#'but if I interacted with someone who happens to like it on their down time I want people to bring it up to me asap'

[ctrlsatoru]

DIABLO CH2 - TOJI FUSHIGURO

content: techbro billionare!toji, reader is gojo's little sister, age gap (toji's in his mid 30s, reader in mid 20s) kind of ooc toji, suggestive themes, no smut yet. protective!toji, but also asshole!toji. warnings: 18+ only. suggestive themes. explicit language, references to being roofied. toji being toji. minors do not interact. pairing: toji fushiguro x afab gojo!reader word count: 8k tags: @liitlesushi a/n: ok so this might be longer than I anticipated and also semi slow burn. it'll be worth it, trust. summary: It's Gojo's anniversary party, you're doomed by your Satoru's whims, haunted by your father's scheming, and now a devilish third player appears: Toji Fushiguro. And he's here to collect.

Toji opens his eyes, manually focusing on the strange ceiling. It twists slowly before it settles. 

This bed is not his own, he can tell from how flat the pillow feels under his head, which is throbbing painfully. He feels like a dozen horses ran over him. A voice, distinctly female, unnecessarily loud, makes him wince and curse under his breath.

“... If I agree, and I haven’t, you’re not picking my outfit. Know that .”

This is unlike him. He can’t remember a thing. The only good thing about not recognizing the bed is that he’s not gonna have to deal with a strange woman in his place–

“Because your conception of what’s socially acceptable to wear to a formal function is not tethered to earthly reality, Satoru.”

Oh.

It’s you .

You’re on the phone, standing by floor-to-ceiling windows. The sunlight casts off your ring like a white laser when you turn, blinding him.

“Mornin’” he croaks, pushing himself to sit against rough the rattan bed frame. The room moves from side to side, like you’re stuck in a boat instead of Haibara’s beach house. It’s all coming back to him, watching you and your boyfriend’s rowdy love spat, the deck–

“Oh. Hey, buddy.” you say idly, looking over your shoulder as you sit on the other side of the bed, your ring-covered finger tying your slutty sandals around your ankles like some shibari countess. The strap of your top falls as you lean over. Toji’s buffering.

His ears must be fucking deceiving him. Buddy?

The fuck?

He can’t for the life of him remember anything after the deck. You’re zooming through the room, texting furiously. On top of that, you look fresh and plump like lettuce out of the fridge, don’t you? But he had to blink several times to break through the layer of crust around his eyelashes, and his body is telling him you two fucked like animals for the past 12 hours.

Or he spent the weekend in the trenches. 

He feels wildly unprepared for this morning after, and it’s a just fucking relief that you’re keeping your distance until you start tap tap taping your little heels to the door.

“The hell do you think you’re goin’?”

You stop, surveying him over your shoulder like he’s coming close to being some sort of inconvenience. 

And then the corner of your lips lifts, the mole on your cheek jumping with the motion.

“It was fun.” Your phone starts ringing again. The sound drills a hole into Toji’s temples. “Too bad that it never happened.”

With that, you’re gone. 

You leave Toji with a bunch of unconscious people scattered around the house and Haibara, who’s still young enough to not know what a real hangover is. The kid will just not shut up about some hardcore surveillance system he had installed around the house recently after he noticed someone was stealing from his Kaws collection.

Toji listens to the whole story, sipping on the cold pressed green juice Haibara made himself, simply refusing to use the crystal straw, and makes a promise to himself. You’ll pay for whatever it is you did to him.

Even if he doesn’t remember what that was. Yet. It doesn’t matter. You’ll pay anyway. Nicely. 

“Say, kid.” he asks Haibara, licking the green foam off his lips and putting down the empty glass on the counter. The juice tasted just like it looks, which is cow puke, but his mind is somewhere else. Machinating. Scheming. 

“This system of yours, does it cover the whole house?”

Here’s the thing.

There are many things Toji isn’t. 

For starters, he’s not easily bothered by most things, a trait that people usually mistake for a personal attack, like it has anything to do with them and isn’t just the hand that he was dealt. People assume others, in this case him, think about them more than he can be bothered to. 

He’s not a control junkie either, not anymore. He left those days behind.

Control isn’t something he needs to worry about anymore. He has plenty of it. If something gets out of line, it gets back on it automatically. That’s just the way life is. Sure, he had his vices back then; lactose, gambling, adrenaline, women. 

But the thing is, you learn a few things with age, right? Shiny things lose their sparkle. The excitement wears off. Nothing is safe from becoming predictable, not even the rush of hearing bone crack under his fists or the juiciest, tightest pussy presented to him on a tray.

And this sheds a light on the fact that he’s way past the age of being pussy whipped.

“You cannot be serious.”

So why the fuck is Shiu Kong looking at him like that? 

And who does he think he is standing next to him, all up on his screen, and mind you, only alive thanks to the fact that Toji has lost some edge from his gory days?

He shuts down the tab like a kid who got caught watching porn on the family PC.

“You listen to me. Don’t you ever fucking do that–”

“The Gojo kid?” 

Toji’s eyebrows dig into his face because you’re certainly not a kid. No. Far from it. Kids don’t go around feeding people horse tranquilizer or whatever the fuck it is you fed him with that glossy mouth of yours. And that’s what you did. That’s as far as he can remember. 

“Is that what’s been–”

“I’m gonna stop you before you say some dumb shit and piss me off any further.”

Shiu’s been pestering him for days now about the upcoming iteration and the threat of several deadlines. Toji has been brushing it off. No nagging back or shutting down his complaints. 

Somehow, his silence only pushes the stick up Shiu’s ass even. Like he’s his sexually neglected wife of 40 years.

Truth is, he hasn’t given the dynamic with his CFO/best friend much thought lately. Why would he when there’s an infuriating, mouthy woman with siren eyes that look down at him even when he’s about two heads taller than– 

You.

“–stalking the poor girl on the desktop version of Instagram.”

Toji returns to the conversation. “I don’t stalk people. I’m a grown-ass man.”

And you’re not a girl either. You’re something else. He hasn’t figured it out yet.

“Mm. So am I.” Shiu says, still standing there with his hands in his pants pockets, head tilting down at some forgotten paperwork on his desk. “And even I know looking at someone’s profile on a desktop computer is a concerning level of unemployment, which you’re not at. Yet.” 

Toji’s not that thick-headed. He knows he’s been distracted, but he can’t just brush away the mystery of what went down that night at Haibara’s. 

You pop up in his head unannounced and make yourself comfortable, rent fucking free. Like a little squatter. In the middle of meetings, on the drive back home, at the gym, when he’s at his favorite club with a gorgeous and willing girl on his lap. 

It’s becoming so frustrating that he’s started to despise you for real, and not just the made-up version of yourself he created when he met you and decided you were an ill-mannered bunny that he wanted to toy with for a bit.

In this scenario, of course, he was a wolf.

No one ever talks about how sometimes the bunny roofies the wolf and bolts the morning after.

Days pass and his mind is blank of memories, no glimpses, no time-stopping sex flashbacks, just a bunch of vivid dreams about you that distract him to the point of burning his toast one morning and nearly knocking the front teeth off his trainer’s face.

Toji’s positive you didn’t fuck. Sure, you had a bit of bed hair, but your face lacked the I-was-fucked-by-the-Toji-Fushiguro glaze he was used to seeing in women and took pride in. You looked perfectly fine, unfucked enough to be giving hell to your dimwit brother on the phone and fuck with him before disappearing.

It was fun.

He was also wearing underwear, and you walked just fine. No wobbly legs or tilted hips. No bruises on your neck or scratches on his back– 

Too bad that it never happened.

You had shared a bed, that much he knew. He caught a whiff of your perfume after you left. He had cursed you then, feeling like a pathetic fucking dog sniffing up some pillows, but now the confusion and annoyance faded to a curiosity that extends past the time in his head he gives to even the best lays he’s had. 

So he put up an incognito tab and looked you up hoping to find something corny or annoying about you to make you unappealing, and somehow he landed on your personal IG profile. 

You posted a set of pictures three days ago of meaningless corners at some random location. The fourth picture is a snap of what looks like your desk. By the corner, there’s a polaroid of you and your fiancé. 

You’re standing in front of the guy, leaning your head to the side with his chin resting nice and cozy on your shoulder, his nose pressed against your neck. It pulled a dry snort from the depths of his chest.

He found your twitter account as well, because why not? And finds nothing interesting there. You stick to promoting your work and hardly communicate. Other people in your circle, on the other hand…

Toji went through a twitter phase not too long ago. He found endless amusement in pissing people off with less than 140 characters and replying to those who enjoyed his work. He uninstalled the app the second he found people selling mugs with screencaps of his tweets. 

Safe to say the decision made Shiu’s and the PR team quite happy. 

He’s out of the loop with the overall discourse, but it’s clear that you have farmed your own dedicated micro following online and your boyfriend’s some kind of underground A24 flowerboy on the rise. 

The both of you, as a couple, act like viagra for a very specific, insufferable and presumptuous crowd. They’re hyper-focused on the fact that you haven’t posted him on your stories lately and that Hiroki allegedly deleted some posts with you on Instagram.

Kids these days. As short as life is, and the things they waste their time on… 

“Please tell me that’s not her twitter account,” Shiu says. Toji’s hands twitch. “This is more pathetic than I thought. No wonder you haven’t gotten anything done in days.”

Toji kills the rest of the tabs, spitting over his shoulder “I can’t very well do my fucking job if you’re breathing over my fucking shoulder, can I? You know how I fucking feel about people standing behind me when I’m trying to get shit done.”

“ Twitchy .” Shiu notes and takes his sweet time walking around his desk, plopping down on the seat in front of him.

“Yep, take a seat, why don’t you.” Toji grumbles.

His partner and oldest friend crosses his legs in front of him and taps his fingers on his knee, a sign that he’s craving a cigarette.

“So I’m gonna take a leap of faith here and assume this is some kind of executive-level scheming, and you’re just exploiting a vulnerability.”

Toji’s face twists like he sucked on a lemon at the mere thought of it. 

“You know damn well the day I do business with that old cunt will be the day your ex-wife comes clean about what she did at that yoga retreat in Bali and asks for forgiveness.”

“Figures. So?”

“You’d probably take her back. Fucking cuck.”

“She really got under your skin, didn’t she?” Shiu notes, not at all bothered by the unprovoked attacks. 

Toji sniffs, comes down from the spike of anger, and finds a more comfortable position on his chair.

“She owes me.”

Shiu leans his head back, mildly amused. 

“You adding usury to your ledger now?”

“Not money.”

“Alright then, I don’t want to know.” Lies. But Shiu knows better than to push too much. Toji’s the type to hoard details not because he’s afraid of compromise, just to be an asshole. 

It’s refreshing to see him almost… desperate. If you were anything like your brother, Shiu thought, you might be just the perfect little karma agent for his best friend.

“Fine. You get that business sorted. You’re no use to me if you’re distracted.”

“You worry about sorting your own business and I’ll worry about mine, Kong.”

Shiu stands up, fighting back a smile until he opens the door, stopping at the sight of Toji’s assistant about to knock.

“What is it?” Toji asks, scratching his eyebrow, already exhausted.

Keiko looks down at the tablet in her hands, hesitant.

“The team at Gojo Corp has reached out, sir. It seems Gojo Shinobu would like to invite you to dinner next week.”

The look on Shiu’s face as he slowly turns to face him is priceless. Toji rests his elbows on his desk, a sinister smile pulling at his scar.

“Well, isn’t that interesting?”

“Interesting indeed.” Shiu agrees. Keiko eyes them skeptically.

“I better get to work then, eh?”

“Anytime would be nice, yes.” Shiu says, turning to Keiko. “I guess I’ll finally find out about Bali, then.”

So you might think, look at him backtracking like that. 

Don’t get him wrong, it’s nothing like that.

Toji’s sitting across from Gojo Shinobu, the man, the myth, the bigot himself, with absolutely no intention of making business with him.

He’s just sniffing the territory.

And he almost regrets it. The man is a disturbingly aged mixture of you and your brother: the hair and the uncanny valley eyes went to him, but the eyebrows, the slope of his nose, it’s you. Even the handshake, firm and tight like a war general, reminds Toji of you.

Gojo Shinobu’s old as the fucking bible. His eyes are graying, eyelids sagging, but he’s still got it for sure. 

Let’s make one thing clear, Toji doesn’t like the old fart. He represents many things that he despises about older generations, and his business model is one of the many reasons for the country living in the past, but he’s not about to get political. 

Not liking Gojo Shinobi doesn’t mean he doesn’t have some respect for him, so he’s honest and immediately shuts down the proposal of Gojo Corp. being involved in future Diablo releases.

Dignified. Not happy. But never one to see a no for what it is, Shinobu just smiles, brushes his beard like a Ghibli villain, and switches the subject.

Alcohol involved and pretending to put business talk aside, the conversation flows easily. Your father has a surprisingly entertaining dry sense of humor. Toji supposes you stop giving a shit when you have one foot in the grave.

“I hear you have a kid.”

“Two kids.” Toji says, remembering that he’s supposed to pick up Tsumiki in an hour. Ballet class. She’s getting rather serious about it. “A girl and a boy.”

“Ah, good balance.” Shinobu nods with a knowing smile. “They listen to you? How old are they?”

“15 and 16. And they do.”

They don’t, because they’re teenagers, not soldiers. Megumi and Tsumiki are good kids, certainly better than he was at their ages, they don’t need him ordering them around.

“Dangerous, dangerous age.” your father hums. “You make sure they do that, save yourself the bitterness in the future.”

Damn. Alright. Toji lifts his eyebrows and leans in, listening. That’s all it takes.

“You’d be surprised. You get a little too light handed, and a perfect sapling can get ruined just like that.” he snaps his fingers. “It’s harder to straighten them up as they grow up.”

Toji takes a long, good sip, fighting back a chuckle. He has no concerns when it comes to who or how people choose to fuck, but the blatant homophobia is always amusing.

“Or worse, they’ll gang up on you.” Shinobu scoffs “No wife? You raising them on your own?”

“I am.”

“Good man. It’s hard, honest work. Make sure you look for a good one to settle with, not all of them are in touch with their motherly instinct.”

His assistant comes in, tells him someone has arrived.

Shinobu makes a noise with his nose or mouth that reminds Toji of an exasperated horse.

“Take the advice from me. You see–”

He leans over the table, brushes his beard. 

“If, and I’m not wishing this upon you, your daughter comes of age and– after years of picking up and dropping all sorts of interests with no interest in commitment, she  comes to the conclusion that she wants to waste her life playing with cameras and hanging out with gender-bending creatives ,”

The word is said with so much despise Toji feels like there should be a new phobia for it

“–you have to sit down and choose what’s more important; letting her waste her potential away, or being in her good graces. Sometimes it can’t be both, that’s just how it is.”

Perhaps Toji hasn’t given you enough credit. You could’ve ended up a lot worse than you are. You could’ve murdered him and kept him in your fridge instead of drugging him, and he’d kind of understand why.

“But when she tells you she wants to let some bland dimwit into your family and make him blood, you take matters into your own hands.” he nods firmly, like it’s Toji he’s mad at, and finally looks over his shoulder, nostrils flared.

Asaya Hiroki approaches the table. Jetlagged eyes, tail between his legs.

“Fushiguro, this is Asaya Hiroji, my daughter’s boyfriend.” he says, with a meaningful side eye. Hiroki looks like he has half a mind to correct him on either the name or relationship status but he’s too fond of keeping his head attached to his body.

You were right, Hiroki’s pretty. Toji can’t compete in that department. He looks like he puts sugar and milk on his tea and smashes the china on the floor when he’s told he can’t have more, like a psychotic puppy. 

In other words, both of you make sense together. 

You like to look at pretty things so your boyfriend’s cute. No harm in acknowledging that, though he remembers Tsumiki mentioning that when noses dip down like that it means there’s some kind of prosthetic. 

And if you pay attention, really read between the lines of his 90’s film heartthrob face, something’s off with him, isn’t it?

But what does he care? A nose job is no crime. Hiroki has other flaws to offer. For example, he has a rather shitty way of hiding the fact that he’s doing something he’s not supposed to right now. 

Perhaps, even, going behind someone’s back.

And the guy calls himself an actor.

Satisfied with the results of what he thought would be a waste of an afternoon, He excuses himself. If he leaves now, he’ll be in time to get to Tsumiki’s class before it’s done and have the other kids’ moms and nannies ogle at him. Tsumiki hates it when he does that.

“Don’t be a stranger, Fushiguro. I’d like to keep this channel between us open. I hope to see you at the anniversary party.”

“Pardon?” Toji stops, surprised.

“The company’s anniversary party, this Friday,” Shinobu says, like it’s obvious. “I’d like you to meet my son, and well, you’re already acquainted with my daughter.”

Hiroki’s round bobba eyes follow him all the way to the grand crystal doors. Toji has the distinct feeling that he was just part of Shinobu taking matters into his own hands. 

He’s both disturbed and impressed. He never mentioned meeting you, and he’s pretty damn sure that this didn’t slip from your lips either.

 

Every year the company throws an anniversary party, and you and your brother and every high-level employee have to attend and listen to your father’s rendition of why diesel was better and how you’re all wimps for being born after the extinction of smallpox. 

The one year that you didn’t attend, because you were stuck in Norway with a canceled flight, your father spent exactly 11 months reminding you of it like you had any say in the weather conditions of the North Sea.

Tonight might be his last speech as chairman, not because he’s dying or anything, but because he’s about to step down from his position after growing health concerns. 

Suguru approaches you at the empty family table with a flute, sitting down next to you with a lift of his eyebrow. He’s looking as handsome as ever, dressed in black, with his hair tied back, but you much prefer the bangs framing his face.

“So, when do you think he’s going to publicly execute the medical staff that diagnosed him with Alzheimer’s?”

He chuckles, fingers tapping the table. “Probably after he declares war on Gretha Thunberg.”

You’re wary. He might have everyone convinced, but it’s not like him to step down quietly. Your instincts are telling you to expect shenanigans tonight, and they’ve never once failed you.

“Seems too good to be true, don’t you think?” you say, eyeing the crowd around you. “I don’t know how Satoru’s so cool about it.”

Suguru sighs, craning his neck. “I wouldn’t say he is.”

And of course, that’s when your brother slams his palm on the table and makes you jump in surprise. He leans over the two of you, eyeing the room like it’s the school cafeteria and he’s the king of prom.

And he kind of is. Today your father will officially name him his successor, so the sour look in his face makes you and Suguru share a look.

“Do you see Hideo Kojima on steroids hanging out with Nanamin? I guess next year we’ll have the Yakuza on the jazz band.”

You laugh, only half weirded out, not interested in knowing what he’s talking about, unlike Suguru who looks up at your brother, confused.

“ Who? ”

“ Toji Fushiguro. ” Gojo drawls, icily amused, and your neck turns so fast Suguru worries it’ll break. “And his underling.”

Remember your intuition? Red sirens start ringing in your head, and the edges of your vision start staining in with a deep burgundy color.

What on earth is he–

“Dad invited him.” Satoru says, still not sitting down and still scanning the room with deadly eyes. You feel the urge to look around and pinpoint his exact location, but you wait for him to point with his chin. “They’ve been seeing each other. Mimosas and manicures, I heard.”

You find him across the room, just over the elevated candles in the middle of your table, talking with Nanami and some man you don’t recognize. 

You fight the weak but sensible urge to look away when he suddenly turns to your table with an unreadable expression and lifts his glass in your direction, like he felt the shit talking from a distance.

The room is vast, but you recognize the feeling of his eyes looking straight at you. Your brother is too occupied cursing under his breath while he lifts his glass to notice you gulping.

“You think dad’s hitting that?”

You try not to gag. “You’re sick.”

“Cause someone will owe me a loooot of money if that’s the case.” he taunts. You both placed a bet on whether your father is bisexual or not years ago. “Look at him, standing there like he’s threatening to swipe all the fertile wives in the room. Freak.”

You snort on your drink, a bit of it goes down the wrong pipe, Suguru pats your back.

“You better hold on to yours then.”

“Nah, he’s locked in. Ain’t cha , babes?”

You roll your eyes, feeling Suguru shake his head with a lovesick smirk. Your brother replies with a wink, lazily dropping his weight on the chair next to you, like you need to be in the middle of all that.

You lean back, stretching your neck. “Ok, you can back up a little. It’s embarrassing enough to be matching with you.”

Satoru stretches his arm over your now empty seat. They’ve been purposefully keeping a distance, him and Suguru, people assume it’s for appearances sake, but you know them better than that. They’re playing some game tonight, and you’d rather pluck out your lashes one by one than learn the details.

“And I distinctly remember asking you to stop feeding into those fucked up theories online about me terrorizing you as a child, but you had to take those creepy family portraits with the heads cut off. We don’t always get what we want, sis.”

And don’t you know that. Tonight was stressing enough without 6’ something with a lip scar, ever so subtly following with his eyes as you make your way around the party. Not too obvious for an outsider to notice, but just enough to make the exposed hairs at the back of your neck stand up.

You’re a little too energized. Like too many shots of espresso after an allnighter. It makes no sense to start feeling threatened by Toji Fushiguro tonight, when he’s in your territory, but you do. 

But you weren’t raised in your father’s household to be so easily intimidated, so you mingle, let people stop you for quick, boring catch ups and questions about being excited about your brother and what-have-you-been-up -tos, even those whose faces or names you can’t recall. You smile, entertain and even ask people about their whereabouts, until you’re out of social battery for the rest of the month.

“Took you long enough.” you say, making a point of not looking at him.

His voice comes closer than you expected or feel comfortable with. Smooth and dark, in through your left ear.

“Patience is a virtue, haven’t you heard?”

His presence is more unnerving than you geared up for, and just like the first time, a shiver cuts through you. Something urges you to move and take a step sideways, out of the magnetic pull around him. 

You finally take him in. Tailored tuxedo, slightly tousled black hair that you know for a fact is unfairly soft, exuding confidence. Never in your life had you encountered someone as infuriating and intoxicating as him.

“Are you my new stepdaddy?”

A slap to his face would’ve stunned him less. Hell, he might’ve enjoyed it. You don’t give him a chance. His pants have no business getting tighter from that fucking question.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

Toji hums, hands in his pockets, playing off the fact that you’ve been talking for ten seconds and he’s already fighting the urge to devour you where you stand. 

“Depends.”

You lift an eyebrow. 

“You into that kind of thing?”

You scoff, dismissive as always, but suspiciously purse your lips to one side before taking a sip of your drink.

Head held high, nose up in the air. Toji takes your profile in. The light bouncing off the high points of your face, the deliberate, doll-like curl of your lashes, the soft slope of your neck and the dips and curves of your shoulders. Your dress painted a nice image in his head of your body from afar, so he refrains from going past your collarbones.

“What? No comeback? I’m disappointed.”

“I didn’t expect to see you any time soon.”

“Like I said, patience is a virtue.”

You roll your eyes and laugh dismissively. “You don’t believe that.”

“Bold assumption.” he counters. “I wanted to see how long you’d last entertaining guests, but then your right eye started twitching and I suppose took some pity on you.”

“Aren’t you an empath.”

“Even to those who don’t deserve it.”

Your chin quivers, but you keep the smile to yourself with a quick sigh. Toji could look down at the way your chest rises and drops, but he’s not in a rush here. 

“Why are you here?”

“Is that any way to speak to a guest? I’m sure Shinobu raised you better than that.”

Name dropping your father gets the exact reaction he was hoping for.

“Why are you here?” you repeat, enunciating slowly, but the words you want to say are dont fuck with me right now.

But you’re too precious for him to deny himself the pleasure. Not when your eyebrows tremble like that. 

“Your father was kind enough to invite me. It would’ve been rude to turn him down.”

“You’re not here to entertain him. He’s stepping down soon and you can’t stand him.”

“Me disagreeing with his work ethics doesn’t mean that I don’t respect him.” You laugh, loud and clear, not caring for the heads turning your way. “Why else would I waste a perfectly nice friday night surrounded by a bunch of suck ups? Are you suggesting I have some ulterior motive?”

Your squint at him, like you don’t believe he has the guts to say it.

“Did you perhaps assume I’m here for… you ?”

Toji wonders if your silence has anything to do with the white haired manchild looking your way for the second time.

“We do have something to settle. You owe me something, if I remember correctly.” 

“I think you’re mistaking me for someone else.”

“Nice try. An explanation, does that ring any bells?” 

Your head snaps up to him, the wisps of hair hanging from the sides of your face flow with the movement. The tip of your nose and your cupid’s bow catch the light, if he couldn’t see your face this close he’d mistake that for sweat. 

He’s reminded of how you looked at the deck in contrast to the sight of you right now. A sheer layer of sweat was covering your skin, your plump thighs spilling on the wood surface, he kept his hands in his phone and held on to his own sanity.

“What is there to explain? Nothing happened.”

Toji tilts his head. “Lying is a bad, bad thing,” 

“We didn’t do anything, Fushiguro.” you insist, lowering your voice. Toji looks over your head, bored with your attempts at gaslighting. “If you–”

“You wanna dance?” 

The nonchalant act drops, you unconsciously lean back and open your mouth like there’s not enough air in the room. Toji smirks at your hesitation, cold, challenging

“It’s in your best interest.”

“How?”

“Because the old cunt that kept kissing your hand earlier is coming our way and I’m about to leave you alone with him” he lies and you don’t dare look over your shoulder to check, not wanting to risk making eye contact with the slimmy fucker.

It’s a bad idea. Being near Toji is a bad idea, dancing with him is the equivalent of putting on a vest bomb. Your father is somewhere in the room and your brother might act aloof but not a single interaction of his interest is going unnoticed. 

Putting your hand in his is a bad, bad idea. The worst. But you suspect figuring out Toji Fushiguro’s intentions will take some compromise on your part, so you don’t hesitate when you grab his hand.

With his arm around you, Toji sees flashes of a particularly vivid dream he had about you days ago. The first thing he did when he woke up from it was open his app notes and write two words, perverse angel . Now he knows it was actually deja vu; you close your eyes for a bit, the breathing image of reminiscing. This isn’t your first time in his arms.

The melody gets rather slow. You hold yourself with all the poise of a reluctant little heiress, defiant but serene as you look at him, arm resting over his.

While he’s growing quite fond of the sight of your neck exposed, he’d rather find the main pin and let your hair down. Let you get comfortable, not taut like you are in his hold.

“You look like a tall pint of guinness.”

Toji could do this all night. Just watch your expression drop, annoyance pinch at your temples.

One ankle betrays you, but he’s not about to let that happen. The arm around your waist keeps you steady, moving along with him. His grip is firm, but not overpowering.

“You’re an asshole.” You say like you just discovered it tonight.

He’s right. You know it and you hate that he described it so right. You’re dressed in a black, sleek and form fitting dress that goes down to your ankles and the top is made of an off-shoulder white band that wraps around your shoulders.

Toji laughs with that shark grin of his, his scar stretching. 

“There’s nothing wrong with it.” He adds helpfully, hand coming up to straighten the white fabric around your left shoulder. The air turns colder with the absence of his arm, but it returns to the spot in no time. “Wouldn’t have been my first choice, granted, but it’s a lovely dress. Perfect for a night at the pub, watching the game with the boys.”

Your lips curl in distaste. “I think I’ll pass on the unsolicited fashion advice, thanks.”

“Come on. You can never go wrong with a red dress.” he counters, eyes dropping briefly. You wrinkle your nose, he takes offense. “ What? ”

“Not my style” you shrug.

He hums sarcastically. “Now that’s just tragic.”

“If it makes you feel better, I’ll make sure to wear one to your funeral.”

The couples closest to you turn with different looks of controlled distaste. Toji laughs heartily, head thrown back and everything. 

“I’ll hold you to that. I might just return just to see it with my own eyes.”

“Not sure doors open both ways in hell, but hey, more power to you.” 

“So you wanna hear my theory?”

You sigh. “Nothing happened, Toji. I mean it.”

What a terrible liar you are.

“I think you had a little alcohol in you, were fresh off a fight with your boyfriend, and just couldn’t help yourself because you have a thing for problems.”

You nod sarcastically. “And of course, you’re the problem in question.”

“Well, yes.” he blinks. “And you don’t have half the self control you believe you have. So you freaked out and put me to sleep to stop yourself from doing something you thought you might regret.”

This is how it was. You had forgotten the rush, despite replaying time and time again your past conversations. Interacting with Toji Fushiguro’s like playing five finger filet, thrilling and grueling and high risk, but it’s a whole other thing with people around you. You can’t let up, all your senses need to be on guard.

“Aren’t you too old to be throwing a fit because I gave you more than you could handle?”

Toji’s eyes dig into yours, a hint of amusement and something else.

“Here’s a piece of advice: choose your words very, very carefully. They might come back to haunt you. ”

“It never happened. And it won’t.” You repeat with a cool tone. The pulse on your wrist drums against his own. 

“I have to say, you’re a better actress than he is.” he mentions. “But denial does not suit you. We’re gonna have to do something about that or things will get very awkward real soon.”

“Actually I think we should focus on your rejection issues first.”

“I’m not a problem for you to solve, sweetheart.” he chuckles darkly, eyes knowing, never leaving yours. Years of practicing the art of bullshitting in your household could not help you deny the attraction. “What you see is what you get. And you can, when you stop being a little coward.”

He makes you turn effortlessly, that’s when you see it. The words die on your lips, your stomach drops, all resolve wavers. Toji releases you, and your arms hang limp on your sides.

He licks his scar and smirks sideways at you, eyes twinkling with mischief. “You should fix your face, sweets, ‘cause I won’t behave if he wants to pick a fight.” 

You’ve always liked Nanami Kento. He’s one of your father’s closest advisors, the pathological victim of Gojo’s pestering, and always impeccably polite to you, sweet even. But right now, when he’s introducing Toji Fushiguro and his friend to Suguru and Hiroki, you’d love to hit him in the head with a hammer.

At least your brother is nowhere to be seen.

"Pleasure to meet you," Suguru says.

Hiroki has a hand around your waist, he’s not looking at you, but you know what the dimpling of his cheeks mean. 

“We’ve met before actually, haven’t we?” Toji turns to him, brow burying into his face like he’s not too sure. “Correct me if I’m wrong. I don’t remember too well.”

Your heart is stuck in your neck, threatening to crawl out of your mouth. Suguru gives you an odd look.

“We have.” You don’t see the look on Hiroki’s face when he replies, but his tone is controlled.

“Yeah, I thought so.” 

Shiu Kong says something, and Suguru responds accordingly. 

You grab a drink from a passing tray and the corner of Toji’s mouth tilts, his attention on Suguru’s conversation. You feel irrationally mad, you feel like slapping him, but then he’d probably fix his jaw and look at you like you should go rougher and–

There’s something seriously wrong with you.

You grab Hiroki’s hand and pull him with you.

He’s confused but follows you nonetheless. “Can you just wait for a–”

“We should ditch the party.” You say, but he doesn’t agree like he usually would and grabs your arm, stopping you at once, brown eyes searching yours.

“You’re not even gonna ask why I’m here?”

“My dad invited you?” you reply, confused by the offended look on his face.

He makes a strange face. “ No . Why would he? You know how I feel about this kind of thing.”

Now you’re confused. You smell his breath and notice his flushed cheeks. “But you’re here.”

“Wow. Try to contain the excitement, why don’t you.” he scoffs. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to fly across continents and interrupt whatever the hell that wa–”

He’s starting to raise his voice, drawing attention, usually composed demeanor nowhere to be seen. You catch the smell of his breath and put two and two together. 

“You’ve been drinking.”

His face drops. The volatile look in his eyes is not something you can deal with tonight.

You’re forever grateful for the woman announcing your father’s speech. Hiroki’s expression clears up, but he gives you a look that says you’ll resume the conversation later, soon, tonight . 

Then he puts his arm around you, pulls you to his side, and leads you closer to the podium.

Your father looks into the crowd with piercing blue eyes. You have a bad feeling. Like if you were to take a picture right now, it would later be displayed as the moment before hell broke loose.

“... And as many of you know, the time has come for me to step back and allow a new generation to lead us forward."

The crowd hangs on his every word. You scan the room for the 10th time, worried eyes looking for a head full of white hair.

Hiroki notices your unease and looks down at you, rubbing your arm. “Hey, what is it?”

“I don’t see Satoru.”

Your father continues, voice unwavering. 

"It is with great confidence and optimism that I announce my successor, a person who embodies the values and vision of our company." 

You finally find Satoru at the back, he’s with Suguru and Nanami. Waving his arms around him, pissed .

"Please join me in welcoming the next CEO of Gojo Corp, Noritoshi Kamo."

The room erupts into applause, but before his words can fully register, a sudden, sharp crack echoes through the hall. For a split second, confusion takes over, and then it turns to full blown panic.

You see your father go down and your legs move on their own

Gunshots.

People are running, ducking and diving for cover all around you. Tables are overturned and glass shatters.

"Get down!" someone shouts. 

Someone slams into you. 

Toji helps you up. Quick eyes locating an exit and going for it.

“My dad.” you protest, trying to look over your shoulder, and Toji has half a mind to fully pick you up.

“He’s fine.” he assures, hand covering your head, pulling it down.

Security sprung into action in no time at the first gunshot, formed a barrier around him and hurried the old man out of the stage. Toji had seen it with his own eyes right before he caught you running like a tweaking baby reindeer, and saw some piece of shit slam himself into you.

You keep protesting and trying to go in the opposite direction, and Toji’s positive the gunman hasn’t been taken down yet so he throws you over his shoulder and slams the exit door open, leading you down the corridor.

You’re livid, fists slamming into his back without mercy. Toji puts you down when he’s comfortable in the emptiness of the sterile hallway. Eyes still looking over your head as you give him an earful.

“Shut the fuck up for a second, will you?”

You’re just flabbergasted, opening your mouth again in full Karen fashion

Toji doesn’t care for it. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” you reply furiously, fist tight on your sides. You catch your breath, step down from your heels and start to speed walk. “I need to find my father– I need to– Satoru –”

“They’re safe.” Toji says on your side. “Gojo’s security doesn’t fuck around. I mean they did fuck up letting a guy bring a gun inside the premises, but they were quick with it.”

Your nostrils flare. Toji hears voices at the corner and pushes you behind him, he sees a couple of guys in black in the reflection, wired ears, walking like they know they might lose their jobs tonight.

“Hey, I got the heiress here. She’s looking for her old man.”

Escorted by them, you two rendezvous with your father in some conference room upstairs. The altercation can be heard from outside. 

“It’s for the best. You don’t understand the full picture.”

Nanami, your father’s closest advisors, everyone is gathered here. Someone says the police have arrived. You pay them no mind, eyes stuck on your father and your brother.

Satoru starts pacing and turns to face Shinobu. 

“No, I understand all of it. You’re too fucking prideful to let me fix what you did.”

Getting caught in a family brawl was not in Toji’s plans tonight, but he stays put, watching you approach them with confusion all over your face. They don’t seem to notice you. 

Gojo Shinobu levels his son with warning eyes, finger pointed at him. “Watch your words, Satoru. You don’t know what you’re talking about. My decision is final.”

“Oh, I know exactly what I’m talking about.” Satoru shoots back. “You know I can do it. You just can’t stand the thought of me succeeding where you fucking failed.” 

It’s clear on the look on your face that you don’t know what your brother is talking about, and that you’re in no headspace to ask either. The words hit your father square in the chest. 

Things are about to get bloody.

“You think you’re ready for this? You’re nothing but a spoiled, entitled brat who thinks he deserves everything handed to him on a silver platter. Look at what you’ve made of your life, acting like everything is a fucking game. You think I’ll let someone like you lead what I spent my life building?”

“Jesus christ, dad.” you say in disbelief, giving your brother a careful look. 

Satoru’s eyes flash.

“Over my dead fucking body.”

Your brother’s face contorts in rage, he lunges forward, fist aimed at your father’s face. No one, not even the army of security is as fast as you going after him, but it’s ultimately Toji who cuts in, strong hand catching Gojo’s arm, stopping him mid swing.

Blue crazy and uncanny eyes land on him. As a general rule, Toji does not get in other people’s business, particularly not love spats or family drama, but he means it when tells your brother:

“Trust me, you’ll thank me later.” 

Your father collects his features and chuckles mockingly. Shaking his head, letting himself be escorted away by an assistant that is most definitely underpaid for shit like this and a wall of security men.

Gojo drops his arm, watching his father walk away, chest heaving up and down. 

“Toru?”

It’s weird on you. The look of being lost and confused. Small in the middle of a family brawl. It’s not right.

“What was that?” You ask, voice nothing like Toji has heard before. 

“Not now,” your brother snaps, turning around and walking in the opposite direction, Geto Suguru quickly joining his side.

Toji’s phone starts ringing. Shiu, probably wondering where the fuck he is. He walks away to answer, hoping one of the security guys eyeing him does something stupid like trying to stop him.  

Shiu’s waiting for him outside, lets him know that the police caught the guy, and helpfully lets him know he saw some people they know act like fools in the midst of the chaos. Toji takes a deep breath, and yet again, against his own rules, tells him to give him the details later and to leave without him, not answering any questions about his whereabouts. 

With your father leaving the crowd has dispersed. Your boyfriend, god knows where he came from, is trying to get you to reason with him in a corner of the room.

Toji stays put and watches it.

“Why?” he asks you. He has his grip on both your arms, like he’s trying to shake something out of you. You’re looking at him like he grew a second head. “We talked about it all the time, we always said–”

“What do you mean why ? Have you lost your mind? I can’t leave Satoru alone right now, Hiroki.”

“Well in case you didn’t notice he just fucking left you here.” he snaps at you. 

You flinch. Recoil. Pull away from him.

“Let go, Hiroki. I’m sorry but I can’t deal with you tonight.”

“You can’t? Right. You can’t. Tell me something, do you have any idea what kind of shit I’ve had to put up with–”

You snarl at him, baring your teeth, pulling away to no avail. Bare feet stomping on the carpeted floor. Hiroki doesn’t even sway with your attempts, or flinch at the near animalistic way you look at him. 

“I fucking don’t. And I don’t want to know. I didn’t ask you to be here tonight.”  you reply, tone vicious, jaw locked. “You don’t get to hold it against me.”

The next thing Hiroki says flows out easily out of his mouth, like it’s known, or an acceptable thing to say to the woman you’re going to marry. 

“They don’t give a shit about you. You know that.”

The piece of shit is not letting up, you gasp when he fixes his grip on you. 

Toji walks over you, gets between you, way too close to his pretty face. The abrupt interruption startles Hiroki and gives you an advantage; you step back, free at last.

“I think that’s enough.”

“Well, this is just great.” Hiroki chortles, looking away like he’s collecting his thoughts. Biting his lips in contemplation. “You know, I keep seeing you everywhere lately, why is that?”

Toji shrugs. He’s not gonna punch his pretty teeth into his face even if he oh so desperately wants to. You’ve had a long night, and he’s gonna have a hard time forgetting how you looked earlier when your moron of a brother brushed you off and left you behind, standing with your heels hanging from your hand.

Doesn’t mean he’s not gonna give the boy something to pop a vein about. “Why don’t you take a guess, hm?”

Hiroki’s eyes land on you. Lids heavy. Toji confirms everything he suspected about him. 

And he makes a decision. He’s gonna get rid of him.

“Are you fucking him?”

How predictable. Toji looks at you over his shoulder, and somehow you understand the silent question. You shake your head.

“You have to leave.” you sound a lot more like yourself now. Except tired. Really exhausted. Like your feet are about to give out under you. Toji is not blind to the way you’ve been putting all your weight on one foot.

Hiroki pauses, realization lands on him that you’re talking to him, and not Toji.

“Get on a plane, fly back to Spain, and stay there for as long as you have to.”

“This is fucking unbelievable.” 

“I disagree. Have a safe flight.”

Hiroki stomps past and hits his shoulder against an unfazed Nanami Kento, who looks back at him like he’s a speck of dust. He asks if everything is fine, examining Toji thoroughly. You seem to be surrounded by assholes at all times.

You nod, ask about your dad. He’s currently talking to the police. Nanami insists on getting you a car, tells you to rest, but you hesitate.

“I can take her home.” Toji says, surprising himself yet again. You look at him, then at Nanami, and following his lead you surprise him when you nod.

“Are you sure?” Nanami repeats. 

“Yes. Keep me posted?”

The blonde man’s eyes soften just a bit, he touches your shoulder, promises he will. He doesn’t keep his eyes off Toji until you walk out of the door.

Toji thinks that maybe he does like the guy, stick up his ass and all.

[my-darling-boy]

Have you had any ✨Ghost Experiences✨ in Scotland yet? Meet any new ghosts???

Ohhhh plenty, but far too many to list without going off on a ramble haha

We’ve done many overnights in castles and old buildings up and down the UK with a team of investigators which has led to really neat experiences, some of them absolutely poignant. I think my favourite interaction has been with a sweetheart of a young seaman called William aboard the RRS Discovery docked in Dundee, also the best K2 session I’ve ever had was there. But yeah, various castles, historic buildings, manors, prisons, etc with some really fascinating results.

I do like how it’s also putting the mediumship to the test which is something I still don’t really like bringing up in general to people but I have apparently shocked investigators/employees at these places with describing events, people, and other things with detail that is not even public or only known privately by people who frequent that location. Nearly all locations I’ve never been to and make a point not to read up on them before I go, which makes these instances more compelling? I often don’t even know the significance of what I’m (sheepishly) describing only to be told I just described a specific thing that happened in a room when there’s no way I could know about said thing. One of the best instances of this was on the RRS Discovery when trailing behind the group in the lower decks, I stopped suddenly. It felt as though something SMACKED very hard and very sudden right where I was standing, someone had lost their life in this very spot. I thought with the boilers around perhaps someone had been hit somehow and died or maybe fallen from the above platform and hit their head on the metal below but was told there were no known records of someone dying in that room and that the platforms didn’t exist at the time. I was perplexed by this as I was 100% sure something had happened there but I just ignored it, maybe I was wrong. We get up to the top deck finally and are told about a boy who, in 1901, tragically fell from the crows nest and died. The investigator and I suddenly realised I had been standing directly below the spot he would have hit on the upper deck when he fell. Another would be a nice young man I’d encountered at a private castle who seemed to be wearing some sort of chainmail and white tunic, followed me around for most of the night, and at one point I picked up on a story about a strange looking gold disc with all these markings on it on the alter in the chapel which he immediately told me not to ask about and refused to elaborate more, I had no idea why he was so adamant about this. I later learned after enquiry the castle historians have documented the place being used by the Templars and it’s a private fact at this location that the Templars have buried artefacts beneath the castle they are working to recover… most notably, beneath the chapel. I’d be talking for ages if I described the other occurrences, but that’s one I’ll always remember!

All and all, I do actually recommend doing it, even if you don’t believe in the stuff, because you get entire historic locations basically all to yourself, at night, which is cooler. I once sat for nearly an hour in a 200 year old jail on the floor, in the dark, at 2 AM, just chilling. On free roam while everyone is usually at base, I’ve been able to explore places by myself, in the dark, opening doors to rooms not even shown to us, panning my torch to old paintings and artefacts in basements to attics and bedrooms and so much more. I’ve sat alone in century old ships and played sea shanties which echoed hauntingly down the passageways. Sprawled out in the pews of medieval chapels in the pitch dark, wandered dark castle corridors alone, sometimes I’ll sing out old songs and just listen to it drift out through the halls and rooms. You feel like some character in a novel, it’s quite a liminal space! Like all these places where so many other people came before you, where people lived and died, sometimes even right where you’re sitting, and you’re able to lay out on the stones in the dark with it all and just feel connected to it yk?

Anyway that still ended up being a ramble HAHA so yeah! I recommend it for both believers and those less inclined because at the end of the day, you’ve basically got several hours of private access to historical locations, at night, no tourists, and sometimes to places the public isn’t allowed at all, and hey maybe something Strange will happen while you’re alone in the darkness.

[fizzyxcustard]

Regarding the ask game about fanfic, I present to you this : ⭐

Go wild with the sequence you want to rant about. Feel the glee as you type an answer to this ask.

Thanks ☆♡☆

I’m so sorry for not replying to this sooner. In fact, I’ve been musing over which sequence to write about. It’s so incredibly hard to pick just one sequence, and my mind, for some reason, keeps coming back to this glorious bastard:

My first Pilgrimage fic was “Wrong Place Wrong Time”, which I had such a blast writing and am considering re-writing. I think the fic needs work and could be made so much better now I’ve got more Raymond knowledge and experience under my belt. So, ahem, the sequence.

I’m going to choose this one:

“Every woman I have bedded has given themselves to me by choice. I have never had to resort to force with any woman.”

You chuckled wryly. “So no one can resist you? Talk about arrogance. Now I can see why you haven’t got a wife.”

Raymond stepped towards you again. “And do not lie and tell me you are not finding it difficult resisting temptation. I sense it all over you. As for taking a wife, that can soon be changed.”

His gaze penetrated you, curling around you tightly, and warmth spread throughout your entire being, forcing fear away, although only for a brief few moments. The next thing you realised was Raymond’s lips against yours and his hands cupping your face. You could not deny that his kiss was hot, electric and caused something to snap in you. That instinct you had been so terrified of unleashing was finally loose. Your kiss deepened, and you could taste wine, until his lips left yours and delved down your neck and onto your chest. Words would not come as you gasped. He left a trail of red hot fire down you.

His hand cupped your breast, teasing your nipple beneath the clothing. And you heard him growl. It was primal and animal-like. The growl drew a deep groan from you, followed by a word which you could not even fathom yourself. The word had become lost in translation from your brain to your lips as the arousal took you over.

You didn’t even notice as Raymond pushed you against one of the wooden pillars. Your whole body was on fire and he continued on kissing you hungrily, his tongue gently licking against your skin, paired with the tickling of his stubble.

But your rational mind began to make itself known and you opened your eyes, looking around and realising what was happening. “Raymond, stop!” you called out. “Please…” you begged. But he continued on kissing you, lapping at your breasts like an animal. “STOP!” you demanded, shoving him away.

Raymond glared at you, his eyebrows lowered and his eyes cold. “Do not deny that you enjoyed that!” he snarled. You were both panting, and you could feel the heat burning your cheeks and chest.

Without another word you raced out of the barn, not even caring if he followed you, or worse, tried to hurt you.

**

This scene is the first true interaction between the female reader and Raymond, and the sexual tension and frustration is monumental here. I really can’t put into words how much I adored writing this story, even though it’s riddled with mistakes and needs re-writing. It was my first venture into the Pilgrimage fandom.

The reader is so aware of her attraction to Raymond, but ultimately she’s scared of letting go. She’s scared of her own feelings and also of him. Gradually he’s worn her down to this scene, but she still takes the control back. And that’s what really keeps Raymond obsessed with her. She’s different. She has respect for herself. She’s proud and honours herself.

Raymond is using all his power to get her to see there’s something between them, even though he knows she knows. She just won’t admit it. And that frustration he feels is at bursting point. It’s more frustrating having someone deny you who you know is attracted to you.

Man, I love this fic! Not for its quality, but for the sheer passion I wrote it with. I love projects like this. And I hope I can find another one.

Here, have some more Raymond.

Wrong Place Wrong Time, which is ultimately a time travel romance, can be found here on AO3, or in my masterlist (pinned at the top of my blog)

Psst! One last thing. There’s also a part 2. 😉😉

As always, if you wish to be added to my fic tag list (for all fics, a particular story or a particular character), then please message me and let me know. All comments and reblogs are appreciated more than you know. And asks are always welcome!!

Happy reading, writing and thank you for making it this far!

[verdemoun]

WHAT HAPPENS WHEN JOHN MEETS ABIGAIL AGAIN😭😭😭😭

oh my sweet summer child which one. don't worry i'll do both

john's death is awful. it's abrupt but it's not fast. he wheezes, knowing any breath could be his last but still fighting despite there being more lead than bone in his body in case he still needs to protect abigail and jack. falls to his knees, still trying to make his lungs inflate, feels himself falling backwards as the clouds in his vision turn to black

feels someone catching him. pain is gone instantaneously and he gasps like he was suffocating. strangely familiar voice he'd almost forgotten but could recognize anywhere tells him to take it easy, it's alright. wildly glances over his shoulder to see arthur. hosea's there, kneeling in front of him, trying to assure him that 'it's okay, son' in that crackly old voice he hasn't heard in over a decade.

still trying to catch his breath, looking around wildly and the first thing john asks is where's addie. not abigail. addie. because if he's seeing arthur and hosea, he's dead, and he can deal with that later but that means he can see his little girl again

and arthur, who once mocked his brother as 'father of the year' and despised how he acted with jack for so long can't feel anything but pride because the first thing stupid dumb younger brother asks for is his daughter. can't help himself from chuckling, because charles is no doubt struggling to keep her in the car, makes some gesture to release the little demon who has been bouncing up and down since she found out her dad was coming 'home'

john hasn't even picked himself off the ground before he's holding his arms open and abigail marston jr is sprinting to him. beaming like he is the luckiest man in the world for being shot 21 times because he gets to hold his little girl, kissing her cheeks in adoration, asking where she got the idea to get so big.

it's been less than a year but to not see a child for almost a year feels like a lifetime. she's almost 3 inches taller, she's giggling and whining he's going to squish her he's hold on so tight and he has to stop himself from thinking about the last time he saw her. last time he saw his little girl he was burying her.

the gang are almost glad to be forgotten about. there's john marston, older than they'd ever seen him, older than arthur ever got to be in 1899, who experienced his own death seconds ago immediately becoming a father again.

he answers her excited questions so gently - so sorry he was away so long. he went to mexico and all over new austin, but he thought about her every night. that mommy and jack still need to look after the farm so they couldn't come with him, that she better have said thank you to uncle arthur and uncle charles for taking care of her while he was gone and he's never putting her down again, despite her squirming and wriggling in his arms because she's a big girl who doesn't need to be carried

on the drive the gang can't even talk to him because he's just staring at his little girl nestled up beside him with so much love, trying not to look obviously confused and slightly horrified by her holding up an iPad and eagerly explaining how to play way of the turtle because 'arthur i swear to god if you converted my daughter into chelonianism i will find a way to kill you also why is this moving picture show handheld and interactive'

if he ever struggles adjusting to modern era he doesn't show it. the second he saw his daughter he knew that eventually (sooner than he'd like) his family would be together again and he would go through hell/learning to drive and work a mobile phone and getting a shitty part-time job as a laborer to make sure they are all safe with a place to call home again

--

in direct contrast, abigail marston nee roberts death is so peaceful. bedridden for days, knowing her body was quitting and blaming the immeasurable toll of heartbreak despite how much she tried to pull herself together for jack's sake. jack, who looks so much like his father, sitting at her bedside and insisting he'll be okay (for her sake. he very much won't be)

it's a blink. one blink, she's looking at her son, and the next it's her husband. the images almost overlap each other, their similarities and differences never more obvious. jack squints because he reads too much, young enough that it hasn't formed lines on his face yet but promises to. john squints to make his singular eye focus (well, he has two eyes, but she knows he can only see out of one after those damned wolves). his face is worn, an old, scarred map of the lives he's lived. the corners of his mouth tug more with smile lines than frown, though. it's like a secret between them, how often he smiles

it's like jack and john are in the exact same spot, sitting beside her, but the walls of bedroom have become a field, as john takes her hand delicately as if it isn't as rugged and haggard as his from years of washing, cooking, tending to the chores on the farm that used to be his

"hey"

"hey"

he sits beside her, staring at her as much as she's staring at him. she looks so beautiful but so tired, holding onto so much grief that no one person should shoulder alone. abigail notices he's somehow older, like the three years they've been apart have affected him too. more crinkles in his face, but his hair doesn't look so dry

he cuts her off before she can work herself into a panic over where their daughter is, as much as he knows it's been so much longer for her. addie's fine, arthur is entertaining her, she's as bossy and demanding as her mother (to which abigail playfully hits him for) arthur's here, sadie's here, charles and hosea and lenny and sean and karen, the whole gang, they're here too. not heaven or hell but something else she can worry about, figure out and understand later

might as well be speaking latin because abigail could not care less after she heard her daughter was there. she just so wholly, entirely missed john she doesn't want to take her eyes off him in case she blinks and he's gone again

[corfisers]

haven't opened discord since january (and probably was quiet weeks before deciding to stop even looking at it too, but i don't remember for sure) and it's not like i'm planning to open it now, even thought i know that i left it on invisible and that nobody would be able to see if i'm online or not anyway. it's not even about being perceived, i just don't want to see and acknowledge that someone might've been trying to talk to me in a genuine effort to connect or check if i'm alright. let alone respond to that. i've even had a few dreams about it. keep telling myself "next week, next week i'll reach out and fix this" and then i don't. again, it's been months. when shame and guilt will inevitably overweight the feeling that causes this and i do come back, i hope i won't hear a single "i missed you" because i wouldn't even be able to reply "me too" sincerely. which is another thing. i don't really miss people. time isn't real. and it's not anyone's fault, it's not like i don't care about the people who somehow managed to get close enough (although you can argue that if i cared i wouldn't be this way, and you wouldn't be the first one), but it doesn't really help, does it? so much compassion and care completely wasted, and on me of all people

[transmandrake]

Feel like face blindness is underestimated as a thing that Completely Fucks Up your ability to socialise and make friends, especially when its combined with time blindness.

Want friends but cant recognise people and have no idea when you last talked to someone?

The only way you can do that is to be in a situation where the same people show up in the same place at the same time, or/AND where said people approach you first and frequently enough to where you can figure out a way to find them that doesnt involve needing to know what they look like.

Oh, you already did that? Well now you have to actually remember they exist and contact them. Regularly. And pretend you care. You wish you did.

Even worse if you're depressed or otherwise emotionally suppressed naturally or otherwise. As a lot of autistic people are. Its not at all surprising no one makes an effort to hang out with someone who never recognises them, never contacts them, and if they do has nothing they want to say and has no response to anything you do or say, and shows no sign they even like you at all.

But people are still really cool. Wish my brain actually wanted anything to do with them sometimes. Would be nice.

[catcatb0y]

"This post makes a great blocklist" has done awful things to my psyche. Why do I keep wasting what builds up to hours of my time reading all of this dumb shit just to block people?? It's block and move on, not black and move and block and move and block and move and-

[britneyshakespeare]

i have been working with kids for four years and i had to write my first ever note just now about a seventh grade boy being inappropriate towards me. i don't know what the hell this could possibly lead to or what. he was trying to feel my legs repeatedly to the point where i had to stop sitting next to him (and i was subbing for his one-to-one para!!!). he's got high support needs. in that kind of job, you're supposed to sit next to them all day and look over their work.

the teacher whose classroom this was happening in could also tell something was wrong. the whole class was acting kinda crazy because it was the day before school vacation week and there was another class coming in to share projects. so like, he was swamped with keeping order already. but we were sitting two feet away from his podium at the front of the room. the kid was giving him and me a hard time when he wouldn't take out his chromebook as he was instructed. and then when he did take out his chromebook, he immediately, for some reason, places it on my lap. he had been ogling my legs the whole time. he puts his computer ON MY LAP. and i'm just like, stunned, because what the hell? can you not keep it on your own lap, for some reason? i don't even know what to say, i just hold it a little above my lap while i'm thinking why on earth would this be happening? he would NOT do this to his regular para if she were here, would he? this can't be normal.

and the teacher sees this and within a minute places a stool in front of the kid for him to put his laptop on. and i'm like. oh ok. yeah. he notices exactly what's happening and that that's not appropriate. and then when the other class comes in to share projects he tells me "miss b——, you don't actually have to sit next to c—— this whole period if you don't want to." and he grabs me a chair for me to go sit with the other paras in the back opposite corner of the room. like he KNEW. and thank you mr. d—— for recognizing that because i was just kind of shocked and didn't know if i was overreacting in my head to all of this.

when there's a point in the class where the kids are discussing stuff, i privately mention what's happened to the para who's sitting closest to me. and she says that the thing about him calling me pretty is something he's been known to do, but the fact that he kept trying to touch my legs is new behavior. and that's a completely different class of behavior. i was telling him NO, don't do that, and he kept doing it. and the fact that he was calling me pretty repeatedly, even when i was giving him instructions that he wasn't taking. and this is the second to last class before the end of the day, so she says she'll take a walk with him before learning center and talk to him about it, and i'm grateful for that. she does. the kid apologizes to me as soon as i come into learning center. but like. WHAT the hell.

i'm STILL like what the hell. this is unfathomable to me. the other adults who i told about this or who witnessed it were supportive of me. but. what to do??? i wrote a long note to his regular para about this, because i knew she was going to hear about it at least from the first para i told. the second para i told about it after school had a kind of... i'm not gonna say enabling reaction, but i suppose since it had already been "taken care of" (or at least, he had been spoken to and apologized) she didn't really have much to add in the way of discipline. i told her what happened after school and she was just like... a little bit, laughing? like oh, yup, that dog. she at the very least confirmed he KNEW what he was doing, that that was not an accident. she said to me "i had a feeling he was going to develop a crush on you" (me and these other paras were together for most of the beginning of the day too). but it's like. it's not about that.

i have worked with children for FOUR years. children have had crushes on me before; i'm quite unfazed by it. boys from the ages of 5-to-15 have told me i'm so pretty before and asked me to marry them. i've never had them feeling up my legs before. i've never had them making me physically uncomfortable. it's NOT about this seventh grader having a crush on the pretty substitute. he is NOT unusual for that, at all. but i've never had a boy of any age or education level repeatedly touching my knees and thighs. THAT is problem behavior!!!

because what if i wasn't assertive enough with him to tell him to stop? what if i was a girl his age? worse, what if i was an adult who encouraged this behavior? i don't come to the middle school to be a seductress. i had no intention in putting on a pair of tights and a skirt this morning of being viewed as an attractive object, especially not by a pubescent boy. what if i did though? what if his interpretation of me wasn't so incorrect and offensive? what if i let him keep touching me inappropriately and saying flirtatious things to me? me, an adult in my mid-twenties, towards a middle school boy?

in no world would that be ok. if i had been feeling up and overly-complimenting a CHILD at my place of work, holy shit would there be reports about me. so a child acting that way could never be ok either. if it'd be firable for me to be reciprocating that action, then that action should not be happening to me. ever. and that child should never repeat that action again to any other adult again.

like i am simply not there to be treated as an attractive young woman. i put on a skirt that shows too much knee and get paired with a boy, though, and that's apparently just a natural consequence. hooo-ly shit. like i don't know what to do. first of all, the more time passes since this has happened, the more i am just unable to stop thinking about it. i wasn't "hurt" or too emotional in the moment but i'm just still processing it and it gets worse. i'm just more and more disgusted.

i don't know what i expect to come out of this, or the email i sent to his regular para. like, am i gonna have to attend a fucking meeting? what is the precedent that this sets for him? WHY do i feel BAD for him about this? well, because he's a child, of course. a child who has done wrong he may not be able to understand. but he knows WHAT he did. he just doesn't know WHY it was wrong.

and i couldn't even say something to him that was like, "well, how would you like it if i was touching you like this?" because young boys do not understand how inappropriate it'd be. i'm sure this kid thought he was gonna get away with what he was doing at the very least. but probably not unlikely he (being a child with no concept of how wrong it'd be) thought he could get some sort of "positive" attention for treating me like this. either way he was simply doing what he wanted to do, with no perspective of how it would make me feel or that it could be classified as harassment. teenage boys think it'd be awesome if the older attractive woman would reciprocate their affections. they're wrong. i, as the older attractive woman of his affection, cannot be the one to convince him of that, though.

i don't know. i don't know. like it's just so not ok. but if i didn't tell another adult about this, he would've gotten away with it. he would probably do it again. and him being in trouble for it is not the same as him understanding that it was wrong. unless someone has a REAL talk with him about inappropriate attention and consent, it's not unlikely that he'll just repeat the behavior in a setting where he thinks he won't be caught or told on. THAT'S the problem. me, i could just never have to be this boy's para again. in my email, i didn't say that i would never be ok working with or around him ever again. he already knows i didn't like it and i'm not afraid to tell on him; as far as that lesson applies to me, individually, i think he's become too ashamed to repeat that.

i don't know. i don't know. i very much expressed that i, i guess, "forgave" him in the email that i wrote. i clarified that i was writing it for the sake of having it on the record. i think that could potentially be very important for the purposes of preventing further similar or escalating behavior from him in the future. i don't want him to be in trouble. i don't think i will be blamed for this, especially not with how promptly i acted, although i don't know to what extent this will be framed as me thinking i'm a "victim." i'm not... i don't feel victimized. i feel disgusted. i feel afraid for the sake of what could happen to or with him in the future, if he thinks behavior like his towards me today is ok.

i feel like if i end up having to further respond to this, this will be made about me. in a way it kind of was. is? in the moment it was happening, it was certainly about me. because i was the one this boy was giving all this unwanted attention to. but to make the consequences of this about me and to involve me any further, i also don't want. because i said what i said already, i don't care if a student has a crush on me. this isn't about me being the pretty substitute. i'm the pretty substitute all the time, to tons of people. that's not really something i've been concerned about up until now.

but do i have to reexplain my personal embarrassment? that i was wearing a skirt? that he was ogling my legs? really? what more do i have to gain from sharing that, other than having the adults at my place of work confirm or deny me in their heads as the pretty substitute? i don't know. perhaps that's REALLY overthinking it. but i don't want to be the substitute that caused a problem for this special ed kid. i don't wanna be the reason that he can't be around me anymore, the person people think of when they're monitoring how he's acting around girls and young women. i DON'T want to be the one people think of when they think of his past misbehavior. i'm NOT here for that.

that's just fucking humiliating. and in this being a thing that could follow him, i have to be ogled and touched over and over again in people's minds for this to be taken seriously. but for this to be swept under the rug would be even worse, no? i don't know. i hate this. the principal is a nice guy; i wouldn't be surprised if he and/or people from the special ed department reached out to me sympathetically about this. but i don't wanna be reached out to. i don't wanna have ppl i work with tell me "sorry that kid was just so attracted to you he couldn't help himself" like come on. if the kid himself doesn't change then i don't really care to remember this incident. and no one reaching out to me and saying they've talked to this kid will actually prove to me he understands. this is the kind of inappropriate behavior it takes years for people to understand why it was wrong, especially a child who has no idea. i mean come on.

[shenzi-hemlock]

Do you ever listen to a podcast and you hear some of the coldest takes you’ve ever heard in your life (I’m talking colder than the heat death of the universe) and the little devil on your shoulder says you should start a podcast to just tell these poor souls why they are so disgustingly wrong about every topic they chat about but the little angel on your other shoulder tells you to just move on and hold strong, to not give in to the desire to make a podcast??

Is that just me??

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[moonstrider9904]

💖 Your gentle reminder not to repost gifs 💖

💖 And if you absolutely must, saying "not my gif" isn't proper credit 💖

💖 Asking for permission before using a gif for a fic or a post is a thing, you should totally do it more 💖

💖 Respect a giffer who doesn't want their stuff reposted. 💖

💖 Respect boundaries. 💖

💖 Or use the tumblr editor's gif function, because as much of a pain as it is, it links to the original poster 💖

💖 Frankly, I get happy when someone uses a gif of mine through the editor and I see the mention. But when it's reposted without credit, not so much. 💖

💖 If you're going to repost a gif, know who made it and link to their post so that those who see it go support them for their effort 💖

💖 But it's much easier to just not repost gifs 💖

💖 And please don't reblog posts with reposted uncredited gifs. Support the person who created, not the person who reposted. 💖

💜 And dear fellow gif makers, I encourage you to not be afraid of watermarking your creations 💜

💜 If the people who consume our content for free are going to keep viewing us like machines then they could at least know our handles 💜

[hauntedpearl]

.

[goldshykitsune]

So apparently they are starting to let parents monitor your phones stuff.

This is of course google, however I know plenty of people who use google docs and are underage so I must warn everyone!

Your parents can monitor what you write!

They can read it!

It's not safe! Not anymore!

Please use something other than google docs!

I know most phones have notes use that instead!

Or even notes on the computer! But stay away from google!

Especially if you want your privacy! Otherwise your family can see it.

I didn't even know my mother's email was connected to my account so don't think your safe. I dunno if it is google, I just know that it's google products!

Only reason I even know this is because my mother saw something I wrote yesterday which was... (something for my eyes only)

I felt scared, I was scared that she saw something I searched but since I'm 18 today it makes it impossible for her to see what I search or do now without permission but that's not for definite.

I do not want anyone having to be exposed by google about anything so please use something else!

Or use a secret account that you made so your family cannot see what you are doing!

I dunno if she can see it still. I don't know how to make it so she can't.

I might have to just delete most my google docs or at least export them elsewhere.

I just want everyone to be safe. So please stay safe, stay away from google as much as possible!

[knaveofmogadore]

Kfkdks

[makemeking]

I don't know why I'm still so fucking desperate for some kind of a connection when I know it's never going to happen

[scarletfasinera]

Worst thing a writer of a book can make me deal with is talk to me like I'm an idiot who can't understand books while I'm actively reading the book they wrote