#Automatic Tracking of Changes Supported

[harrysfolklore]

we need a fic about carlos’ win and piastri sisters’ reaction to it

THE LITTLE BITCH WON 🥺 ahhh im so happy for carlos, i had to write this ! i hope yo like thisss

READ LITTLE BITCH HERE

The Mexico City sunrise painted the sky as you and Carlos made your way to the track. He'd been unusually quiet during breakfast, that focused energy already building.

"Nervous?" you asked, squeezing his hand as your driver navigated through the early morning traffic.

"No," he said automatically, then caught your knowing look. "Maybe a little. Starting from pole here… the run to Turn 1 is so long."

"You've got this," you brought his hand to your lips.

"Max will be aggressive-"

"And you'll handle it," you cut him off. "Like the little bitch you are."

That broke his tension, making him laugh. "How do you always do that?"

"Do what?"

"Make me feel better by insulting me."

"It's a gift," you grinned. "Now stop overthinking and kiss me before we get to the track and you go all serious racing driver on me."

He obliged, one hand tangling in your hair as he pulled you close. The kiss was deep and slow, full of everything he wasn't saying.

When you pulled back, his brown eyes locked into yours, a soft edge on them that made you melt.

It was hard to think that those same eyes glared you across the paddock once and now you were about to complete five months of being his girlfriend.

When you arrived at Ferrari, Reyes and Carlos Sr. were already there. Reyes pulled you into a warm hug while Carlos got swept up in pre-race preparations.

"My girl," she kissed both your cheeks. "You look beautiful today."

"Thank you, Reyes," you said, squeezing her hands before your eyes unconsciously drifted to the McLaren area.

"You're going to check on your brother?" she asked knowingly.

"Am I that predictable?"

"No, mi amor. Just a good sister."

You couldn't help but smile at that. Over the months you've slowly learned to not feel like you needed to choose between Carlos and Oscar, it was a slow process but their support made it easier.

You found Carlos doing his final preparations. "I'm going to check on Osc for a bit.”

He nodded, already half in race mode. "Tell him I said he's got this. The McLaren's race pace looked good."

"I will," you kissed his cheek. "See you on the podium, little bitch."

His engineer snorted, trying to cover it with a cough.

The walk to McLaren was filled with nervous energy. Early fans were already filling the grandstands, the atmosphere electric with anticipation.

The McLaren garage was quieter than Ferrari, the mood still heavy from yesterday's qualifying. You found Oscar in his driver room, staring intently at track maps.

"Brought you coffee," you held out his favorite pre-race drink. "And Carlos says your race pace looked good."

"Thanks," he took the cup but didn't meet your eyes. "For both."

You sat beside him, studying his face. "Talk to me, Osc. What's really going on?"

He was quiet for so long you thought he might not answer.

"I just..." he set down the coffee, running both hands through his hair. "Sometimes I feel like I'm not good enough for this. Like everyone made a mistake choosing me."

Your heart broke. "Oscar..."

"And I know it's stupid. I know I've earned my place here, but days like yesterday... it just brings all those doubts back."

"Look at me," you waited until he met your eyes. "Do you remember when you were ten, and you came home crying because some kid said you'd never make it to F1?"

A small smile tugged at his lips. "And you made him eat dirt at school the next day."

"Exactly. And what did I tell you then?"

"That I was meant for this," his voice softened. "That you could see it in the way I drove, even in karts."

"And has that changed?"

"No, but-"

"No buts," you took his hands. "You're exactly where you're supposed to be, Oscar Piastri. Bad qualifyings don't change that. Bad races don't change that. You're my little brother, and I've never been wrong about you."

He squeezed your hands. "How do you always know what to say?"

"Big sister superpower," you kissed his forehead. "Now drink your coffee and show them what you can do from P17.”

“Thank you, sister,” he squeezed your shoulder, “Now go back to your man, he’s driving like a beast this weekend.”

When you returned to Ferrari, the pre-race energy was at its peak. Carlos was in his final preparations, but his eyes found yours immediately.

"Oscar okay?" he mouthed.

You nodded, giving him a thumbs up. Another side effect of your relationship was that Oscar and Carlos became closer than ever. Oscar looked up to him and Carlos grew so fond of him that he cared about him like an older brother.

It was something not even in your wildest dreams would make sense a year ago. But right now felt like the perfect dynamic.

The garage began clearing for the grid walk. Carlos pulled you aside quickly.

"Para suerte," he murmured, kissing you deeply.

"Little bitch," you whispered against his lips. "Go win this thing."

Reyes and Carlos Sr. were waiting in the garage, both greeting you with warm hugs as you settled in to watch the start.

"Nervous?" Reyes asked, taking your hand.

"Always," you admitted. "For both of them."

The formation lap began, your heart pounding as you watched Carlos lead the field around. The ambient temperature was rising, making tire management crucial.

"He's got this," Carlos Sr. said confidently. "Look how smooth his formation lap is."

The garage fell silent as five red lights appeared above the start line. Your hand found Reyes', both of you holding your breath. The Mexican heat was stifling, but you barely noticed, every nerve focused on the Ferrari at the front of the grid.

"Vamos, hijo," Carlos Sr. whispered, his usual composed demeanor cracking with nervous energy.

The lights went out, and twenty cars launched forward into the long run to Turn 1. Carlos got a perfect start, but Max's Red Bull was immediately in his slipstream, the blue car looming in Carlos's mirrors. Side by side they went into the first corner, neither giving an inch.

"Come on, come on," you whispered, unconsciously leaning forward.

Carlos held firm on the inside line, forcing Max to take the longer way around. Through Turn 2, the Ferrari emerged still leading, and the garage erupted. Engineers who usually maintained professional calm were jumping up and down.

"Tranquila, mi amor," Reyes squeezed your hand. "Look how controlled he is."

The pit stop window approached, tension ratcheting up. Ferrari brought Charles in first, the stop clean but nerve-wracking.

"Pushing too hard on those tires," Carlos Sr. observed as Carlos finally pitted.

When Carlos crossed the finish line first, the garage exploded. You hugged Reyes, both of you crying and laughing. Carlos Sr. wrapped you both in a bear hug, his usual composure forgotten as he shouted "¡Vamos!" repeatedly.

Through happy tears, you saw Carlos pump his fist as he drove past, and you couldn't be happier for him.

The podium ceremony felt eternal. When they finally played the Spanish anthem, you saw Carlos's eyes glistening as he sang along. He caught your gaze in the crowd and winked, making your heart flutter just like it did that first time you saw him win in Australia.

Back then, you tried to play it cool, like you didn't care that he won. But right now the story was completely different.

After the ceremonies and media obligations, Carlos finally made it back to the team. He lifted you off your feet the moment he saw you, spinning you around as you laughed.

"Mi amor," he breathed against your lips before kissing you deeply.

"My champion," you whispered back. "My little bitch."

He laughed, pressing his forehead to yours. "Only yours."

Carlos received hugs, cheers and champagne showers from friends, team members and family. After taking some photos and watching him complete more interviews, it was time to head out and celebrate.

"I'm going to check on Oscar one more time," you told Carlos, as you walked through the paddock.

"Tell him to come to dinner," Carlos said. "He drove well today, P8 from P17."

You found Oscar in the McLaren garage, already changed and packing up.

"Hey champ," you smiled. "Coming to dinner with us?"

He gave you a small smile back. "Think I'll pass tonight. Bit tired, and…" he paused. "Just want some quiet, you know?"

You studied his face. "You sure? Carlos specifically asked for you to come."

"I know, and tell him thanks," Oscar squeezed your hand. "But you guys should celebrate properly. I'm good, really. Just going to order room service and study the race data."

You pulled him into a hug. "You drove amazingly today. P8 from P17 is no joke."

"Thanks, sis," he hugged you back tight. "Go celebrate with your winner. Just... maybe not too loudly in the hotel? The walls are thin."

"OSCAR!"

liked by oscarpiastri, carlossainz55 and 376,528 others

ynpiastri MY LITTLE CHAMPION BITCH 🥲🥲 i’m SO proud of you mi amor, we all are. one more win this season showing everyone the talented driver that you are. the best is yet to come ❤️

also beyond proud of my baby brother as always, your determination and ability to push through every setback never ceases to amaze me. chin up, i know you got this

oh and lando got p2 i guess

GRACIAS MEXICO CITY 😩

view all comments

username1 AHHHH

username2 SIMP PIASTRI

username3 this is still wild to me they used to hate each other’s guts

scuderiaferarri ❤️

username4 this is wild bc she hated him when he won in australia 😭

nicolepiastri Congrats Carlos! Come visit and bring embarrassing stories of my daughter please

↳ ynpiastri MUM😩

↳ username1 she’s an icon

reyesvdec Te amamos ❤️

↳ username2 the sainz love her so much i could cry

username5 HELP THE LINE ABOUT LANDO 😭

oscarpiastri Love you sis. Congrats to Carlos ❤️

↳ carlossainz55 Thank you brother

↳ username2 this would send 2023 me into a coma

↳ username3 THIS PLOT TWIST

carlossainz55 Te amo

At the restaurant, Lando was the only driver who joined your celebration with the Sainz family. He fit right in, making everyone laugh with stories about Carlos.

"You know," Lando said, taking a sip of wine, "I used to be Reyes and Carlos Sr.'s favorite adopted son."

"Used to be?" you raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, then you came along with your whole enemies-to-lovers storyline and stole my spot," he pouted dramatically. "Now I'm like the forgotten middle child."

"Ay, Lando," Reyes laughed, reaching over to pat his cheek. "You're still our favorite British son."

"Small comfort when YN gets all the good Spanish mom cooking," Lando grumbled good-naturedly.

After dinner, it was time for the party celebrating Carlos' win. He claimed that he didn't want to drink much, but that went out the window when his friends lifted him up as 'Smooth Operator' played.

"SMOOTH OPERATOOOOR!" they sang terribly off-key. Carlos was laughing, one hand clutching his drink, the other reaching for you.

"Join me up here, mi amor!"

"Absolutely not," you called back, but you were laughing too.

Hours later, the celebrations were winding down. You stood outside waiting for your car, Carlos' arms wrapped around you from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder. The Mexico City air was cooler now, but his warmth kept you comfortable.

"I still can't believe it," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your neck. "Second win this season."

You turned in his arms to face him, taking in his slightly flushed cheeks and bright eyes. The victory high was still there, mixed with the pleasant buzz from the celebrations.

"You know what's different this time?" you asked, playing with the collar of his shirt.

"Hmm?"

"I don't have to pretend I'm not happy for you," you smiled, remembering Australia. "Don't have to hide how proud I am."

His eyes softened as he pulled you closer. "You were terrible at hiding it even then."

"I was not!"

"Mi amor," he laughed, pressing his forehead to yours. "You called me 'little bitch' with way too much affection."

"That was pure hatred," you protested weakly.

"Sure it was," he grinned. "Just like when you stared at me during the podium ceremony."

"I was plotting your demise."

"With heart eyes?"

"Shut up," you buried your face in his chest, feeling it rumble with laughter.

"Never," he kissed the top of your head. "I love reminding you how bad you were at hating me."

"I'm starting to hate you again right now."

"No you're not," he tilted your chin up, eyes twinkling. "You love me."

Before you could retort, the car pulled up. As you settled into the backseat, Carlos pulled you close again.

"For the record," he whispered in your ear, "I was terrible at pretending too. Ask Charles - he said I talked about you constantly."

"To complain?"

"That's what I told myself," he smiled against your hair. "But I think everyone knew better."

You intertwined your fingers with his, watching the city lights blur past. "We were kind of idiots, weren't we?"

"The biggest," he agreed. "But we figured it out eventually."

"Yeah," you turned to kiss him softly. "We did."

[ms-demeanor]

I had a straight up delightful moment at work yesterday when a new member of the management team asked me how we were tracking warranties and I explained that we kind of aren't and he asked why we aren't and that meant he got a 30-minute rundown of how top-to-bottom fucked the procurement process is here.

First I explained the process for sending a quote (i am assigned a ticket in system A1, I create an opportunity in system A2, from the opportunity i can generate a quote in system B - if I start with the quote I can't associate it back to the opportunity or the ticket, if we need to change the quote after it was approved we need to generate a new quote from the opportunity to overwrite the old one - and send the quote from system B.)

Then I explained the process of getting approval (system B sends the quote and receives the approvals but does not communicate that to system A, so until it is manually updated system A sends a daily reminder about the quote to the client and after three days with no response will close the ticket even if the client approved the quote in system B. System B will send an email if a quote is approved but it comes from our generic support email so to make sure that I don't miss approvals I have filtering rules set up and a folder I check twice a day. Because there are 4 people who use this system I also check twice daily in system B to see if anyone else's quotes were approved).

Then I explained how I place the orders (easy! I'm a pro! We have a standardized PO pattern that tracks date, vendor and client, it's handy)

Then I explained how I document the orders (neither system A nor B has a way of storing information about orders in progress, only orders that are complete; as such I have created a PO Documentation spreadsheet that lists the PO number, vendor, line of business, client, items ordered, order total, order date, ETA, tracking numbers, serial numbers, delivery confirmation, ticket number for install, ticket title for install, shippong cost, and close confirmation, which all have to be entered individually and which require a minimum of three visits to the spreadsheet per order: entering initial info, entering tracking and SN info, then once more to get that info to close the opportunity)

Then I explained how we close an order (confirm hardware delivery or activate software, use system A2 to code hardware/software/non-taxable products appropriately, run wizard to add charges from A2 to ticket in A1; because the A2 charges were locked by approval in system B, use system A3 to add shipping or other fees or to remove any parts that were approved but not actually needed or ordered - THIS WEEK I got permission to do this bit on my initial A1 procurement ticket instead of generating an A1 post-procurement ticket for fees and shipping. Once all of that is done it's moved into system A4 and is no longer my problem).

If there is a warranty involved it *should* automatically have the expiration tracked in system C, but system C doesn't have any way to pull order info so there's no way it can track warranty *start* dates without somebody manually entering it or without using API data from the manufacturer, which some manufacturers don't provide (fuck you, Apple).

But me and my trainee are happy to add the start date to the configuration once a tech tells us that the device is enrolled in system C. If the techs will tell us that we can add that info no problem.

Until then, I have unfortunately been forced to start a spreadsheet.

The manager was appalled, it was great. I got to say the words "part of the reason things sometimes fall through the cracks is because we have so many cracks" and his response was "no shit." I'm talking to vendors about a procurement system now :) :) :) :)

[coffee-and-geto]

THE SPACE YOU LEFT BEHIND - SATORU GOJO

“Will you stay with me?” It’s like a wish waiting to be granted. “Forever.”

pairing: satoru gojo x sorcerer! reader

summary: indeed, after suguru has defected, you’ve been trying to heal yourself and to not loose your mind. but healing ourselves is always harder than helping others, isn’t it? but don’t forget the goal of a sorcerer: protect humans at the risk of your life. and sometimes, death is closer that we think it is.

warnings: heavy angst, injuries, mention of death, blood, depression, eating disorder, pinning, mention of vomit, mention of cigarettes, mei mei, nanami & shoko make and appearance, mention of yaga & suguru, the lion king movie mentionned, jujutsu sorcerers’ life sucks, the story takes shape after suguru's defection, bittersweet/happy ending.

wc: 5,039

When you committed to the world of exorcism after middle school, you hadn’t realized just how much you had underestimated the darker sides of this life, where exorcists dedicate their lives to protecting humans — the primary source of the curses’ existence.

Suguru was right, wasn’t he?

It’s because of them that your classmates died. It’s also their fault that your best friend deserted school after massacring an entire village during a mission.

That put an end to all the memories you cherished so dearly, kept, and illustrated in a diary.

Sunny afternoons after class, eating ice cream with your friends Shoko, Suguru, and Satoru. The setting sun signaling the end of a fulfilling day, leading into sleepless nights of sleepovers, where Satoru brought piles of sweets ready to infest your mouths with cavities as Suguru told scary stories about his hometown.

Or shopping days with Shoko, dragging the two boys along to test makeup products on them — the ones you’d never buy considering their outrageous prices.

Or those dangerous missions where you hunted curses, tracking them down to uphold your values: protecting the weak to maintain order and peace.

Such a beautiful motto, isn’t it?

A motto meant to help you, guide you, and support you so you wouldn’t lose sight of your goals.

So why did it fail so much that your once-beloved diary now sits open on your desk, collecting dust since the last time you opened it — not to add a new memory, but rather to look at the last ones you wrote.

Suguru’s departure left a void far more significant and meaningful than you had expected, didn’t it?

Life feels duller. The sky no longer seems as sunny — replaced by a grayish one, heavy with dark clouds threatening storms that mirror your emotions. If you had no tears left to cry, the rain would suffice to push you into your room after classes and missions, both as exhausting as your mind, consumed by draining thoughts.

The silence left by Suguru’s absence is far louder than all the times you screamed into his voicemail after he stopped responding to you. Of course, eventually, you gave up. Not out of choice.

Simply because he had blocked you.

And when changing SIM cards proved futile, you quickly realized through the automatic response that the number you sought was no longer in service.

It felt like all your regrets had come crashing down at once. But in truth, they had only arrived right on time.

If you had helped Suguru the way he needed, he wouldn’t have left. 

He wouldn’t have been condemned.

You wouldn’t have stopped eating, stopped living your life the way you were told you should, or started losing your friends one by one.

Suguru was the first.

Shoko isn’t the second. The brunette seems to hold up much better — although the number of cigarettes she smokes daily has doubled — she doesn’t withdraw into herself the way you do. So, you’re sure you won’t lose her... right?

And as for Satoru… Will he be the next to leave, one way or another?

Or will it be you?

Either way, you’re losing yourselves. It’s been a while since you stopped keeping track of how long it’s been since you last saw Satoru after Suguru’s departure.

Mr. Yaga confirmed that he hadn’t assigned him a single mission — the situation critical, delicate, and as fragile as a flower filled with poison that could make The Strongest falter at the slightest misstep or careless move.

He could very well be dead, and no one would know.

“So… you haven’t heard from him either?” Nanami murmurs, his deep, low voice almost swallowed by the muddy ground and heavy rain that poured as much as your overwhelmed mind.

You shake your head. “Not a single sign of life,” you mumble with the tip of your lips.

The two of you are on your way back to the school after a long mission assigned by your teacher, Yaga. It took you the entire day, but at least your mind feels lighter, despite the constant fatigue weighing on your shoulders like the weight of the world.

As the rain falls harder on you both, Nanami takes the initiative to open his black umbrella, holding it over your head as you stare at your mud-stained shoes.

“Almost three weeks.”

Your friend’s voice sounds distant, like hearing someone underwater.

Your head jerks up. “Hmm?”

“He hasn’t been out in almost three weeks,” Nanami repeats, his gaze fixed straight ahead. The crunching of your shoes and his on the gravel fills the silence before he continues. “Yaga gave him some time, but it’s getting harder to assign missions to others who are on Satoru’s level, you know.”

You don’t react to his words. Of course, he’s right.

Just as he’s wrong.

While Satoru’s behavior of shutting himself away without contact for so long isn’t responsible, his reasons remain entirely valid.

He just lost someone dear to him.

So, can you blame him?

But perhaps it’s time to bring your friend back, even if it means risking losing him — and yourself — in the process.

~~~~

You knock three times on Satoru’s dorm door.

A dead silence answers you.

You try again.

The same response.

So, you try the handle, testing whether it’s locked. However, it gives way under your hand, and a moment later, you step through the doorway into an unrecognizable environment.

Indeed, your best friend’s room — usually adorned with decorations and elements that so vividly reflected Satoru’s lively personality — is now unrecognizable. The windows, typically allowing sunlight to flood in and brighten the room, now shroud it in an ominous darkness. On the floor, clothes, likely dirty, are scattered at your feet. Satoru’s desk is covered in a visible layer of dust despite the dim light. And finally, on the bed you’ve always known, rests a long shape wrapped in thick blankets.

With his back turned to you, Satoru seems to be asleep from where you stand, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Even when you call his name, he doesn’t show any sign of awareness.

So, you close the door and kneel by the side of his bed.

“Satoru?” you murmur, placing a gentle hand on a shoulder covered by your friend’s indigo comforter.

The slight shiver running through him proves he’s very much awake.

But was his mind equally present?

“Satoru, were you sleeping?” you ask, shaking him carefully.

He doesn’t respond, not even with a gesture.

Your throat tightens in the face of a situation you’ve never had to face with him before.

How do you help someone who’s in the same situation as you?

In fact, it’s even worse.

Satoru is Suguru’s other half. Their symbiotic relationship always stopped you from seeing further with Satoru, leaving you questioning what he truly felt for Suguru. Because deep down, you knew you didn’t stand a chance. You’d never hold a place as important as Suguru’s in Satoru’s heart.

So, you chose to fill the void in your heart with love for him. It’s far from enough, but you’d rather not dwell on it. Unrequited love always ends this way, doesn’t it?

You straighten up just enough to lie down on the small remaining space on Satoru’s bed, carefully rubbing your friend’s arm to avoid startling him while offering the overflow of affection that aches to be reciprocated but, for now, can only warm the albino.

You don’t dare complain about the stale smell in the room, prioritizing Satoru’s comfort above all else. You drape your arm around him as he breathes in and out with a shaky rhythm, ignoring the cold of the room that freezes you just as much as the rain from earlier did.

Perhaps half an hour passes. 

Maybe an hour. 

Or more. 

Or even just ten minutes.

The oppressive silence of the room quickly catches up to the sleep deprivation you so desperately need to cure. The cold vanishes. In the end, it doesn’t matter, right?

The only thing that matters is having Satoru in your arms, no matter what, his back pressed securely against you as your breaths synchronize, and your heartbeats merge in a way you’ve always dreamed of.

But when you flutter your eyes open, the absence of cold is quickly replaced by body warmth. Satoru’s thick comforter is draped over you, and his body is pressed against yours.

But what strikes you most is that he’s no longer facing away.

Satoru, his eyelids closed, breathes softly and slowly, the shadow of haunted dark circles staining his angelic face.

You’re about to sit up when Satoru, still without opening his eyes, slides a hand over your arm.

“Don’t move,” he mumbles.

And his raspy voice nearly gives you a heart attack.

There’s only one way for someone to have that effect.

And more than anything, the slight swelling and redness of Satoru’s pale eyelids confirm your suspicions.

Resting your head back onto the pillow, your forehead lightly brushes against Satoru’s.

“Can you look at me?” Your lips move in a near-inaudible whisper.

Almost imperceptibly, he shakes his head.

“Why?”

He doesn’t answer.

“Satoru,” you insist, maintaining the same melancholic gentleness.

So you take the initiative to slowly raise your hands, bringing them toward his soft face to gently lift his eyelids. But what you see causes a crack in your heart, one akin to the shattering of ice under the raw heat of fire.

A small, wet pearl escapes from one of his eyes, deliberately rolling down his cheek, crossing his nose, and vanishing at the corner of his mouth.

Without a word, Satoru opens his eyes, and the embodiment of pain meets your distressed gaze.

His cerulean irises, usually alive with mischief, are as dark as an abyssal chasm. It’s as though a curse itself has taken hold of his gaze, condemning anyone who dares to meet his bloodshot eyes.

Your eyebrows slowly knit together, and with your heart already shattered, you decide to wrap your arms around him, pulling an unrecognizable Satoru against you as his chest releases a trembling breath and your neck grows damp from the occasional drops of warmth falling from his face.

“I’m here,” you mutter in his ear. “I’m here no matter what.”

Your eyelids close slowly, letting the tears you’d held back finally roll down your own cheeks.

Once again, perhaps ten minutes, half an hour, or even the entire afternoon passes before you finally decide to sit up, gently pulling an exhausted Satoru into your arms.

And to your surprise, he allows it.

You help him stand, supporting him with an arm around his body despite the height difference, and guide him to the bathroom. The decision had been made a while ago, even if your consciousness hadn’t fully caught up. After all, you would have wanted someone to do the same for you.

But aren’t we always better at caring for others than for ourselves?

Without protest — even though the idea of seeing Satoru naked might have made you blush last month — immersing him in the warm bath you’ve carefully prepared doesn’t feel as awkward as you’d expected. You’ve never seen him without at least his boxers, so out of respect, you avert your eyes as the poor boy settles into the hot water.

You grab a bottle of shampoo lying around in Satoru’s bathroom, squeezing out a small amount to wash his angelic hair. Despite having likely neglected his hygiene as much as you have lately, your friend is in desperate need of someone to care for him.

Satoru, his eyes still closed, seems almost asleep under your slow, gentle, and careful movements.

It looks like you’re washing a real dead man.

But perhaps part of him has been dead ever since Suguru left? Perhaps a piece of him vanished the moment Suguru was gone?

The faint hum vibrating from Satoru’s lips reassures you that he’s still conscious. You take it as a good sign that he’s relaxing. Your nails softly scratch his scalp, and he lets out a low groan of satisfaction. The foam grows thicker as you continue to massage Satoru’s head.

You rinse the shampoo from his hair with warm water, droplets trickling down his perfect face.

One of those droplets slides just below his eye, so imperceptibly that you wonder if you’d have noticed it at all if you weren’t gazing at his face with almost religious reverence.

Using a washcloth, you pick up Satoru’s body wash this time, lathering it across his skin, applying slightly more pressure to tense areas in need of a soothing massage. Soft sighs escape his nose, signaling that you can continue without bothering him.

After several massages where you pay special attention to certain spots, you fetch a robe, wrapping it around Satoru’s now-clean body. He’s like new, more ready now to hold onto a semblance of consciousness.

But one thing that strikes you is that Satoru, despite being entirely naked and in such a vulnerable state of weakness, allowed you to care for him without opening his eyes even once.

With a faint, gentle smile, you guide Satoru back to his room, grabbing some clean, comfortable clothes for him while he collapses onto his bed under the weight of the world on his shoulders. You help him into each piece of clothing, his body too weak to move as usual, almost lifeless. Then, you lead him to your room, crossing the school’s corridors so he can rest in the clean and organized space you’ve managed to create after pulling yourself together following your own depressive episode of endless, self-destructive days.

Your room is a true haven — tidy, clean, and orderly.

And so your freshly made bed with its crisp sheets seems to call to Satoru. The softness of the mattress cradles him as you drape your immaculate comforter over him.

Like laying a deceased loved one to rest in their coffin, Satoru keeps his eyes closed, his face void of expression, yet with a weariness that seems to have lifted ever so slightly.

~~~~

“How long?”

“I already told you.”

“Liar.”

Satoru pushes the food tray toward you, the arm of the mechanical table brushing against your torso. “I’m not hungry anyway.”

You sigh, the exhaustion of the past few days weighing on you like a heavy, unpleasant rain.

“First of all, you just got back from a mission where you were inches from dying if Shoko hadn’t been there. Second, you refuse to tell me how long it’s been since you’ve eaten — unless it’s been a month — and now you’re saying you’re not hungry?”

Satoru, lying under the pristine white sheets of his infirmary bed, simply turns his head away. It’s as if he’s acting like a machine. 

Mechanical movements, curt responses, and barely any signs of life.

During one of the recent missions assigned to him by Principal Yaga after weeks of absence, Satoru resumed his routine. He sleeps, does his missions, and returns to sleep in his room. Ever since you took the time to clean and organize his room, you haven’t exchanged more than a sentence. The only memory that still haunts you is the blood-red hue of Satoru’s eyes that night in his room.

The void left by Suguru has wreaked havoc.

And while you’ve managed to patch yourself up — or so you think — you’re now trying to help your friend in need. But how do you help someone who refuses to speak?

“And ‘I don’t know’ isn’t an answer,” you add in the face of his silence, rubbing your face, which feels warmer than usual. Perhaps it’s the heat of the room? December is a month where illness comes quickly. But it’s nothing, you reassure yourself.

“You’re flushed.”

“I know.”

“That wasn’t a question.”

Both of you avert your gaze, equally annoyed and concerned with one another.

“When was the last time you even slept? You spend more time watching over my sleep and my meals than looking at yourself in a mirror. You look like a Halloween costume.”

Ouch.

You glance at your reflection in the mirror near the nurse’s desk, and despite Satoru’s harsh words, your state seems even worse than his.

You’ve lost weight lately. The dark hollows under your eyes mirror your grueling schedule, where you spend most of your day juggling missions, watching over Satoru, and helping the school with any task.

Like an escape, you’ve found any excuse to avoid being alone. Especially with yourself.

But isn’t that exactly what Suguru did? The poor guy had no one to talk to, and the one time he tried, you thought he was just exhausted from swallowing curses. That was when he broke down and sobbed in front of you.

The memory alone stings your eyes. And unfortunately for you, you’re not in any shape to hold back the tears threatening to spill down your cheeks.

You stand abruptly, turning your head away to avoid showing the cracks in your courageous facade to your best friend.

“Eat. I have a mission in half an hour. I’ll be back tonight.”

As you slip out of the infirmary, Satoru painfully sit up in his bed, opening his mouth to call after you, to say something. Anything. His words were harsh and cruel, while you’ve been patient with him, caring for him more than for yourself.

But he hates it.

Because you only remind him of what Suguru used to do. When he felt terrible, Suguru helped him despite his own pain, despite wanting to vomit up the curses he’d consumed or even die. Suguru cared about his appetite, just as you do now with Satoru. The same with his sleep, his recklessness during missions.

So he doesn’t want to lose you, at the risk of dying a second time.

~~~~

That same evening, you don’t return.

And Satoru notices immediately, because at bedtime, around 10 PM, you usually stop by his room — even more so now that he’s in the infirmary.

Missions take time. So Satoru reassures himself, thinking that you simply took longer and that by the next morning, you’d be by his side to check on him. He would apologize. He’d ask for forgiveness and try to understand the reason behind the instability in your voice before you left earlier.

Did he hurt you that much?

His train of thought is interrupted by urgent voices barking orders, and Shoko putting on her apprentice doctor’s coat as she grabs a spell manual on her way out, meeting Satoru’s confused gaze.

And he understands immediately who it’s about.

Despite his still weakened state and his inability to perform Reverse Curse Technique for some time now, Satoru pulls on his exorcist uniform, leaving his sunglasses on the bedside table, and follows Shoko and the team of medics heading toward a school car. But he swiftly grabs Shoko’s wrist.

If something happened to you, taking a stupid car would only lead to a certain death.

With a gaze as panicked as it is void, Satoru questions his friend.

“Mei Mei went to check on what happened,” Shoko murmurs gravely. “The mission was simple. She should’ve been back over five hours ago.” She points to the time on her watch.

1:20 AM.

Did he fall asleep while lost in thought? How had so much time passed since he noticed your absence earlier that night?

“And you think taking more time in this car is enough?” Satoru spits his words, his voice low but echoing nonetheless into the snowy night as flurries begin to fall around them. “Just tell me you want her dead now, then.”

Shoko glances at the waiting car.

“Then what do you suggest?” she asks, narrowing her eyes, scrutinizing her friend from head to toe before yanking her wrist back sharply. “Look at you. You can barely stand.”

“I can still teleport. You’re far more competent than these clowns,” Satoru replies in the same tone, grabbing her wrist again. “And let me remind you, we cannot lose her.” The warning in his voice sounds like a threat.

It’s only when Shoko finally relents that Satoru teleports them both after she gives him the location where Mei Mei last reported finding you. The pressure of the spell makes them feel like they’re being sucked through a narrow tube, or squeezed in a vice. When they finally arrive at your location, it’s with a pop sound, like a bubble bursting free.

Releasing Shoko’s wrist the very second they arrive, Satoru scans the surroundings — then freezes.

Mei Mei’s blue hair is bent over a body on the ground. In the dim light of the night, only the moon’s rays illuminate a pool resembling wine.

And Satoru would’ve prayed for it to be only wine.

He and Shoko rush toward Mei Mei, who steps aside to face them with a furrowed brow, her expression a foreboding omen.

“Internal bleeding,” she announces to Shoko.

The words ring like a gong in Satoru’s ears, now buzzing. His paralyzed body stands mere inches from you. Your half-closed eyes stare blankly into the void, your arms lying limply at your sides, and a streak of dried blood stains your cheek. Despite the presence of your friends, you don’t react.

Not even when Satoru says your name.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

And as many times as it takes before Shoko and Mei Mei push him back, as he struggles to try to hold you in his arms, his hoarse voice cracking, begging you not to leave him.

For the first time in what feels like an eternity, Satoru Gojo, whose senses granted by his Six Eyes had long been dulled, awakens once again.

He hears your heart beating faintly. The pulse of your arteries, the successive waves of blood pushed by your struggling heart. Your shallow breaths slipping through damaged lungs. The warmth of your blood slowly leaking life away.

Please, no…

As long as it took for Satoru to recover a fraction of his powers, the same amount of time seems to pass while Shoko works quickly to stop your hemorrhaging.

He knows because he no longer hears the blood flowing out of your body. Your pulse has slowed, and though still weak, your heart beats with slightly more determination.

That determination, Satoru perceives as a flame.

A flame you refuse to let extinguish, because he knows you’re fighting not to pass on.

And if you no longer have the strength, Satoru will be the lighter forcing you to keep fighting. He will stay by your side as long as you need him.

And he will refuse to die a second time — unless it’s for you.

~~~~

A few days later.

The roles have reversed.

Satoru, fully recovered from his mission for a while now, devotes all his time to your care. He’s moved his belongings to the infirmary, where you remain recuperating. He insisted on pushing a bed right up against yours to monitor your sleep, your eating habits, and your overall well-being. 

Every movement you make is instantly picked up by his Six Eyes.

Your survival after your mission was nothing short of a miracle for Satoru.

A prayer he made — and one that was answered.

“You tired?” he asks softly, tucking a stray strand of your hair behind your ear. His cerulean eyes linger on your still-fresh bandages, and a bitter pang squeezes at his heart.

You shake your head despite the telltale dark circles under your eyes. “I’m feeling better.”

“Bored?” he guesses then, raising an eyebrow slightly, his tone tinged with amusement. Is he planning something?

A small smile tugs at your lips. “Got something in mind?” you reply, curiosity sparking enough to make you want to laugh genuinely.

Lying beside you in his own infirmary bed pressed against yours, Satoru gently takes your hand in his. He lifts it to chest level, absentmindedly playing with your fingers. “I could put on a movie for us if you’d like…”

“What kind of movie? If you even think about suggesting that cursed Terrifier again, I swear I’ll strang—”

Satoru bursts into laughter at your disgusted expression. His chest shakes with every sound, lifting the weight of any lingering pain in his heart.

“I was thinking more along the lines of the new The Lion King movie,” he says with a mischievous grin.

“Mufasa, you mean?” Your face lights up for a moment. “But the movie has just been released,” you add, frowning slightly. “We can’t go anywhere.”

“Who said anything about going somewhere?” He wraps one long arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer just before planting a chaste kiss on your temple — a gesture that nearly makes your lungs give out.

Somehow, Satoru always manages to surprise you.

Despite the movie’s exclusive release at cinemas, half an hour later you find yourself watching it. 

Nestled against Satoru under some thicker blankets he brought, the two of you share snacks scattered across your laps. The only light in the infirmary is the soft glow of the film projector casting the movie onto a pristine wall.

Your cheek rests against Satoru’s chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat serving as the perfect lullaby to lull you to sleep. On top of that, his long fingers gently scratch your scalp, soothing you further into relaxation.

The moment feels so perfect you almost mistake it for a dream — but no.

Right now, it’s as if the depressive haze that had weighed down both you and Satoru has been blown away, replaced by a fleeting moment of happiness wrapped in the cocoon of this night.

Just like your feelings, the situation between you and Satoru is undefined and confusing. A shared closeness restored, mutual personal care, and a clear attachment to each other.

It seems like friendship, doesn’t it?

But then, why does your hand, resting on your friend’s chest, tremble at the thought of sliding around the back of his neck to pull him closer—close enough for your lips to finally meet his?

Feeling your trembling hand, Satoru shifts his attention away from the movie to look down at you. “Sweetheart?”

Your eyes meet his, drowning in the deep ocean of blue they hold.

With every passing second, you try to speak, to respond, to confess everything. To tell him everything. Yet, with your lips parted, all you can manage is a soft whisper:

“Nothing.”

~~~~

December 25th.

All of Tokyo Jujutsu High has gathered amidst the scents of warm food, the laughter of groups of friends, the unwrapping of gifts, and the feeling of family.

Yet, Satoru feels like something is missing.

This December 25th marks the first Christmas you, Shoko, and Satoru spend without Suguru.

So what’s the point of celebrating? What is Suguru doing right now? Is he spending such a special day all alone?

Alone, outside the school’s festive hall, Satoru stands bundled in a winter coat, snow as white as his hair delicately falling onto his frame. He’s leaning against a wall, as if that simple act could help him stay upright.

His throat tightens.

He wants Suguru back.

But he knows all too well that he won’t have him.

So Satoru doesn’t celebrate Christmas when the one source of his joy has vanished.

Inside the hall, you’re laughing wholeheartedly with a few friends, a glass of champagne in hand and a large scarf draped over your shoulders for warmth.

But amidst the small crowd, the one person who holds your heart is nowhere to be found.

Your smile slowly fades as your eyes frantically scan the room for Satoru. You excuse yourself hastily and begin to search — the hall, the restroom — before finally heading toward the door to the courtyard.

Almost sprinting, you step out into the biting December cold.

And there he is.

With measured steps, you move to stand beside him. He doesn’t budge, even as you gently wipe the dried tears from his face while he sniffles absentmindedly, his nose reddened by the sharp chill.

“Do you believe that he’s thinking of us right now?” Satoru murmurs, his voice rough and low.

“I’m sure of it,” you whisper softly in reply, pulling a tissue from your pocket and holding it to his nose so he can blow. A faint smile tugs at your lips as he thanks you with one last sniffle.

You’re about to put the tissue away when Satoru abruptly but tenderly pulls you into his arms, pressing you firmly against him.

“Satoru?” Your eyes search his, confused, as he leans his face as close to yours as possible, nearly sending your heart into overdrive when his long, slender nose brushes against yours.

“I love you,” he whispers, his tone carrying a small smile.

Those three little words leave you speechless, your lips parted in shock at the confession and the sincerity behind it.

It’s as if your entire being comes alive again, breaking free.

After so long without crying, it only takes those words to bring tears back to the surface. Salty streams trail down your cheeks as your face twists, trying to hold back sobs.

“I love you too,” you cry, your voice trembling all the same.

Satoru, his own smile tinged with fragility, wipes your face just as you did for him. His thumbs gently rub your cheeks in a bittersweet comfort.

And in a synchronized motion, your lips connect, pressing against each other with an intensity that makes your souls whirl like the wind does with the falling snow.

Every time your lips part to end a kiss or catch your breath, you find each other again in the next second, as if eternity had tried to keep you apart. The cold ceases to exist around you; the warmth of your finally united souls is enough to melt the ice that had formed within you since Suguru’s departure.

Reluctantly, you break the kiss to catch your breath, your eyes no longer shining with tears, but with love this time.

Neither of you pulls away from the closeness you share. Your bodies speak for you, the silence between you filled with mutual understanding.

Satoru clears his throat. “Will you stay with me?”

It’s like a wish waiting to be granted.

“Forever.”

tags: @ssetsuka @zara-zara11 @bearwithmoo @elliesndg @lymsfm @mutsu422

@drippymcdrippison @koshhin @v31v3t @wawuwe @cybersomniq @sanemistar

@monokaix @moonlitwitchdaisy

a/n: hello everyone :)) this fic was special to write tbh. it’s the one that came out of an episode of impostor syndrome where i just wrote without thinking. i’d been wanting to write angst about satoru for a loooong time, so here it is :) (why do i secretly hope i’ve made all of you cry?). anyway, we can finally breathe after big exams! i’ve never looked forward to the christmas vacations as much as this year, lmao. take care of your little faces <3

reblogs, likes and comments are always appreciated <3

[waiting-for-a-sunny-day]

If Geto and Gojo were so close, why didn't Geto try to convince Gojo to defect with him?

Because Geto knew that Gojo’s support would guarantee his success, but that success would come at the cost of hurting Gojo.

I believe that Geto cared more about protecting Gojo than he cared about building a better world.

..

Let me explain…

First, let’s talk about why it would’ve made sense for Geto to ask Gojo to join him:

(1) Gojo would’ve been Geto’s most important / most powerful ally

By the time of Geto’s defection, Gojo is already the strongest sorcerer in existence. He and Geto are two of only three special grade sorcerers. Having them both on the same side is essentially an automatic win.

(2) Gojo should’ve been (relatively) easy to persuade

Gojo had already told Geto that he didn't like having to save the weak and didn't care about the moral justifications for it…

…Geto has also seen that Gojo doesn’t always value / protect human life. He was ready to massacre the Time Vessel Association without reason, but ultimately he didn't, because he deferred to Geto's judgement…

…and, most importantly, they are best friends on a DEEP, unparalleled level. Geto is Gojo’s “one and only” best friend.

If Geto was truly dedicated to changing the world order, Gojo should’ve been the first and most important person that he tried to recruit to his insurgency / cult / mission.

BUT

Not only does Geto make zero effort to reach out to / recruit Gojo, he actively avoids him and pushes him away...

- - - - - Keep reading cut - - - - -

After he kills the 112 non-sorcerers, Geto runs into Shoko in Shinjuku. He happily approaches her and willingly answers her questions.

Look at his smiling face in their interactions:

But, when Shoko calls Gojo, Geto leaves before Gojo shows up. Gojo tracks him down anyway and demands an explanation. Geto still doesn’t want to talk about it (“You already heard it.”)

It's strange, right? Geto loves talking about his vision of a better world with everyone else.

Then, there is this confusing progression of dialog:

Geto is hurt/annoyed that Gojo doesn’t believe in him, so he points out that Gojo’s argument against his plan is invalid. The plan is possible (“You could do it”), therefore (according to Gojo’s own logic) it’s not “pointless.”

In a way, Geto is admitting that he knows it would make the most sense for Gojo to join him.

But before Gojo can respond, Geto pivots to saying something extremely hurtful. He's questioning who Gojo is / would be if he wasn't the strongest. Is there really anything more to him? (See more detail in my post here).

Then, in the very next panel Geto turns and starts walking away.

In summary: (1) Geto avoids Gojo, (2) Geto only argues in favor of his plan when Gojo forces/baits him, (3) Upon invalidating Gojo’s opposition to his plan, Geto immediately puts emotional distance between them, (4) Geto then puts physical distance between them.

Why is Geto trying so hard to make sure that Gojo won’t follow him?

Is he just being prideful about doing this on his own? Is he so angry at Gojo's arrogance that he'd jeopardize the success of his life's mission over it?

These arguments aren't in line with Geto's characterization / known motivations (see the end of this post, if you're interested in more on that.)

Geto's main motivation is (a twisted form of) compassion. He wants to end the suffering of sorcerers.

He is a thoughtful, contemplative person, and would've thought about the ramifications of recruiting Gojo.

What are the ramifications?

If Gojo joins the cause, Geto’s plan would succeed, but Gojo would suffer for it.

Like anyone who joins Geto's cult, Gojo would become a pariah / fugitive from Jujutsu society. He’d kill people. He’d kill other sorcerers.

But because Gojo has the singular level of strength/ability to kill non-sorcerers en masse, he would commit the vast majority (or all) of the murder / destruction. The legal, social, and mental impacts would be most severe on Gojo.

(Also, at this point, I think Geto may still question whether he’s made the right choice. It’s difficult to go from a hardline stance on protecting non-sorcerers to wanting to gen0c1de them, within the span of a year, without any lingering ethical qualms. So he may be worried about moral costs to Gojo as well.)

Let’s remember that Geto (canonically) deeply loves Gojo. Gojo is his one and only best friend. Geto worries about Gojo when he overworks himself protecting Riko. Geto is shocked when Toji kills Riko in front of him, but he only flies into a rage when he thinks Toji has killed Gojo. (Again, see my post here for more on how much Geto loves Gojo).

So, it makes sense that Geto is ready to make sacrifices to create a better world, but it’s a cost he’s willing to put on his own head. Not Gojo's.

Ultimately, Geto cares more about Gojo than he cares about achieving the mission he has dedicated his life to.

The last thing Geto says to him is this:

What he's really asking Gojo is: "Have you stopped loving me, now that I've committed myself to this dark path? Would you kill me to save them?"

If Gojo hates Geto enough that he’d kill him, then Geto never had a chance of recruiting Gojo in the first place.

Of course, Gojo can’t make himself hurt Geto. He still loves Geto too much.

Geto protected Gojo by pushing him away.

___

Addendum:

I'll also argue against two other possible explanations for Geto's behavior.

(1) Geto is jealous / prideful /wants to build his own legacy without Gojo stealing the spotlight

Geto has clear motivations for his goals and they’re not egotistical. He wants to end the suffering of sorcerers caused by non-sorcerers’ existence (e.g., Riko’s death, Mimiko & Nanako’s abuse).

Geto’s pride isn’t hurt when Gojo becomes the strongest. The only thing that bothers Geto is that they’re getting sent on separate missions.

After Gojo becomes stronger that him, Geto still has overt affection for Gojo (e.g., he asks Haibara to bring back sweets from his mission so he can share with Gojo).

Although Geto does believe in his superiority over non-sorcerers, he doesn't feel superior over other sorcerers and doesn't struggle with his 'inferiority' to Gojo.

Does Gojo’s lack of faith in Geto’s ability (calling his goal “impossible”), spur Geto to want to prove himself? Yes, probably. But Geto had already been avoiding Gojo before he said that. And I don’t believe that wanting to prove himself to Gojo would overshadow his stronger motivation to build a better world for sorcerers.

(2) He thinks Gojo actually is too moral to join him

After Geto kills the 112 non-sorcerers, Gojo is shocked and upset by what’s happened, but not once does he insult Geto or imply that Geto has done something unforgivable. In fact, he’s practically begging Geto to explain himself because he wants to be able to justify his actions. And, again, Gojo’s argument against Geto’s plan is NOT that “it’s wrong,” it’s that “it’s impossible.”

[sur-i-ki]

𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦

𝘚𝘩𝘰𝘺𝘰 𝘏𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘢 𝘹 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

Authors note: it's October. Don't read this if you're a minor.

Shoyo has always had this habit. He'll keep going after something until he gets it. One more game. One more round. One more date.

One more time.

It drives you insane, in the best way possible. During his time away, it was always 'One more call.' or 'One more hour.' He was insatiable. Always being the supportive partner, you'd give in, but not too much. Never too much. Of course, that didn't last when he came back.

Before Shoyo left, he was timid. Not in the sense that he was shy with you, but more in the sense he didn't know what the fuck he was doing. His words. Although, that does not apply to him anymore, in any way, shape, or form. He'd grown into his body, and grown into more as a whole and it stole your breath at the airport.

Literally.

One moment he was at the end of the terminal and next thing you know, his lips were on you and his hands were gripping your waist. Shoyo's presence took your breath away. As the greetings came and went that day, you didn't leave his side. He wouldn't let you.

A hand on your lower back, or holding yours. But he'd become possessive in touch, ever so slightly. You couldn't help but think he was behaving like he hadn't played a game in a long time. He'd finally found a ball, an arena. His hand brushed your nape and fiddled with your hair. He stole kisses every chance he could.

One more time.

What you hadn't expected was what would happen the minute you locked your door that night. When you turned your unsuspecting back to poor Shoyo, the man just couldn't help himself.

Look at you. Finer, prettier, and his. Just as the tell-tale sound of the deadbolt sliding into place sounded, your hair was over your shoulder and his mouth was on your neck. His name came out as a strangled gasp, and you couldn't believe it. This cannot be the Shoyo who gave you timid kisses on your cheek and had shy, albeit clumsy sex with you.

There was something about him, something had changed, because you were already hyperaware of him after such a long time, and this was just, insane. Rapidly losing any semblance of higher-functioning thinking, you whip around in your man's arms. You just had to see him, had to confirm that this was your Shoyo and not some, some imposter!

And the look in his eyes could only be described as hungry love. it was the look he got on the court when he was in his flow.

"Sh-shoyo?"

Your back was up against the wall, his hands resting on your hips. His eyes looked into yours, then fell to your lips. Maybe it was a little mean of you, but you can't help but bite your lips, looking up at him. He gives a little smirk before he kisses you again, but it's heated this time, with an edge that wasn't there before.

Soon, you're on your bed as he all but throws on you it, lifting his arms up and shedding his shirt somewhere on your floor. Not that you cared in particular where it landed, because the scene in front of you was much more interesting. Shoyo was more muscle now, and you'd felt it but seeing it was different. You automatically shuffle a bit, and he tracks the movement before his mouth is leaving open-mouthed kisses on your neck and his hands are moving on your chest.

"Shoyo-!"

His face is still buried in the crook of your neck when he speaks, his voice vibrating through you.

"Just, missed ya' so bad, pretty."

And who can argue with that logic?

Not you, if the state of you was any indication. He’d done something, and next thing you know your legs are now on his shoulders, which are so much more wider, and his head in between them, and sweet heavens, this man was gonna ruin you.

Your hands were in his hair or gripping the sheets, and you’re pretty sure that you are being the opposite of shy at this moment, with the sounds Shoyo’s tongue keeps pulling out. You’re so close to your high, and his hands are curved around your legs holding you in place. You feel as if you are going to shatter.

“Come on,” his voice reverberates through you, and you glance down at him. His eyes are already on your face though, and you don’t break eye contact until his does this long swipe with his tongue and you are done for. Snapping your eyes shut you cry his name as he works you through your orgasm.

You know you’re panting hard, but his fingers are fiddling with you now and you know you won’t walk tomorrow when he smirks up at you and says,

“One more time.”

And you can’t say no. You never have. Who says you’ll say it now?

⇝ 𝘓𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴, 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘴, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥! 𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘶𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯

[bodybeyondstories]

SOLID GOLD - Packin'

A magic boombox in a dance studio causes random changes to unsuspecting victims. When the only attendee for a class is the dance instructor's straight crush, it decides to play Packin', by FHAT.

[ ass expansion // dick growth // self suck ]

2028 words

Someone sent in a prompt months ago about a thicc fitness dance instructor with a magic boombox and I took some time to think about it (thank you, whoever you are!). It might make for a fun ongoing series of music based tf episodes. Also for a while I've been wanting to write something in the vein of one of my favorite series, "The pinball machine".

-----

“Solid Gold. Connected.” The tinny, vaguely feminine robot voice chimed in the studio instead of, as I had been expecting, the tinny, vaguely masculine robot voice of our actual sound system.

“You’re back,” I said, glancing down at the stately, gold plated boombox that had just materialized in the exact center of the room.“Been a while.” 

I looked at my phone for confirmation, nodding at a screen that now displayed only a golden bluetooth symbol and wouldn’t respond to my touch until…well, until…

“Wait, no one’s here,” I said to the otherwise empty room, announcing to no one that my dance workout class did in fact have zero attendance.

“Hey, sorry I’m late, dude,” came a familiar voice. “You didn’t start yet, did you?” He looked around and sighed. “You already finished, didn’t you? I can’t believe I got the time wrong again, I set an alarm and everything–”

“No,” I interrupted. “You’re fine, we didn’t start yet. Because there was no ‘we’ here in the first place, I guess.”

“Well now we’re a we,” he beamed, splaying his arms wide. “With plenty of room to stretch.”

Famous last words. 

Sid was a gem. Generous. Engaging. Warm. Open. Adorable. And very tragically straight. Though I appreciated his enthusiastic support of my workout classes, there was an added layer of chaos to this one in the center of the room. A golden sun getting ready to make some gravitational shifts.

“Sweet boombox,” he said, bending down to inspect the device. “Retro. Where’d you even get this?”

You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, I thought. “It was sort of already here. Comes with the place.”

Which was technically true. It’s a little bit of an urban legend among the folks who work here, and everyone’s got their own speculation about how and why it appears. My running theory is that the boombox is always there. Has always been there. But exists in some other dimension, crossing the veil at seemingly random times and causing…changes in unsuspecting bystanders.

Here’s the thing. I like to think I’m in pretty good shape. I’m a fitness trainer, I clock in and run my little classes, I’m decently toned and tapered from shoulder to waist. When I first started here, I would do my thing, work up a sweat in my booty shorts to get the class going, give ‘em a little shake if the mood was right. When the boombox first appeared, I thought it was a prank from my co-workers, like I was being indoctrinated into the collective delusion of the workplace. Then my phone connected automatically, but somehow the playlist was out of my control. I went along with it, wondering how they pulled that off, moving the class through warm up, then moving through each track, adapting dance moves on the fly as the rhythm of the music shifted. 

I thought I was doing great and the group seemed like they were loving it, so I turned up the intensity a little, getting into some deeper leg movements, really targeting hip mobility. As if on queue, the playlist shifted to “Bootylicious" and the crowd went wild. I leaned into it, turning the climax of the class into a high intensity glute workout, getting even more into it as I felt my skimpy shorts get tighter and tighter.

Move your body up and down Make your booty touch the ground I can't help but wonder why Is my vibe too vibealacious for you, babe? 

It felt like I had an incredible pump, like my perky posterior was the center of the world if not the center of attention.

I don’t think you’re ready for this jelly I don't think you're ready for this jelly I don't think you're ready for this

As we went into the final chorus, the pump…pumped. I can’t explain it but I could feel my ass inflating with each repetition of I don’t think you’re ready for this jelly. My shorts slowly rode up my butt, exposing the bottom half of my cheeks and threatening to reveal the bikini briefs I had hastily thrown on that morning.

As I shifted us into a cool down, I casually tugged the hems of my shorts back down to a more presentable level, but found that I couldn’t. Pump was so good they got stuck, I chuckled to myself. They felt painted on. As I guided the group into a twist, letting one hand drop towards the opposite foot and turning at the waist. Instead of my cute bubble in the mirror, I was greeted with one of the fattest asses I had ever laid eyes on.

'Cause my body too bootylicious for ya, babe

I stared, dumbfounded, staying in that position for an oddly long time, afraid that if I moved, and my reflection moved, it would verify that I was indeed the owner of a massive bubble booty that had appeared out of nowhere. My heart skipped a beat as with one final spasm, it visibly plumped a little more.

“That’s…um. That’s it for today,” I stammered, swinging back upright, trying to hide the confusion in my face. “Great class today.” My cheeks burned as I felt the globes of my ass swish back and forth with each stride towards the boombox. I bent down to turn it off, eliciting more than a few gasps from the crowd, only to realize it was…gone. Just vanished in a blink, leaving behind a pair of supercharged glutes straining my gym shorts to the limit.

The ensuing months confirmed the institutional lore that I’d gathered from my coworkers. The boombox appeared seemingly at random, picked one victim, and didn’t like to repeat itself, which I especially hoped was true, seeing as adjusting my wardrobe for a sudden monster booty isn’t something I’d like to do again. So when it appeared in a class with just me and Sid, the writing was on the wall.

“Let’s hope it’s not too extreme,” I said to myself, acutely feeling the jiggle of my ass cheeks as I led us through the warm up music.

It was going well. As things picked up, the awkwardness of a mostly empty class was washed away by Sid’s friendly enthusiasm. As one of my semi-regulars, he knew my movement style, and could really get into it whenever I threw a curveball or decided to build the intensity. Through it all, Sid puffed through labored breaths, smiling through the tank top glued to his chest with sweat. He had been getting better at this, more confident in his movements, even adding his own flair to the beat. I was smitten by his energetic grin, returning the favor with a twist here and there to keep him on his toes. We were in a groove, just the two of us working it out to the rhythm.

But then the track switched. My eyes widened as I recognized the funky bassline of a queer pop duo that I was familiar with but hadn’t included on any of my playlists.  

Let’s get on the topic I can read your mind It’d be my pleasure To bring you back to life

“Oh, I love this song!” Sid exclaimed, riding a wave of newfound energy.

Oh really. A chill ran through my gut. I couldn’t tell if it was my imagination or the boombox was chuckling to itself in some subsonic register that only I could detect. But it had begun. Just see it through, I thought, improvising the moves to let my hips flow to FHAT’s high pitched melody.

Baby I really got to know Whatcha packin’

Sid’s performance of confidence cracked into discomfort, his eyes flitting down to his crotch, almost too quickly to notice. 

Cuz lately You’re really starting to show Whatcha packin’

He stumbled briefly, shaking his head in confusion as he tried to casually adjust his bulge. His very, very prominent bulge.

Heard all the gossip From a friend of mine

Based on word of mouth and locker room run-ins, I was pretty sure Sid was already packing some hefty meat in his shorts, though you’d never guess it by his adorably dopey demeanor. Maybe it’ll just be mild this time, I tried to convince myself. What’s the worst that could really happen…

It’d be my pleasure To see it with my own eyes

I couldn’t keep from fantasizing about that impressive tool becoming even bigger. I kept up with the movements, shaking my ass to the beat. Sid did his best to follow suit, but the increasing weight in his crotch was throwing him off. It was tantalizing as it bounced back and forth, like it was physically impossible to look anywhere else other than the hose inflating in his pants.

Cuz lately You’re really starting to show

His crotch visibly distended during the final chorus, his face a contortion of surprise and terror, no longer able to keep up with the workout as his dick lurched–

Whatcha packin’

And flopped out of the leg of his gym shorts. It bobbed in the air just above his knee, a rope of precum trailing from his mushroom head.

“Shit!” he exclaimed. He tried to shove his monster cock back into the leg of his pants to no avail. His face clouded with panic. “I, uh, need to run to the bathroom. Be right back!” He practically sprinted out of the studio, his gait wobbling with the awkwardness of the bulge snaking across his thigh.

“Wow,” I muttered, looking towards the center of the room. “You outdid yourself this–”

The boombox was gone, back to the ether.

I ran after Sid, slipping into the bathroom and following the sound of groans to the last stall.

“Hey, bud,” I said, interrupting the frustrated moans and heavy breathing coming from behind the door. “Can I help with anything?” I asked, attempting to sound like I wasn’t fully aware of the cause of the baseball bat that suddenly sprang from his crotch.

“I don’t think you can…I mean…I don’t know what’s happening to…ugh…to me…to my, oof…Look, it’s kind of a weird situation.”

“I’ve seen some weird situations,” I answered. “Trust me.”

A deliberative pause hung between us. “Don’t, like, tell anyone, okay?”

I punched the air. “Yeah, of course. Happy to help.”

The door slowly opened to reveal that the boombox really had outdone itself. I had Sid pegged as big before, but nothing resembling the veiny chest high erection threatening to smear precum in the scruff under his chin.

“It…it won’t go down,” he moaned. He gripped his pipe with both hands, unable to reach all the way around its circumference. I could see it pulse bigger with his heartbeat, his head lolling back with another gush of pre. He began stroking the length of his behemoth with urgency. “Sorry, it feels so full. So good…I can’t stop…”

He was in agony and ecstasy. His fingers squelched through an endless stream of precum. He was desperate for release.

“Can I…help?” I offered, gesturing to the acres of sensitive real estate along his shaft begging to be massaged.

But he didn’t seem to hear. I could practically see the lightbulb appear over his head as he made eye contact with the piss slit inches from his face. Like he had already forgotten I was there. His lips parted and descended. He took as much of his own head as he could fit in his mouth. His eyes rolled back as he began to work up and down, taking more and more of his own anaconda into his throat. 

I was frozen in the doorway. All I could do was watch as he built toward sweet release, gallons of cum suddenly filling his cheeks and flooding out of his lips, his full body wracked by orgasmic pleasure as rope after rope of jizz erupted from his oversized member.

His cock, finally spent, fell out of his mouth with a pop and began to droop down over his thigh. He leaned his head back, breathed out in relief, seemed to suddenly remember I was there.

“Oh, um,” he stammered, cheeks blushing. “Great session.”

[percheduphere]

LET'S TALK ABOUT WHO LOKI CHOOSES

I've previously discussed romantic tropes in the Loki series in my meta here. This meta supports the former by counting each of Loki's decisions with each of Loki's love interests (Sylvie and Mobius) and where those decisions occur in the progression of the overall story of S1 and S2 combined. The end of S1 is the midpoint of the whole story. Bear this in mind as I track how Loki's decision-making shifts. You can even choose to view Loki's decision-making with respect to Mobius as platonic if you want. It doesn't change the plot, count, or character development.

I have to give Sylvie attention and credit where it is due. To not do so would not only ignore her legitimate importance in the series and Loki's development, but it would also undermine my own credibility as an essayist. Feel free to comment, but here are my ground rules: no hate and no yucking other people's yum.

S1E1: Loki chooses himself. We could make the argument Loki chooses to trust Mobius here, but I don't think we see Loki start to like Mobius as a person until S1E2.

S1E2: Loki straddles between choosing himself and choosing to help Mobius because he actually wants to. It helps that the latter serves self-preservation. Loki most obviously chooses himself when he bullshits Mobius at the RenFaire. His choice is more gray when proposing the apocalypse theory. To be conservative, I won't count this in Mobius's favor. However, I feel fairly confident Loki chooses to help Mobius (1) sift through the possible apocalypses because of this genuine reaction:

Loki is starved for praise. He's a centuries-old god for goodness sakes.

When a third option presents itself at Roxxcart, Loki chooses himself and Sylvie (1).

S1E3: Loki chooses to: 1.) help Sylvie through "attempting diplomacy" with the widow (2), 2.) help Sylvie with his "shit plan" disguise (3), 3.) be vulnerable with Sylvie on the train (4), 4.) sing Sylvie a song (5), 5.) help Sylvie get to the arc (6).

S1E4: Loki chooses to comfort Sylvie by holding her hand; their feelings for each other trigger a giant Nexus Event (7). Loki chooses to tell Mobius the truth about the TVA; if he didn't care about Mobius, he would have withheld this information (2). Loki chooses to trust Mobius (3). Loki chooses to reciprocate Mobius’s feelings of friendship (4). Loki chooses, with Mobius, to find and rescue Sylvie (8). Loki chooses to combat Renslayer with Sylvie (9). Loki chooses to confront the Timekeepers with Sylvie and gets pruned (10).

S1E5: Loki chooses to share a blanket with Sylvie (11). Loki chooses to stay in the Void and follow Sylvie to the end of time, "Where you go, I go" (12). Loki chooses to hug Mobius (5). Loki chooses to trust Sylvie's insistence that he intrinsically knows how to enchant (13).

S1E6 (THE MIDPOINT): The confrontation with HWR is tricky. Loki chooses to slow down and think about the consequences because he's learned the value of slowing down and thinking from Mobius (6). Loki chooses to kiss Sylvie back (I realize this is debatable for many Lokius fans, but I'm not going to argue this; 14)

S2 NOTES: For the sake of my own sanity, I am not counting Loki's unconscious and conscious timeslipping. You can refer to the counts for that in my meta here. I will also not be counting the near-infinite number of loops Loki refuses to kill Sylvie for "the good of the multiverse."

S2E1: Loki chooses to seek out Mobius for help (7). Loki chooses to be vulnerable with Mobius in the hallway (8). Loki chooses to trust Mobius's judgment that they only have one shot at stopping the timeslipping (9).

S2E2: Loki chooses to protect Mobius from Brad (10). Loki chooses to help Mobius reverse-engineer Brad's TemPad (11). Loki chooses to comfort Mobius in the pie automat (12). Loki chooses to follow Mobius's intimidation plan for Brad (13). Loki chooses to convince Sylvie to join his and the TVA's cause (Sylvie declines #1; 15). Loki chooses to hold hands with Sylvie to combine their blast power (16). Loki chooses to follow Mobius back to the TVA (14). Loki chooses to ask Sylvie to stay and help (Sylvie declines #2; 17). Loki chooses to comfort Mobius in the Control Room (15).

S2E3: Loki chooses to humor Mobius's sightseeing (16). Loki chooses to try cracker jack (and hates it; 17). Loki chooses to prioritize the Loom per Mobius’s advisement (18). Loki chooses to give into Mobius's tandem bike request (19). Loki chooses to plead with Sylvie to spare Timely and asks for her help (NOTE: this is Loki's 3rd request; writers love the significance of threes and Sylvie turns Loki down all three times; 18).

S2E4: Loki chooses to defend Mobius in the Pie Automat (20). Loki chooses to compare (through implication) Thor's relationship with Jane with his relationship with Mobius (21). Loki chooses to use this same comparison to assure Sylvie that her mercy on Timely was an act of mercy for all people on all timelines (19).

S2E5: Loki chooses to look for Mobius in the Pie Automat (22). Loki chooses to look for Mobius in the Control Room (23). Loki chooses to recruit Mobius (24). Loki chooses to quote Mobius's "form and function" to Don (25), Loki chooses to help Mobius through the time door (26). Loki chooses to promise Don (Mobius) that he can return him to any point in time (27). Loki chooses to recruit Sylvie (20; she turns him down a 4th time). Loki chooses to argue with Sylvie that Mobius should have a choice (28). Loki chooses to listen to Sylvie that his friends are better off without the TVA (21). Loki chooses to let Don go for Mobius’s own good (29). Loki chooses to control timeslipping upon hearing Sylvie say "Do you think what makes a Loki a Loki is that we're destined to lose?" (22). Loki chooses to rewrite the story to save Sylvie and Mobius (23 / 30, respectively).

S2E6: Loki chooses to reenact all of Mobius's small gestures of kindness even though they cost precious time: he chooses to hold Victor's glasses (31), he chooses to compliment OB's "not to scale" model (32), he chooses to recite an abbreviated version of his and Mobius's bickering over "who's in the suit?" (33), he chooses to finish Mobius's joke about taking OB's job (34). He chooses to seek out Past Mobius for guidance and comfort (35). He chooses to shake Mobius's hand (36). He chooses to talk Sylvie out of killing HWR (24). He chooses to sacrifice himself to save Sylvie and Mobius (25 / 37, respectively). He chooses to listen (and watch?) to Mobius say, "Let time pass" (38).

Loki chooses Sylvie: 25

Loki chooses Mobius: 38

If I missed any decision points for either Sylvie or Mobius, let me know and I'll update the meta and counts accordingly.

Ultimately, Loki's sacrifice is for BOTH Mobius AND Sylvie. BOTH ships are important to the narrative and Loki. However, between the two of them, there is only one person who has consistently chosen Loki since S1E1, never rejected Loki and his requests for help, and who has, in turn, unknowingly been chosen by Loki in kind. Need a meta for Mobius’s decision-making? Here it is.

[harrysfolklore]

how is piastri sis feeling with this being carlos last ferrari race? cuz i’m feeling emotional

AHHH CARLOS' LAST RACE WITH FERRARI 🥺 im so emo but also really really proud of him. and so is our girl piastri sis. enjoy!

READ LITTLE BITCH HERE

The motorhome is quiet, the usual post-race bustle muted by the weight of finality. Carlos sits on the couch, still in his race suit with the Ferrari logo that's no longer his, staring at nothing. You watch him from the doorway, heart aching at the emotion written across his face.

"I can hear you thinking from here," he says softly, not looking up.

You move to sit beside him, taking his hand. His fingers automatically intertwine with yours, a habit now.

"I keep thinking about what I said," your voice is barely a whisper. "At the beginning of the season. About hoping you wouldn't find a seat."

"Mi amor-"

"No, let me finish," you squeeze his hand. "Seeing you now, knowing how much the Ferrari exit hurt... I was so cruel. So insensitive. Just because I was angry about Oscar-"

"You apologized months ago," he turns to face you, eyes soft. "Went we grabbed sushi and said you were sorry for being harsh."

"I know, but..." you touch his face. "Watching you take that last lap today, seeing how emotional you were on team radio... it just hit me again how horrible those words were. How much you were already hurting when I said them."

He catches your hand, kissing your palm. "I wasn't exactly kind to you either back then. Or to Oscar on track."

"Still-"

"No, listen," he pulls you closer. "That comment? It led to our first real conversation. When you apologized, I knew something had shifted. And now look at us."

You lean into him, remembering how that sushi outing led to him kissing you after, and changing everything forever.

"Besides," he continues with a small smile, "I did find a seat. Williams is excited to have me. And more importantly..." he kisses your forehead, "I found you."

"Smooth little bitch," you murmur against his chest.

"It's true though," his voice gets serious. "Leaving Ferrari hurts, yes. But this year? Getting to know you, falling in love with you? It's worth every painful moment."

"Even when I was being a protective sister?"

"Even then," he chuckles. "Though I prefer when you're being a protective girlfriend now."

You look up at him. "I'm so proud of how you handled everything this year. The Ferrari news, the criticism, the uncertainty... you stayed professional through it all."

"Had someone pretty amazing supporting me," he pulls you into his lap. "Someone who went from hating me to loving me."

"I never really hated you," you protest. "I just... strongly disliked your on-track decisions."

He laughs properly then, the sound chasing away some of the melancholy. "And now?"

"Now I strongly like everything about you," you kiss him softly. "Even your questionable racing moves."

"Hey!"

"Kidding," you stroke his cheek. "I'm so excited to see you at Williams. They're lucky to have you."

He holds you tighter. "Will you wear their merch next year?"

"Of course. But I'm keeping one Ferrari shirt."

"Oh?"

"Your race-worn one from today," you smile. "For memories."

His eyes get emotional again. "I love you. So much."

"I love you too," you rest your forehead against his. "Ferrari chapter is closing, but we're just getting started."

He kisses you deeply, pouring everything he can't say into it.

Later, Oscar sends a photo to the group chat Of Carlos's last Ferrari lap with you watching from the garage, wearing his team shirt.

"From enemies to this. Still wild."

Carlos saves it immediately because sometimes the best endings lead to better beginnings. And sometimes "I hope you don't find a seat" turns into "I hope you never leave my side"

[fandom-lover2]

The Two Times Toshinori Realized He'd Failed As A Father And The One Time He Didn't

Chapter Two - The Second Time He Failed

Word Count - 3676

Chapter One - The First Time He Failed

Chapter Three - The Time He Didn't

Toshinori winched, the cold wind biting through his layers and chilling his bones.

He understood the need for training in such conditions, but did he really have to be out here in winter? Behind him, he heard the mumbled complaints of his students voicing his same thoughts.

So far, one group had gone. Now was the second group’s turn. After them, there would still be another two groups to go.

Toshinori flexed his shoulders, shifting his coat as he kept his arms crossed. “Keep your eyes up Mina.” he advised through the ear piece that connected him to his students in the gym.

He watched on the cameras as Mina did as she was told, narrowly avoiding what would have been a painful strike to the back of the head.

The Support Classes had outdone themselves this time, their robots more advanced than the ones before. Each was a small sphere with mechanical wings, its own thing that made it a formidable adversary, drawing inspiration from a student or Pro Hero’s quirk.

The one Mina was currently against shot out a highly sticky substance. Between her dodging of the ball, she needed to place a sticker on its surface.

That was the objective for all students, place a sticker on as many balls as you can in the given time. And don’t get hit, or tied up, or knocked out. You know, the normal.

Movement on another screen caught Toshinori’s attention and he looked up just in time to see Shoji place a sticker on a ball that had a cloaking advantage, making it so that you needed to hear it rather than see.

Koda was using the birds around him to help force a ball that shot out bean bags to the ground so he could tag it.

You and Midoriya had ended up in the same group, a lucky draw of straws, and were currently walking at opposite ends of the training ground to find your next target. You currently had 3 balls tagged, and his successor 2.

“Good work Young Shoji. Very resourceful Young Koda.” Toshinori complimented, his eyes tracking his successor.

He watched as the crisscross of green power rippled across Midoriya’s skin before he leapt into the air, green black tendrils of smoke leaving his hands as he aimed to grab a sphere. It ducked from his reach, and he bounced off a wall following after it, smoke still shooting out to try and catch it.

Toshinori liked this exercise, a chance for Deku to use both his quirks at once. He watched, pride swelling in his chest as his hands clenched in anticipation, watching in amazement as his boy zipped around, chasing the sphere that moved with extraordinary speeds.

“Fuck!” he heard you yelp in his ear.

“Language.” he chastised automatically.

He really needed to get you to stop swearing so much.

Granted, he did swear a lot in his career, being sure to do so in English. But, he was supposed to be stopping the cycle of bad habits, even though he did spend an entire lesson teaching your class how to swear in English.

His eyes flicked over to your screen, seeing that the sphere you had found had electricized whips that shot out from it. One had managed to make contact with you. Because, you had another circling that shot out small blades that seemed to have tiny engines on them, able to change direction and follow after you. In dodging one, you got stuck in another.

Now this was excellent, a chance for you to practice splitting your concentration, controlling your stars to handle multiple situations at once. A chance to practice fighting a villain, avoiding attacks, and begin with rescue operations all at once.

His eyes snapped between the two screens, his heart racing in his chest as he watched both his kids have the perfect chances to better themselves.

You were struggling, he could see it. He had to force himself to remain immobile as he saw every new cut appear on you when a knife got through, and winced every time your body tensed when the medium voltage shocks ran through your body.

Midoriya was doing well, seeing this as a good challenge and rather drawing out the chase instead of ending it quickly.

Your father watched as his successor used his two quirks expertly, moving with grace and precision through the air, around his target.

He glanced over at you, and you weren’t on that screen anymore. He looked around, and found you near the original site, hiding in an alley. You were hunched over, hands on your knees as you breathed heavily. A cut on your cheek dripped blood.

“Come on Yagi.” your father called over the earpiece. “Push on. You can’t leave a scene without ensuring the situation is under control.”

He saw your body still, but didn’t stay looking at you. Midoriya was closing in on his sphere, winding up his arm for a blow.

He shouted one of All Might’s catch phrases and punched, the air from his blow sending the robot crashing to the ground. Landing beside the struggling droid, Midoriya bent down and slapped his sticker onto it.

“Excellent work, Young Midoriya!” Toshinori cheered over the earpiece, which was broadcasted for every student in the field to hear.

Finally, they were making headway. All his research was paying off, all his student’s work paying off. The quirks were becoming better to manage, his successor mastering them faster than he could have imagined. There was still a long way to go, but they were on the right track.

Your father turned back to your screen, finding you still hunched in the same alley.

“Yagi, stalling at an active scene can cause more harm for bystanders. You need to get back out there.” Your father called to you again.

You breathed heavily over the comm system for a moment, then said something, something that made your father frown.

“I give up.”

Give up? You couldn’t just give up. You didn’t just give up. You had never once given up.

“What?”

“I give up.” you repeated louder, more firm.

Was this too hard for you? It shouldn’t be, or rather you shouldn’t be shutting down because of it. You loved testing your limits, finding a way through. What was going on in your head?

“You can’t just give up. In a real situation, you can’t just run away because you aren’t getting your way. The exercise isn’t complete, and this is a graded-”

“I give up!” You screamed, your father flinching at the sudden volume in his ear.

Your classmates on the screens did the same, stopping to listen to what was happening. Behind him, the rest of your class had gone silent.

“I can’t do this anymore.” you breathed, still crouched in the dark.

Maybe it was too much, both spheres already a challenge on their own, near impossible when put together. Anyone would struggle.

Said training materials had found you, and were barreling down the alley towards you.

“Y/n, look-”

Your father’s warning wasn’t needed. Without even moving your hands, the two spheres exploded, pieces of metal falling to the floor with small thunks.

If it was that easy, why had you been saying all that?

He watched in silence, watched as you breathed heavily, still hunched over.

“I’m going back to America.”

His blood froze in his veins, his stomach dropped, he forgot to breathe. He watched as you stood, blood dripping down your cheeks as you stepped out the alley, walked down the streets.

You left your earpiece behind, deaf to the calls of your classmates in the field with you. Any flying robots you came across were swiftly destroyed without even a glance.

He tracked you through the cameras, watched you walk straight out of the training grounds. He briefly remembers asking Iida to round up the rest of the class and take them back to their classroom and keep them entertained before he removed his own earpiece and rushed from the observation deck.

Toshinori ran down the school’s halls, slipping between students and fellow teachers as he tried to find you. The changing rooms should have been his first guess, but he was too distracted to think clearly.

You were leaving? How long had this plan been in motion? Why hadn’t you told him? How could he be losing you?

Finally reaching the 1-A girl’s changing room, he burst in without much thought.

There you were, shirtless and currently trying to stop the bleeding of a clean slice to your abdomen. Not deep enough to need stitches, but still deep enough to be a nuisance.

“What the hell happened out there? And what do you mean you’re leaving?” he gasped out, hand raising to comb through his messy hair.

You ignored him, back still to him as you resumed pressing a handful of paper towels to your stomach.

“Y/n?” he called, taking steps towards you. “What the hell was that?”

No answer.

“Why are you going back?”

You whipped around, and it was then he noticed the redness around your eyes, the tears that streamed down your cheeks.

“Because I am your daughter!” you screamed, the sound coming from deep within you, echoing off the walls and slamming into him again. “Not him!”

You pointed, no direction but the meaning was clear.

“I am your daughter,” you repeated, a lot softer this time, your voice catching, “and I don’t even remember the last time you spoke to me.”

Toshinori realized, with a cold dread seeping up his spine, he couldn’t remember either.

You sobbed, your whole body curling into itself as your tears of pain rolled down your cheeks.

Oh his poor baby.

He reached his hands out, wanting to pull you in. You took a step back, like his very touch would burn you.

“Little One,” he whispered, wanting, needing to pull you close.

You shook your head, turning away from him again.

How could he have let this happen?

Since the emergence of Midoriya’s new quirks, he had been so focused on his research, on learning all he could to help his successor. He was desperate to learn more, so that he could help Midoriya become a good hero, help him become the next Symbol of Peace. How had he forgotten about his own child? He had been so busy he hadn’t stopped to see how much he was hurting you.

His throat tightened, his stomach twisting in guilt. “Y/n, please.” he tried, reaching for you again. You pulled further away.

“You love him more than me.”

All for One’s blow that almost killed him hurt less than hearing you so broken, your words knocking air from his lung.

Had he really let it get this bad? Did he really cause you to believe he didn’t love you more than anything else?

“He’s more important than me.”

“Stop!”

He couldn’t hear those words anymore, couldn’t hear how he’d lead you to believe you weren’t the most important person in the whole world to him.

You jumped at his command, put didn’t look at him still.

How could you think that? You were everything to him. Symbol of Peace was only second on his list of priorities, had been since the day he found out your mother was pregnant.

And training Midoriya? That was to continue on with the hopes of peace, so that One for All could be past to someone good, someone who used it for good.

You were his child, his legacy. How had he let himself get so consumed in that world, so lost in his desperation to learn more, that he’d forgotten the one person who was his world.

You fought a sob, and he was unsure how you were even managing to see what you were doing as you cleaned blood from your skin, tears dripping so quickly.

“Midoriya is my successor, and I care about him.” Your father started. There was no way he could lie to you. It was obvious Midoriya had become important to him. “I care for him very much, but I will never love him more than you.”

“You always spend time with him.” you spat.

“My Starlight, I am sorry. I got so caught up-”

“You don’t gotta worry. I’m moving back in with Mom.” you interrupted. “That way I won’t be here wasting your time.”

Waste his time?

“No, you are not.”

“You can’t stop me.” you challenged, still looking away.

It took your father two strides to reach you, his arms wrapping around you.

“Get off me.” you growled, which sounded pathetic combined with your tears.

You wiggled about, but that was honestly useless. Your father was All Might, One for All or not.

“I’m sorry.” Toshinori tried again, tears of his own gathering.

“I don’t care. Get off.”

He held you tighter, his tiny baby girl. How could he have let you feel so unloved, how could he have made it seem like he didn’t love you?

God he was a terrible father, leading his child to question his love for them.

“I love you, so much.”

“Get off me!” you insisted harder, struggling with all you had to be free.

He was a horrible, useless person. He’d shoved away his own daughter for something as stupid as a quirk. He’d made every moment of his life about Izuku Midoriya, ignoring you completely.

So much had happened, was happening to you, and his focus was elsewhere. Had he even asked you how work was going? You were just as busy as Midoriya, working alongside pro heroes, as equal to them as you patrolled and faced villains. Not to mention everything with the League of Villains. You and Bakugou had both been targeted at the Summer Training Camp, and you had barely gotten away. Then, you faced All for One, actually fought All for One, when your father was failing. His threat of coming for your life, of the Legue coming for you again someday no doubt hung over you daily. And regular classes, tests? Were you coping while being away from school so often?

Oh his baby girl, what had he done?

He squeezed you tighter.

“You’re hurting me!” you cried, and then Toshinori felt gravity shift.

No longer was he stuck to the floor, behind him was the strongest force. He was pulled back, his feet sliding across the floor as he was dragged back to the door.

You had used your quirk to push him away.

Toshinori looked at you, catching the look of horror that crossed for face for just a moment before it scrunched up again in pain.

He truly looked at you. Dozens of cuts littered your skin, knives having sliced through your hero costume easily to damage the skin below. They all bled, some worse than others depending on how deep the blades had gotten. Burns covered you too, skin red and inflamed with some beginning to blister. The whips had been merciless, catching your shoulders, and back, and arms. One had seemed to have landed at your neck, the mark ugly and painful.

And he had been grabbing you selfishly, forcing your sensitive skin to rub against his rough clothes and weathered hands.

Your body shook, ripples of physical pain mixing with the overwhelming emotional pain you felt. You looked at him, tears gathering and falling, and begged him to do something to fix it all. Fix inside that he had broken, and fix outside that he hadn’t seen.

“Daddy.” You were so soft, nothing left in you.

Toshinori moved forward, giving you time to pull away but also not really going to accept if you did.

Bending, he scooped you into his arms. He didn’t need to be All Might to carry his baby.

Despite the pain, you leaned into him, burying your face into his shirt.

He moved through the school, a man on a mission that nobody could stop. You used your quirk to open the door to the Infirmary when he arrived, saving him from slamming it open and most likely breaking it.

 Recovery Girl turned in her chair, startled by the sudden invasion. Then she saw it was your father and sighed, rolling her chair back and dropping to the floor.

“I swear Toshinori, can you not go a week without one of your children ending up here?”

“Aggressive training robots.” you defended on his behalf.

He placed you down on the hospital bed, standing close-by, hovering as Recovery Girl looked over your wounds. She began by cleaning the cuts, and Toshinori’s heart broke a little more with each and every wince you let out as the alcohol burned, yet you still refused to reach out to him for comfort.

His self-hatred grew with each sniffle you let out, every tear wiped before it could roll down your cheeks.

All of this was his fault. If he had bothered to check in on you instead of just assuming you wouldn’t be this state. Internal and external wounds wouldn’t be marring his baby. He clenched his fists, his anger silently stewing inside him. If only he could yell at himself, hit himself for causing so much pain.

It took well over an hour for Recovery Girl to clean all your cuts, confirm none of them needed stitches. Your pants had to be removed as well, leaving you in just your bra and panties. Your father had bathed you. And it wasn’t like anything Recovery Girl would say would get him to leave your side.

Once the cuts had been tended to, bandages covering most of your skin, she moved on to the burns. Toshinori knew from experience how badly electrical burn stung. You clenched your jaw, screwed your eyes shut, as the healer applied burn gel. Your father watched on helpless, knowing there was nothing he could do it ease your pain and hurting because he knew you didn’t want his comfort.

Finally, Recovery Girl was finished and instructed you to lie down for a bit, rest for a while before going back to the dorms. The bell for end of school had rung long ago. The gel needed time to dry, so you lay without a blanket, the curtains pulled around you to give the sense of privacy. Recovery Girl brought your father a chair and he sat by your side, hand hovering just beside yours.

His eyes scanned your body, desperate to see what else he may have missed.

You looked tired, dark splotches beneath your eyes. And a lot skinner. Were you eating at all? A bruise covered your left side, looking to be from a broken rib. His own wound ached in sympathy. A scar on your right thigh was forming, something that looked suspiciously like a gunshot wound. Had you been shot and you didn’t tell him?

Maybe if he had asked, you would have felt you could come to him.

God, you weren’t even telling him about injuries you’d gotten. It was this bad?

He briefly felt a wave of fury wash over him, and he almost took out his phone and called Gang Orca, demanding to know why he wasn’t updated. But it wasn’t your employer’s job to let him know if you sustained an injury on the job.

“I am so sorry.”

You kept your eyes closed. The crying had stopped, but around your eyes was still red.

“I never meant to…”

What does he even say? He’d abandoned you.

He lived on the same campus as you, saw you almost every day in class, saw you in the dorms when it was his turn to watch your class, and he had distanced himself from you.

He was the adult, with the stable job and the easy life of a retired hero. You were the student, juggling work and exams as well as a social life. You were his baby, his daughter. He should have been pacing around, worried sick when you weren’t in class because Gang Orca had you off on a mission, not just counting you as absent from his lesson and moving on to do more research.

You were still just a child, his child. Carrying all this, and alone? He had failed as a father.

You opened your eyes, but kept them looking ahead. They were so sunken, so lifeless.

“I want to go home.”

You had never once called the States your home. It was always “Mom’s home” or “America”. His place, his apartment, that was home. That was home where he saw you every day, sat down to have meals with you and tucked you into bed despite your grumbling of being too big to still be doing it.

 You wanted things to back to how they had been before, how they should have been all this time. You were asking for your dad, asking for him to love you again.

Wordlessly, Toshinori lent forward and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you from the bed and into his lap.

You curled into him, clinging to his warmth. Lying half naked in the middle of winter wasn’t the best idea. He pulled the blanket from the bed, wrapping it around himself, his arms wrapped around you.

He kissed the top of your head, tears of his own falling silently.

“I’m sorry I failed you.”

You snuggled tighter into him, leaving the world to its own problems as your father held you.

“You didn’t fail.” you mumbled, arms slowly snaking around his chest.

How could you be the one hugging him now when he'd hurt you so much?

“Daddy?” you called when the silence stretched on for too long.

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

Toshinori’s chest fluttered and he took a deep breath in and out, relief flooding through his system.

“I love you.” He somehow managed to pull you closer, hug you tighter.

So much had been broken, but they could be fixed. And it started now.

“I love you more than anything.”

[a-not-so-clean-blog]

Savior

Yan Shigaraki x reader

Warnings: mind break, isolation, sensory deprivation

800 words

He wanted to be perfect for you. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect. That's why he agreed to become a guinea pig, to become unstable, a monster. When he becomes a true monster you will sit perfectly in his maw. Not like you knew about any of this. All you knew was that you've spent weeks in near total darkness. Scared, cold, and totally alone.

The room itself was pretty big. A plush king sized bed and soft blankets contrasted by a cold tile floor and gray walls. A table and chair littered with books and papers was the only thing to keep your mind active. The desk barely stood on 3 legs, having been broken after a week of being trapped in this box. There wasn't even a window or door to give false hope of escape.

Black fog oozed out of the wall just like it did every day. At first you would cry and beg for whatever was beyond the void to let you out. Screaming until your throat grew hoarse every day until you ultimately lost your voice. Your throat has healed but you know it's pointless to talk anyway. A hand passed through the darkness and left a bag on the floor and took the bag with yesterday's garbage with it. Clean clothes, some food and water, and a sudoku book. The puzzle was a nice change of pace, something to hold onto so you don't completely lose your mind. The isolation was really getting to you though. Often unable to tell if you said your thoughts out loud or in your head. Sometimes even imagining a voice talking back with you. You weren't sure how much longer you could take this isolation before you truly went insane.

The food always looked good, being a simple but balanced meal. Nothing ever too fancy or too cheap. The clothes were shorts and a t-shirt. Thin but it was fine as long as you stayed on the bed. The single light in the middle of the ceiling was on an automatic timer, and the only thing that sort of what you keep track of how many weeks you've been locked in here. At least that's what you have been using as a daily indicator along with the routine food drop off.

Slowly it felt like more of your will was draining along with your sanity. The craving for another human, for any comfort or companionship was ravenous.

You tried a few more times to talk to the void when it would show up, but all that left was an empty feeling in your heart when you never got a response. Despair, that's what it was. A crushing feeling coupled with the intense feelings of loneliness. All you could do was sit and wait, and wait, and wait…

You were never a religious person but watching the wall crumble to dust made your soul scream. An angel! He had to be an angel! Why else would he come and free you after all those months of soul crushing isolation! Freedom. That's right, he was your freedom. So why couldn't you move?

Your chest started heaving and your hands trembled. You watched your savior through misty eyes as you fell to your knees, your legs no longer able to support your weakened body.

“Hello.” His scratchy voice trilled, filling the silence that's been consuming you for so long. “I've waited so long, so so long to be able to do this..”

He knelt down in front of you and roughly grabbed your arms, the piece of metal attached to his left hand biting into your skin. It was impossible to care about the little details though. Not when his hands felt nice and cool against your hot skin. Not when his voice finally broke your burden of silence. Not when the rough feeling of his lips on your own felt like Nirvana.

You know you recognized him from somewhere. His white fluffy hair and cherry red eyes were distinctive enough, but all of your memories from before the room all felt so far away. If it was important you would remember, right? Well as far as you're concerned your angel is the most important thing in the world right now. He was your world.

He kissed you like a man taking his first drink after a month in the desert. A famished roughness that left you light headed, but you returned the enthusiasm as best you could given your weakened state. It felt like you were being eaten alive. Even if you were though you didn't want to stop him. As long as he kept touching you, as long as he was near you, as long as he stayed with you. You wouldn't care what he did. He was your savior after all.

[demialwrites]

Former AVALANCHE/Turk Reader x ff7

HCs for when they find out you used to be the enemy.

Barret - Turk Reader

Pre AC (Advent Children)

You might think it's automatic breakup, but it depends on how long you've been together

It's especially favorable for you if you've been along for the hunt for Sephiroth for a while without betraying the group to Shinra

You and Vincent make a good team when it comes to espionage against the Turks and Shinra, especially since you'll have more up-to-date info than Vincent. It gives Barret great satisfaction to stick it to 'em

Sometimes he has doubts about you but he feels guilty and will probably admit to it and apologize during a moment of rest

If you helped drop the plate, it's over. Let the man cry. He's gonna carry on with the adventure

Post AC

Again, it depends on how long you've been together

Huge, huge bonus points if Marlene has taken to you. Because then it's a break from her, as well. He really wants stability for her

He'll have a really hard time justifying continuing the relationship if you were involved in dropping the plate, especially since that means you were hiding it until now

If he breaks up with you, his heart is just as broken as yours

Rufus Shinra - AVALANCHE Reader

Pre AC

It's likely that he'll break up with you unless you can prove you've got something useful for him

If you can help track AVALANCHE, minor brownie points

He's very slow to trust a romantic partner so dropping this truth on him will probably put him in a sour mood and he may lash out a bit. Or he may just go cold and shut you out

His presidency has not gone well and he doesn't want more stress and uncertainty

If he hasn't done that, and you have some of the necessary skills, perhaps he'll have you join the Turks. He can keep an eye on you better. You can slowly earn his trust back. If you get hurt this way, he'll get angry at himself

Post AC

It doesn't matter as much what you did before

It matters more that you're committed to helping him with his current projects

You should make an effort to get along with his Turks, though

Major bonus points if you were around while he was sick with geostigma

If he has any lingering doubts, be patient and he may eventually try to talk it out with you

Tseng - AVALANCHE Reader

Pre AC

When you tell him, it's clear he's feeling some kind of way: angry, sad, or conflicted. Maybe all three? But the silence stretches so long that it's uncomfortable and you wish you were arguing loudly instead

It's not that he wants to breakup with you but he doesn't feel like his life is his, so he leaves without confirming either way

It's a dick move and he knows it. However, he can't leave well enough alone. He keeps tabs on you from afar, hoping something changes and he can try to come back

Post AC

He is surprised you want to stay with him. After Shinra collapsed, there's much less for him to offer you (he definitely took a pay cut). And most of his time is spent helping Rufus

Give it time and these boys (and Elena) will probably realize there's more to life than living how things were before Meteorfall

If someone who used to be a part of an organization that opposed Shinra wants to be with him, perhaps it'll give him the courage to open up about why he's repressed most of his feelings for so long

There's clearly sadness and shame inside and if you're lucky, you can help him through it

Tifa - Turk Reader

Pre AC

She's more lenient than Barret but she also can't abandon her found family if they reject you, saying they don't trust you

She can recall all the good memories you've had together, squeeze your hands, and ask you to wait for her

It's a tearful farewell, with you wishing you could come along and help, even if just to support her. She's strong but she's also got a weak side that you want to protect

If you can convince them to let you tag along, she will eventually convince them to be friendly. After saving the world, they'll become your found family, too

Post AC

She may be distant for a while, busying herself with her bar

If her long-time friend, Cloud, refuses to have anything to do with you, she's torn but

She'll come around eventually if you prove that you don't have any bad intentions and intend to stick by her

If you want the same things as her in a relationship, you've found your best girl for life. Work with her at the bar until you retire

Reno - AVALANCHE Reader

Pre AC

Reno's response is most likely to continue the relationship mostly because "why the fuck not?" ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ He's already this deep

If he gets caught, he'll get in trouble, so he's extra careful when meeting up with you. He was already being discreet so he gets extra sneaky

He does tell Rude, reluctantly. Since Rude was taken advantage of by an active AVALANCHE member in Before Crisis, he's very skeptical that this is a good idea

Step a toe out of line, however, and it's over. Reno isn't going to go against his boss and his best friend

Fights extra recklessly for a while because the man is upset

Post AC

Honestly, who gives a fuck? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I think the most he'll feel is a little guilty. He knows what he's done over his lifetime

He'll be curious how you can reconcile having been part of AVALANCHE and then switch to dating a Turk

When you explain that AVALANCHE could sometimes be just as violent as the Turks, it eases his conscious but only a little

[pumpkinsy0]

ITS MY BIRTHDAY!!!! IM TWOBIT AND TIM SHEPARD AGE!! not to get mushy bc EW but your account had held me together this past year so THANK YOU THANK YOU

it would so so nice of you to do literally ANYTHING papercut perchance? i’ll send you non chocolate on chocolate cake should you like :D HAVE A GOOD DAY

WOOOOOO HAPPY BIRTHDAYYYY APRIL BABIES WE UP🗣️🗣️ IM SORRY IM REPLYING TO THIS LATE BUT I RLLY DO HOPE UR HAVING A GREAT BDAY AND IM GLAD I COULD SUPPORT U BUT I WOULDNT B HERE WITHOUT U🫵🏽THANK U FOR UR SUPPORT EVERYDA Y AND ALWAYS!!!! I DEDICATE THIS TO U

take a small fic!!! now this is short as shit, maybe not thee most polished but whooo caressss omfgggg 😒😒😒 i tried what i could💔💔

fun fact: i wrote this while listening to frontin by pharrell i feel like saying that w the vibes of this fic it’s a lil obvious

———————————————————————————-

“Well, why the hell is a table gendered?”

“I dont know, ask the dead bastard who made the stupid language, not me.”

For what seemed like the hundredth time that afternoon, their backsides practically imprinted onto the wooden chairs, Pony erased his mistake.

“For a French tutor, you suck at teaching— know that, yeah?”

Curly looked over at Pony, raising an eyebrow, moving his toothpick with his tongue, giving him a once-over, and grinning. Curly stretched his arms out, and usually it takes everything in Pony to not stare at his short riding up, showing off his midriff, just to not give Curly the satisfaction— but the way this French homework was getting on his nerve?

There wasn’t much of a fight for today.

“Listen here,” Curly said, gettin real close to his face for this one, the toothpick now out of Curly’s mouth to be twirled onto Pony’s thigh, the small sharp stinging pain not enough to rip himself away from Curly’s gaze. His breath on Pony’s lips as familiar as the spring breeze outside, “It’s either you get me and have a good time.”

He edged closer, and if he did any more, they would become one, but for now— Pony feels Curly’s lips simply grazing his, almost like Curly’s mouthing a secret to Pony that he had to feel to reveal.

As quickly as he pulled in, he pushed himself right back out with a shit-eating grin, knowing what he’s done and admiring his work. “Or, you get ole Superman in here, on your ass about every little thing ya do. It seems like the choice is obvious here, huh?” ending it off with a few small pats on Pony’s left cheek mockingly.

With what little dignity pony could manage to muster up with his pale face now beet red, “Ain’t the other language you speak practically based upon French?” said Pony, hoping to change the subject.

Curly rocked his chair back-and-forth and put his feet up on the desk. Had this been any other day, Pony would push em off, but today? With how Curly’s skin practically glowed in the afternoon sunlight coming through the window, his icy eyes melted into an ocean blue. Still scary, but filled with the wonders for exploration? Pony would let it go.

“Look, knowing Kreyòl doesnt automatically mean I know French, dipshit.” He reached out to flick Pony’s forehead and almost dropped the toothpick he put back in his mouth. “At best, it just means I can recognize words from it, I just happened to also speak French.”

Pony rolled his eyes, “Yeah, barely. Hope you realize that if I fail French class again, this semester, I’m pretty much grounded for 3 weeks,” Pony teased, and try as he might, he said it with much attempted disinterest.

“Hey now, hey now,” Curly put his hands up, “my French may be rusty, but it’s the best you’re gonna get from this side of the tracks with no strings attached.”

A second or two passed before someone spoke up again— they were used to silence and they appreciated it here and there, like fine wine. Between them, though, long peaceful quiet was unattainable, and that was perfectly fine with them too.

“Besides, I’d come visit you secretly, you know that.”

“Yea?”

“Mmhm, for you?” Getting more comfortable, Curly put his arms behind his head, as if what he was about to say it was as factual as the sky being blue. “I’d even get Tim’s shitty old radio and blast The Beatles to protest outside your window.”

“Really now,” said Pony, elongating the first half, raising his eyebrows, and tilting his head away from Curly, maybe to get a better look of all that Curly was and will be.

“Like them hippies?”

“As annoying as them, yup,” Curly proudly announced while popping the p. “Don’t think you could shake me off that quickly, puddin,” Curly winked.

Pony shook his head, his eyes going back to the sloppy paper while grinning, spirit now undeterred and ready for more.

“Trust me, knowing you, I wouldn’t dare.”



[gomzdrawfr]

just saw your patreon tax post, but what is bad about kofi membership? I got confuse after seeing comments arguining about which platform is better, and you also talked about kofi a bit...

I wish I can make a patreon but I got nothing but my writings, which barely get any attention

[context]

Okay I should've phrased it correctly, it's less about which platform is better than the other, but rather which platform is more suited for you. I know you're more on writing, but I'll offer a general view since I've used both sites + others has asked me about this. Disclaimer, these are all from my personal experience, it can be different to the rest.

What both of them can do:

Offer tier membership, you can offer free or paid and list down the benefits of joining your membership, you can also limit how many members you want.

Basic build in functions such as posting photo and poll.

Digital and physical benefits.

Analytics and tracking management.

Discord integration.

Financial payouts such as PayPal, Stripe or Cards.

Ko-fi membership

The Good

Generalized service for smaller scale projects, such as a tipping site and paywalled subscription service for fewer fees than patreon (ko-fi takes 5%).

Good for beginners because there are a lot of things that can be performed with a simple button, with comprehensive FAQ lists. Extremely straightforward with zero hastle.

Payment goes directly into your digital (PayPal/Stripe) or physical (card) wallet, no waiting for payout days.

The Bad

No NSFW content, if you try to go around this rule high chance to get penalized and your account goes bye bye. I've seen artists who offer nsfw art commissions in a hush hush way, but guess what? Ko-fi monitors your dms apparently, so if you sent nsfw related content through DMs or Posts, you're very likely going to get banned (happened to a friend).

There's no mobile app, might be a hastle if you want to post and handle things, every notification or changes you'll have to do it on web or desktop/laptop.

No direct video uploads, you'll have to use a link (a disadvantage if you're offering timelapse videos or podcasts)

For discord integration, it's finicky, half the time it doesn't work. This is due to pledger needing to connect their discord to their profile first before joining yours.

Sales tax are not automated. I may be incorrect here so better refer the FAQ, but from what I am understanding is that kofi doesn't automatically calculate, collect and remit sales/VAT/GST tax based on the buyer's location, content sold and local tax laws. You need to manually add them yourself. If you're charging $10, the buyer pays exactly $10, you receive <$10. If your country requires you to collect VAT or other sales tax, you're responsible for calculating how much should go to taxes, reporting and possibly remitting that amount manually or issuing any tax-compliant invoices if required. Uhhh so far I have not seen any cases regarding taxes, so I'm basing this off their FAQ page, posts online and youtube.

No group dms, so if you're someone who prefers to have more engagements with your supporters such as wanting to update things through chats, asking feedbacks, or simply just vibing with them, it might feel limited on Ko-fi. This is why most people have a separate discord group for better handling and posting in general.

Limited management. There are lesser details on post views, membership management, tracking payment or managing your posts. Every post you share in Ko-fi goes directly in your gallery which, in my opinion, kinda sucks because it's cluttery and messy. You will just have a tab of payment, like who joined, who has outstanding payment and who left.

Patreon

The Good

Bigger popularity and attention since it has been a thing for years. Also famously known as "pay so you can see art of dicks, tits and balls" site. Although throughout the years they've been trying to suppress NSFW posting for some reason (it is still allowed, just with some bullshit rules to deal with).

Mobile apps available, simple to use and comfortable to handle everything anywhere any time.

You can upload videos directly. You can also do polls, audio, link and livestreams.

Detailed analytics. Posts impressions/views, membership earnings, surveys (what your patreon members are joining your membership for), traffic (total visit of your patreon page and where they're coming from). This is especially useful when you have a massive following and want to have insights and control over your performance (or if you just wanna be nosy like me KAJSDKF).

Buttload of other functions that I myself have not learn much, such as automated promotions, discounts and product selling.

Built-in Discord integration. Uhm idk if Patreon works better than Ko-fi cuz when I transition to Patreon I didnt set up a discord group like before (I don't have the commitment to run and maintain them)

(Again as previously mentioned, fact check on their official page instead because I'm not sure about this) Sales tax automatically calculated and added. Patreon automatically adds VAT or applicable taxes on top of what supporter pays. If you're charging $5, a supporter from EU is charged $5.60, you get $5 in patreon and 0.60 goes to tax authorities, final money you're getting is <5$. They also handle tax collection, filling and remitting to country and provide tax reports for your records.

There are group dms (called Community tab). You can update processes and notify them directly there. It may not be as versatile as your regular communication apps like discord (eg, you can only send one image at a time to the group) but it's enough to keep some form of engagement. There is also Moderation hub to assign moderators or reported content stuff (I personally have not use this thing).

The Bad

Personally, starting patreon page was daunting to me cuz *points at FAQ and setup pages* THAT'S A LOT OF WORDS. It is not as straightforward as Ko-fi, so if you're struggling with management or suck at English like me, it can be terrifying to do the first few steps, it is a bit more advance. However, since Patreon is widely use you can ask people that has em and they'll be happy to help out, not to mention videos and tutorials out there that simplify the process. (Thank you Bressy and Shiba for helping out my initial phases)

The random ban for no reason, I've seen people who got their accounts banned when they created their patreon page, idk the full story as to why or how but, yeah it happens. Customer service varies between countries, some good some bad.

Higher charging fees, patreon takes 8% instead of 5%, if you're on premium plan then they'll take 12%. They are however, changing this and just charge 10% for ALL new blog that starts after August 4th. If you have a blog before August 4th, you'll be the 8% group still. Payment processing fees varies by region and method, typically is 2.9% + $0.40. These fees could add up quickly and offer losses over gain if you're running small tiers or have a large fan base. I also heard generated tax bookkeeping files are slightly confusing to count if you're not familiar with these business stuff.

Payout delays. Initial funs will take 5-10 days (or longer if you're unlucky) after the first pledge (like when you get a first patreon). They stay in patreon and you'll either set up automatic payout or manually withdraw them, compare to Ko-fi's instant withdrawals.

I don't know much about this but I think the Shops option differ to Ko-fi and I've heard people saying Patreon Shop setup is more finicky, so yeah that.

okay that's a lot of words so which one should I choose????

If you want simplicity, something on the side just to earn some extra income, with no thoughts about expanding it beyond a comfortable numbers of supporters (such as 10-12 members), then Ko-Fi is great. There are many memberships out there who offer benefits besides art! Such as writing, photography, editing, even algebra classes. It just really comes down to what you can offer with your skills and capabilities.

If you want to build a community, you want to continue expanding to a certain goal, you want more control over financial management, systems and tools, then Patreon is the way to go. This is especially preferred if you have content-driven mindset and if you have audiences to reach.

The reason why I am suggesting to make your patreon post now is obviously the tax increment stuff, but also if you already have that thought to have a page in the future. I understand the concern of "but i'm not ready" or "i ain't got stuff to offer", but you can always have a blank state with free memberships only. If you truly want to offer something, I believe a few passage of your current wip about your fics, or if you're an artist a simple doodle every month should probably keep your page afloat (and I mean you can ask your friends to join for free and do the engagement sillays like liking and commenting if you want extra security). Idk if patreon allows blank pages though so uhm, don't say I didn't warn you if something did happen lmao xD

I read other comments that talked abou 10% is not that high, which is fair since everyone has a different financial status and background. I'm not out here forcing anyone to start a patreon right away, I am just simply suggesting.

I wish I can make a patreon but I got nothing but my writings, which barely get any attention

I'm going to be very blunt about this and you might dislike what I am going to say, but if you have a goal you'll have to put in that effort to research, learn, experience the loss and failure, fall hard and step up again. I too, was once an account with 1 follower, and it's from Tumblr official page. My doodles were not the greatest, it's not rendered God-like, nor does it have any coherency. While I didn't think about starting memberships very early on, once I had that thought I started pushing myself to be better. Being a creative-based person online can be challenging, because if you want some financial gain from this, you'll have to put in the work to earn it. Studying what algorithm wants, what the audiences like, how other users alike are utilizing their skills to pull in the people. It's a long process that involves a lot of trial and errors, and it gets incredibly frustrating and tiring with a lot of burntout and giving up. Because you usually have to do something that you yourself may not like, but the vast majority do. You have 2 options with this kind of dilemma, stay true to yourself and do whatever you want, create and write what you want to be authentic, and find the real ones who would support you along the way, this one will be a longer road and lesser moments of "shit man, why the hell do i still write alien fucking if it throws me off." The other is okay, you figure out the people want, so time to improve and start working on that thing and slowly gain a steady amount of followers, and when you finally feel like it? start creating things you actually prefer. If they leave, they leave, if they stay, then they stay, you win some you lose some. I personally chose the second path, and yes I've lost a lot of people and support along the way, but I am happy with my progress. It took me about a year + before I launched ko-fi membership for 6 months, and then transition to Patreon now if you want a picture of my growth.

I don't think I'm there yet, even with my followings, even with patreon set up. There are many times where I still felt like what I do is inadequate and I'm ripping off their wallet with my creations and benefits. That is why I am still working my darn hardest to improve and to keep moving forward, but also to stop and reflect on my progress, to understand that these people are supporting me because they wanted to and they've been extremely kind and supportive along the way.

Well what I'm trying to say is, every foundation is hard to build, every beginning feels like torture, because it's foreign and it's tiring to even think about it, but if you want, or in other cases, need this growth and expansion, you'll have to endure it. Just like learning how to ride a bike, ya gonna fall and ya gonna bleed at times, but once you're comfortable with the handles, the rest of the ride will be easier, not smooth sailing, just easier! because there are still some bumpy road and blockage ahead, it's an ever learning curve.

Since I come from art concept, I cannot offer much advice with writings. The best way for me to improve is by looking up at what others are doing, so a good start is always connecting with others. Do you like an author's work? then read up about them like how you're putting that blorbo under a microscope and analyze the shit outta them. How do they post? What words do they use often? What prompts or premise is usually popular with their posts? What time do they post? How do they communicate with others? How do they communicate to you? How do they tag their post to reach 2k notes? How do they respond to questions about their memberships if they have one? What benefits are they offering in their pages? etc etc

idk maybe this all sounds way too much work to earn 10 pledgers in patreon, maybe all these are just way too elaborated but, at the end of the day it really depends what you want, how much are you willing to achieve the goal and how comfortable you are with these online content monthly producing responsibilities, stuff. Yeah.

Either way, I wish you all the best in your endeavors!

[chronic-melon]

Folks, I don’t try to sell ANYTHING to anybody, but this is for the chronically ill folks with limited energy who are trying their best to pace themselves and failing.

I have Hashimoto’s, ME/CFS, fibromyalgia, and chronic migraine. I struggle daily to limit the use of my energy and not overextend myself. I was running out of options and constantly running myself into the ground, having a really bad day and then crashing hard for 3 days or more.

If you’re finding that you struggle with this too, and you think tracking your heart rate and daily symptom severity could help, I highly recommend Visible.

It uses a Polar armband to continuously track your heart rate, and the 2.0 band now has a 5 day battery life, making it capable of sleep tracking. I currently have the 1.0 version, but I’m hoping to switch soon.

If heart rate variability, automatic “spoon tracking” (the app calls them pace points) and real-time medical data you can download and share with your healthcare team seem like good tools for you, then click on the link to explore!

Transparency: if you decide to purchase a membership, please know I receive $20 off the 2.0 armband, and so do you. I don’t receive any money, just a discount on the new band. 💛

And yes, this membership is not financially feasible for a lot of disabled people, especially those on social security benefits. They are working on getting the product to be available through insurance or FSA, but to do that, they need folks to support their research. That’s why I’m enrolled in clinical studies through the app.

Please let me know if you have any questions! This device has seriously changed my life, and I wouldn’t blindly recommend it to my community if I didn’t seriously believe that.

[low-tone]

There is an excellent video by Jimmy McGee about why Rusted Moss is so great to which I’d struggle to add – so I won’t. Instead, I’d like to talk about the major content update that came out a couple of months ago. The main attraction is the great climb, a 200+ room marathon pushing at the edges of the game’s difficulty curve. To say it is hard would be an understatement. However, it is also surprisingly fluid. At its best points, you find yourself swinging between platforming and combat seamlessly – without falling into the worst trends of kaizo platformer design where the path through is tightly prescribed. The larger room design encourages play that is fast and improvisational.

The boss design follows a similar beat, with large tracking patterns. Both Noah & Julie and FrØy benefit immensely from warm-up phases which allow you to learn their rhythm. The interpolation of ‘In the Hall of the Mountain King’ speeding up for each of FrØy’s phases was an especially fun accompaniment. I can’t help but wonder though if an intensification of the Seer fight (the regular final boss of the base game) was the most interesting choice. All three fights settle into a circle strafing flow, with the occasional specific call and response. Faxdoc (now Emlise) was quoted as desiring to make the game “weirder” now that they have confidence as a developer. Noah & Julie went down so quickly I thought there might have been an Agni & Rudra gimmick, especially because of their colour scheme, but no. FrØy has the excuse of being the final boss of Rusted Moss and does arguably reach the limit of difficulty which the mechanics can support (looking at FrØy?’s jumpy chainsaw for something that goes too far).

FrØy’s final stage also appropriates Puck’s pre-patch fight, where you just have to focus on dodging as his healthbar automatically ticks down. Puck now embodies that weirdness Emlise spoke of, and what I really loved about the base-game boss design. There’s an extended climbing section reminiscent of a lower intensity great climb, gated by destruction of his crystal hearts, and a finale where you snapcut across comic-panel challenges. It makes the fight far more memorable, with a similar quality to Lenore, Spirella, and Freia in that it slips you out of the familiar play pattern by introducing some friction. Lenore is initially frustrating by spawning Ichor (lingering poison) in her vulnerable flee state, but it changes the way you chase her – from being right on her tail to staying a controlled distance away and predicting where she will bounce. Lenore and Spirella are both damaged by external objectives, but one requires a slow and careful weaving between her web and the other a frantic chase away. Difficulty is best when it adds texture.

Anyway, Rusted Moss is pretty cool – you should give it a go

[bisexuallsokka]

Zukka prompt: “stop trying to help me, it’s hurting you.” 😈😈😈

“Zuuuuko!”

Zuko’s hand holding the brush freezes, feeling caught and then immediately feeling bad for that.

Sokka hobbles into the library, the sound of his crutches getting louder until he turns the corner of a bookshelf and flashes Zuko a grin.

“There you are. Suki told me you’d be here somewhere. If I didn’t know better I’d say you were avoiding me,” he says.

It’s a good thing he’s distracted by looking at the items on the shelves, otherwise he might catch the guilty look on Zuko’s face.

“I just needed a change of scenery,” he says, looking back down at the scrolls he’s studying. It’s from a pile of reading material Iroh suggested he get familiar with. Iroh hasn’t left for Ba Sing Se yet, and he hasn’t said when he will, but Zuko already feels the overwhelming weight of his absence and he’s trying to get used to not needing him.

...Instead of spending time with him while he can still ask him questions in person and get his infuriatingly useful advice.

Zuko sighs. It made more sense in his head this morning. He reaches up and takes the crown piece out of his hair, feeling its weight more heavily. He places it on the desk.

“A change of scenery?” Sokka’s eyes light up when Zuko meets them. “Well, how about outside? I found this pond with the cutest turtleducks—“

Zuko hasn’t found it in him to go back there yet. He grimaces and Sokka notices.

“Outside is a no go then. Well, there’s other offices than the Fire Lord’s study, maybe you just need to try something else—“

“Sokka—“

“Or maybe we are still thinking too small. There are so many rooms in this palace, let me help you choose the perfect— shit.”

Zuko jumps to his feet. In his excitement, Sokka had gestured with one of his crutches and lost his balance, stumbling into the bookshelf with Zuko catching him right before he can fall to the floor.

“Sokka.” Zuko grits his teeth, his tone sharper than he intended. “Stop trying to help me. It’s hurting you,” he says quietly. This is far from the first time Sokka has tracked Zuko down or tried to find work to do instead of taking the time to heal. “You need to rest.”

Sokka looks hurt, and Zuko suddenly realizes how close they’re standing. His hands are still on Sokka’s waist to steady him even though he probably doesn’t need the support anymore. He takes a step back, hands falling to his sides.

“Sorry,” Sokka says, voice just as quiet. It feels…intimate, the two of them speaking quietly in the secluded corner of the library. “I just…I feel so useless. After months of constantly having a purpose, of knowing I can always find something to do to help, it feels impossible to just lie in bed all day. And you’re here trying to run a whole nation alone, Zuko.“

“I’m not alone," Zuko says automatically, but it sounds like a lie even to himself.

At the look Sokka gives him, he's not buying it either.

“I mean, it would probably be helpful to have some company,” Zuko admits. It’ll probably take him longer, sure, but maybe it won’t feel so painfully lonely. “Or you could help me interpret some of this handwriting.”

Sokka’s eyes light up. “Now that, I can do. You better get used to reading messy handwriting, though, otherwise we’re going to have a hard time keeping in touch through letters once I go back home,” Sokka tells him.

Zuko blinks in surprise, then smiles. “I can do that. Come on, let’s go do this outside. I’ve been meaning to revisit that pond you mentioned.”