your colleagues thought…”

“They needed something to talk about anyways, today’s been to quite.”

“I don’t think you should say that word.”

“No, probably not.” He pressed a soft kiss to your lips. “Thank you for lunch.”

“I made lasagna.”

“So I heard. You ate, too?”

“Mhmm, baby was hungry.”

“Good.” Another kiss, another caress to your stomach, feeling his baby kick before you were on your way back home to the house you now shared.

Robby watched you go long after you had disappeared, bracing himself for the inevitable onslaught of questions that would face him once he entered back through those doors. His hands rested on his shoulders, massaging the invisible knots in his neck before he spun around on his heels.

He had barely had a chance to sit down before Dana materialised in front of him.

“Something you wanna tell me, Robby?” Dana asked, looking at him with feigned disapproval.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Robby pretended to be far too invested in the screen in front of him.

“No? You don’t happen to be more than half way to being a daddy? I doubt it’s somebody else’s kid in there.”

Robby glowered over the thought that somebody else had made you the way that you were. It was his doing. His achievement. He was the one that had fucked you until tears leaked from your eyes, over and over again. He was the one that had filled your womb with his cum as he grunted and groaned, fucking into you without abandon and pumping his cum into you to make sure it stayed. He’d wanted it to stick then, a baseless fantasy that eventually became reality.

“See, that look on your face tells me everything I need to know.” Dana let out a sharp laugh.

“Look, I don’t-“

“You think I’m stupid or something? She looked awfully young.”

“‘Course not.”

“Then what the hell?”

“I know it’s wrong, I know I’m a dirty old bastard, alright? I just- it felt… it was never the right time to say anything about it. Not here.” He leaned toward her, whispering the words as he glanced around the E.R. He knew the sight of you and him and yours had stirred the surface of the gossiping pool. The nurses didn’t even have to hide it as they eagerly tried to listen to the words their chief and charge nurse were exchanging.

And then he saw her. Heather. Michael Robinavich didn’t want to share his joy because he knew about her pain. It wasn’t because he still loved her or had lingering feelings of any kind. He just didn’t want to cause her more heartache. And then the guilt came rushing back. For everything, over nothing.

Heather watched him from afar, teeth gnawing on her bottom lip as somebody whispered his secret in her ear. And he wished he could have told her first. Robby felt as if he had owed her that much at least. But it was too late and he didn’t know if he wanted to see whether she’d be happy for him or broken. So, he looked away.

“I hope you know you owe me a pay raise for keeping that from me, you dirty old man.” Dana slapped a hand against his shoulder as she let out a laugh, oblivious to his inner turmoil.

He grumbled, putting his glasses back on to return to his work.

“So, how did you two meet anyways? You snatched her from a kindergarten?”

[sixeyesonathiel]

what happens when satoru gojo gets hit by some weird curse technique and shows up to your first date as a girl?

a/n: satoru gojo is the cutest, most dramatic little meow meow and i will stand by him even when he’s gender-swapped, in shoko’s blouse, and spiraling. my babie forever 🙁🩷

you were supposed to be the one freaking out. you were the one visiting tokyo, meeting your online textmate for the first time, risking the possibility that he could be a balding 45-year-old catfish who misused emoticons. but no. no. somehow, satoru gojo was the one on the verge of collapse.

in a bathroom stall. wearing shoko’s blouse.

“i can't do this,” he muttered, gripping the cold edge of the sink, staring at his reflection—his very female reflection. “this is psychological warfare. i'm gonna throw up.”

he tugged at the hem like it could erase the fact that he was, due to one very stupid cursed technique, stuck in the body of what could only be described as a suspiciously hot girl. legs for days, nails neatly manicured by accident, shiny white hair pinned in a hurried messy bun. sunglasses perched too confidently on his nose. the blouse was cream and satiny, a little loose on the shoulders, collar wide and slouching like it belonged to someone cooler than him.

he looked like a girl who ghosted men after two dates and never replied to texts past 10 p.m.

“i can't ghost her,” he told his reflection, dramatically. “she's so sweet. she sends good morning texts. she laughed at my jokes. my stupid jokes!” he punched the air, then immediately winced when his knuckles knocked against the stall door. “i have never felt this emotionally naked. what am i supposed to do, show up like—surprise! your online boyfriend is a woman for now!”

but he had to.

he owed you that much.

and maybe he liked you a little. like, a lot. embarrassingly so. enough to save your texts in a locked folder on his ancient flip phone. enough to call suguru in a panic the night before because you said you were nervous about meeting. he even wrote down conversation starters on the back of an old receipt. one said: if she looks nervous, compliment her earrings.

“she’s gonna think i’m unhinged,” he muttered as he walked toward the cafe, the satin blouse tucked into a pair of black trousers he'd swiped from nanami’s locker. they hung loose on his hips and cinched awkwardly with a belt that wasn’t his. the cuffs were rolled twice over the ankle, revealing socks with tiny pink cats (he’d borrowed those from shoko too, he was desperate, okay?). his stride was stiff, too aware of the clack of his borrowed heeled boots, too aware of every glance tossed his way.

his hair bounced slightly with each step, a few silvery strands slipping from the bun and catching the sun. his heart was thudding so violently it made him feel faint. the sunglasses hid the worst of it—the panic.

then he saw you.

you were already there. sitting at the little outdoor table, your hands wrapped around a cup, your eyes flitting up every time someone entered. your leg bounced under the table—nervous, hopeful. real.

satoru stopped short, breath caught. you were exactly like your photos. no, better. more real. there was a crease in your brow, like you were trying not to look too hopeful, and your fingers kept fiddling with the straw wrapper.

he adjusted his blouse, took a shaky breath, and walked up.

“hey,” he said, voice pitched a little too high, trying to channel that airy, cool-girl confidence. your gaze lifted, blinking. your eyes searched his face, expression pinched with confusion.

“...hi?” you offered, hesitant.

his heart sank. he waved his hand quickly, stepping closer.

“wait! wait—it’s me. satoru. i know, this looks insane, and i swear i'm not here to rob you or ask about your skincare routine, though i could, because your skin is phenomenal—but it’s me. i just had a... situation. with my body. medically. temporarily.”

your brows furrowed. you looked ready to bolt.

“okay, okay! remember the selfie with the strawberry milk? that was me. this is me. same soul. different shell. still terminally embarrassing. look, i even brought melonpan—your favorite! and i printed out your texts. like a maniac. that’s love, right?”

you were still staring. he could feel the blush prickling beneath his cheeks, a little warmth seeping from under the collar of the borrowed blouse. his fingers gripped the tote bag strap like a lifeline.

then your voice came, small, uncertain. “you really saved my texts?”

satoru nodded fervently. “yes! and organized them by emoji usage. there’s a spreadsheet. color-coded.”

a beat. and then—you laughed.

and satoru, in shoko’s blouse and a body that wasn’t quite his, swore he could’ve kissed the sidewalk in gratitude.

his shoulders dropped, face breaking into a sheepish grin. the sun caught in his lashes, and he tried not to look too lovesick while you took the melonpan from his hands.

“i swear, i’ll explain everything one day,” he said, lowering his voice, a rare hint of sincerity slipping in. “like... everything. i just didn’t want to stand you up. i really wanted to see you. even if i look like this. even if you walk away. i had to try.”

and somehow, impossibly—you stayed.