#He is hopeless

[ofginjxints]

closed starter for @godqveens

"Oh hey, don't worry about it that - you just learn to live with all the stains on the aprons. It's why we have them." Tristan crossed over to the sink and handed over a clean cloth for her to dry her hands. "Thanks for staying, by the way. I mean, to clean up." He kicked himself, that was his in, but he somehow just corrected himself. "I mean, I do like when you stay back - our chats and stuff...they're nice."

[luxvalent]

[esoterium]

@xxgotthedevilinsidexx || from here somewhere! || accepting!

" you’ve been checking up on me? " ( Jax from Tara )

jax's got a rare time where he's alone inside the club. everyone's out doing whatever and he's taken the time to retreat to his room and kick his feet up in: silence. eyes closed, smoke wafts towards the ceiling as he snubs out a cigarette and finishes the taste off with a swallow of beer before relaxing his head back against the wall and drawing in a breath of fresh california air coming from an open window. s'getting dark. means people will start to filter back once their bullshit's over for the day. but doesn't mean he can't take the time to enjoy some peace til then.

and he is...

til..out of the blue he's got a disembodied voice coming from his door and it damn near startles the shit out of him. TARA.

the jerk he makes from head back, eyes closed and hand on his bare stomach has him sitting up with his bare feet, jutting out from well worn jeans, on the floor quicker than a blink. round eyes to their whites eyes stare at her a few silent seconds before his hand pushes back the hair that's fallen in front of his face.

"fuck, tara!! can ya least warn me next time? call maybe?" it's his way of buying time. he's not ready to answer. if by checking up on her, she means asking everyone but her if she's been doing okay. has what she needs. if she's been safe and all that shit? well yeah. but it's not really checking up on her. it's just...keeping...yeah whatever. "nah. don't know what you been hearing but someone's full of shit and overexaggerating. i've been fuckin' off..." there's that grin. aimed right at the floor before it's aimed at her. sidelong. eye contact made. he's lyin'. and not truly giving a shit that he's getting caught cause he knows he is. might as well be his damn self about it.

"just like you said to..."

[elizabro]

please consider how you engage with aaron bushnell's death. you may react to it as you will, but it's crucial to remember that his death was specifically a call to action. it was not meant solely to shock but to draw attention to a vast moral hypocrisy: that to many, a soldier dying in a campaign backed by the U.S. government is noble, even if the soldier kills innocents to do so, even if the cause is morally bankrupt--but this? this is insanity. a man taking his own life, on his own terms, in an attempt to help others while hurting nobody else, is somehow less rational and more horrifying than the mass killing of civilians.

of course aaron's death was horrific. but as he said beforehand, it is realistically no more horrific than what's happening in gaza. if we can't stomach this, then why can we stomach children being bombed? thousands being starved? for all that self immolation is, it brings death in a matter of minutes. it is a fraction of the amount of pain, fear, and grief that people in gaza are experiencing. it's just that we are able to quantify it. and this tiny, quantifiable sliver of horror is still so unbelievably awful. how can anyone bear to think about anything else when this horror is happening a millionfold in palestine? this is the question aaron bushnell was asking. and he wanted you to face it, head-on, watching him burn to death.

I've been seeing people make fanart. minimalist graphics to sell on t-shirts. to commodify his death, to mythologize it not a day afterwards, is not only in poor taste but a hindrance to his message. the answer is not commodification, nor is it defeatism, nor is it rejoicing in his death. if you want to honor aaron's legacy, take action. channel your horror and your outrage into making a material change. this wasn't about him. this was about palestine. remember that it was always about palestine.

[riaki]

ur highschool bully gojo was chefs kiss 💋 what do u think about them going to the same college and taking the same classes?? and the reader sitting next/talking to some other guy and satoru gets jealous?? arwahhhshdhshshs so many possibilities, i hope u continue writing it!!

hi nonnie !! thank you so much :) this is ur official part 2 ! i was struggling to think up some possibilities but this helped a lot :oo | read part 1 here ! -> cw: swearing, jealousy, i let it get fic length oops

(former) highschoolbully!gojo on the brain again… like. when you end up seeing him again however many months later, and you can tell that he’s changed. it’s not like its immediately obvious to anyone who doesn’t really know him like you (used to); but he’s a little softer-spoken and his smiles seem nine times more genuine. it’s not a hundred percent; the kind that really lights up his face instead of just barely falling short of his stark blue eyes, but it's something.

of course, you have nothing to base it off of, because when you do inevitably see him again it's the very definition of meet ugly.

college is a new frontier, but its also a clean slate. its your first time going into something so new without your old bestfriend at your side, but some faint flickering thought reminds you that it might be better that way. but the universe is against you from the very first day, when youre gettin yourself some coffee from the same chain you did the morning of that fateful presentation so many moons ago. you're too busy thinking to yourself what kind of strange parting ritual it is to relive your trauma to notice the lanky, white-haired boy who hits his head on the chiming bell over the doorway. people are giggling around you n sighing dreamily but youre too deep in the music pumping through your headphones to notice and your eyes are glued to the class schedule on your phone, trying to ensure you dont get lost on the first day when—

you blink and your ass is flat on the dirty floor of the coffee shop, and the first thing you register is that your stomach is soaked and burning. you'd spilled your coffee. it takes you a moment to realize, but when you do you're pissed. so you quickly get to your feet, trying to reign in what little of your ego you have left to give the offender who bumped into you a piece of your mind as you look up, then..

how unlucky do you have to be?

just like that, satoru's slid himself back into your life, after ramming through its locked gates. you forget that he always forgets the point of keys, both when it comes to his apartment (which you still have the spare key of in case of emergencies), and the door to your heart. to rub salt in the wound, the only thing that's stained with your coffee order are his shoes, which look like they cost three weeks of your old job salary, but it's all over your shirt. of course it is. because why not? make it look like you tripped and fell into a patch of mud on your way to the lecture hall and tack on an unwelcome reunion with your ex-bestfriend.

to you, it's like the cloud of gloom from your highschool youth has resettled over your head like a swarm of gnats on a dreary, hot summer day. the stars always seem to skew and misalign themselves for you. but for satoru, the stars have handed him one of those huge swirly lollipops that you only ever see being paraded about by toddlers. he recovers almost instantly, trading the burn on his feet and the way it sours your expression like he's just squirted pure citric acid into your throat for a pleasant burn of his own on his cheeks. but it's whatever. girls seem to like it when he blushes, for some reason. he won't question it, if it works on the only one he cares about.

he holds his hand out, ready to help you out like the good samaritan he's become— and it's like a real burn to his heart this time when you ignore it and stand up on your own, refusing to look up and meet his pleading gaze. might as well have taken an iron stoker right out of the fire and jabbed him with it. but he's gojo satoru! he won't be defeated by this one mere, maybe very significant reunion. he's got stamina.

so he offers to buy you a new drink, feels his heart sink when you shake your head (can't even spare a little 'no' in his direction), and talks enough for the both of you when you leave the dingy little store make your way down to campus and the lecture building. you clearly don't want to see him, but he ignores that in exchange to notice the way you shiver every so often. the previously searing-hot coffee that stains your shirt turns cold fast, and moisture n wind don't mix well. he wishes he could offer you some of his own warm coffee, no doubt sickeningly sweet, but he has some sensitivity now, apparently. so, in a brash moment, he decides to take his blazer off and drape it over your shoulders instead.

when you cross the threshold between city and campus, you expect him to yank it off your back and be on his merry way. but he keeps walking next to you, so you walk a little faster, and you absolutely loathe the cheeky little grin that curves the corners of his lips up to show a glint of teeth when he effortlessly keeps up. you curse his long legs when you find yourself winded, but at least you can lose him when you get there.

or, that's what you think. once again, your constellations break themselves to rebuild anew for satoru. you're about to call him a stalker when he follows you all the way to your classroom with that smirk that's growing exponentially until— oh, no.

your phone that's been on the schedule up until now desperately scrolls to the roster— and there it is. he's in your class. needless to say, not another word goes between you as you stomp in and take a seat. luckily for you, you've already corresponded with your roommate's brother (who's annoyingly cute, satoru notices) and agreed to sit next to each other. satoru takes the seat right above you and never stops kicking his freakishly long legs against the wood the entire time.

so yeah, it's obvious he's not a saint; he still has that undoable ego and he's cocky as fuck (as you have the misfortune of finding out when he quickly bullies your professor), but there's a certain familiarity in that no matter how ugly it might appear to others. and if you asked (which he really, really hopes you will someday), he doesn't hang around douchebags who use kids' foreheads for ashtrays and treat girls like they're candy from a glittery pez dispenser. and at least he's switched harassment targets. even though he has an overwhelming sense of superiority over others and never has his lips together for more than five seconds, and even though he has this hellish habit of clicking his pen whenever he's not talking (or when someone else is), it seems like he's changed.

and over time, you gradually find yourself warming up to him. the spunkiness that used to get on your nerves ceaselessly becomes an object of endearment, and you don't really mind the way he never seems to stop moving anymore. it's a nice sort of distraction in the lifeless still of the lecture hall, albeit the pen clicking still drives you near insanity. you notice he always does it obnoxiously and quickly when you're talking to your roommate's brother, but you ignore it.

and for satoru? he hates that he can kinda sorta really tell that you're the only one who can read him like he's a damn book, cus you slowly start to soften up in the nostalgia of his presence like cold playdough between warm fingers that tell you he may have finally caught you again after letting you slip the first time. and he notices it. this time, he's determined not to let you be the one that got away again. but youre really giving him a shit time outta it with the way you constantly entertain the guy who always has his breath in your face.

yeah, he's got a cute face that's sunkissed by freckles. yeah, his hair looks like he models for shampoo companies. and fuck, he has a nice voice. but what of it? satoru's the one with the mesmerizing blue irises and the cloudy white hair your professor wishes he had instead of sad little wisps of old age. still, as chilly days turn into frigid weeks, he gets the perfect backseat angle of the growing relationship between the two of you. the boy's kinda dumb so you copy off of satoru’s work when you need to (he has to hide the 1-0 scoreboard between him and the guy on a sticky note from you when you take his notes), but said guy’s always buying you stuff and lending you erasers and laughing when you flick the shavings at the annoying girl who never stops whispering in the front of the room.

satoru tries to act unbothered, and he almost convinces everyone. including himself. but the angry, burning knot in his chest that's entirely different from coffee stains suggests something more. that should be him at your side. him, making balls of paper with rude scribbles and silly doodles to throw at the people he knows you don't like. him, surprising you with little gifts and the cheap trinkets he knows you adore so much instead of all the luxury things he could afford. there's no way this punk could possibly measure up to him, right? but at least you and satoru are well on your way to becoming friends again. not as close as you used to be, but it's something. substantial. and he's learned to be patient in the time you've been gone.

but he'd be lying through his teeth if he said he wasn't tired of it. he’s endlessly plagued with thoughts of increasing intensity— first, it starts out with just you. only you. the way he likes it. the way he likes your face, and your pretty eyes and your gorgeous lips and your soft hair and your figure and the complimenting clothes you wear. but it takes a turn; thoughts turn into dreams that turn into fantasies and he's lying when he says he doesn't enjoy them when he accidentally lets it slip during a group study session— and it’s all fine— but then, that guy appears. the brat who seems to sit a centimeter closer to you with each coming day. not only does he haunt satoru in real life, he’s tormenting his dreams, too. tainting the image of beautiful you.

needless to say, satoru starts to wake up with his hands gripping his damp pillow like he's choking it, acutely aware of the sweat sliding down his neck and over his chest as he stares up at the ceiling, listening to the dorm's air conditioner run and thinking of what it'd be like for dreams (the ones where he replaces the boy) to become reality.

it's a buildup. and soon, he reaches the apex; it's like a rollercoaster, that stomach-twisting moment when you reach the top of the rail that points to the steep descent downward. but this time, he hopes it's a thrill he gets instead of the usual falling fright; the one he got when he realized he’d slipped between your fingers in highschool.

and satoru finally comes to a grinding halt at the top of the ride one breezy fall day when he decides he wants you back in his life after you smile brightly at him and wave goodbye for the day. he’s tired of you having one foot in and one foot out of his heart; he wants, needs more. he always has, he realizes.

so he’s thinking about you and how to approach the feelings he’s realized during those long lectures, and one morning he comes up with some semblance of a plan when he’s high on the sugar from the fruit tea you bought him that morning. and he hopes that, by the end of it, he'll leave your apartment with your hand in his currently empty one, chilled with the remnants of cold condensation from the bottle.

soon enough, satoru finds himself extinguishing his nerves and raising a tense fist to knock on the door with nothing but the clothes on his back and a flimsy plan to ask you out on a midterm study sesh and maybe even a date, but he stops when he realizes it’s slightly ajar. a brief thought of what look might be on your face when he surprises you crosses his mind, so he lets himself in quietly, because he knows every single floorboard that creaks like the back of his palm from his childhood. he’s hit with a wave of warmth and an achingly familiar scent that twists at his heart, and your apartment is cozy and safe and it screams you and he thinks he catches sight of his jacket slung across the back of the couch in your living room, but he’s not sure so he takes a step forward and—

he’s greeted with the sight of that stupid guy with the nice hair and the freckles, and it makes his heart drop. but even worse, he’s kissing you and his arms are winding around your waist but you’re kissing him back with a slight hesitation that’s blinded to satoru by his shock and the fingers he thought would end up in his own tonight card through the boy’s hair and your lips glisten with the strawberry-kiwi flavored gloss he watched the boy give you a few days back and his world is turning red and he feels like his throat is constricting and he can’t breathe—

and he doesn’t even realize you’ve parted lips and you’re calling his name through the newfound tightness of his chest and the painful ringing in his ears thats even louder than any silence of a lecture hall, or the void that should’ve been filled with your voice during the time you were apart. but now satoru realizes he’d take that any fucking chance to have that again because it’s so much better than what he’s stuck with now. having you, but not really having you, because you’re there but you’re someone else’s and you’re not his and he isn’t yours. the best thing he could ever hope for was for you to own an article of his clothing and a piece of his shattered heart, broken into a million fragments. some cruel voice in his buzzing head reminds him to change the scoreboard to 0-100.

and he could buy you cheap hot coffee or earn your smiles from scrunched up paper balls or even hear your laugh with crude jokes, but there’s no point when he realizes he can’t buy you with caffeine or earn you with hitting the back of people’s heads with his bio notes or have you and your laugh all to himself anymore.

it’s almost pathetic, the way satoru’s voice cracks and changes. the look of unadulterated concern on the face of the boy who stole your lips just adds fuel to the fire.

“gojo? what are you doing here— hey, are you okay? you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

he noticed you’d stopped calling him satoru a few weeks back. he should’ve seen it coming.

“huh? oh, yeah. i’m good. i think you’re the one hallucinating.”

he’d never told a bigger lie in his life.

satoru had left after excusing himself for intruding. how very unlike him to be so polite, you think.

so in the end, he leaves your apartment with something in his hand, after all. but it's not your own— just his blazer that you’d given back to him before he stepped out the door, taunting him with the faint scent of coffee and lingering perfume. his hope was foolish, so it seems. it’s too bad, he thinks. if it were him, he would’ve sandwiched you against your counter while he kissed. but it wasn’t. apparently, it was your turn for your stars to align at the price of his.

and so, gojo satoru, the boy force-turned man with a chipped ego and a completely broken heart, loses you again.

bonus bonus.. part 2….

[britcision]

Whooooooo’s ready for another conspiracy theory btw!

That ^? That’s Laios’ shirt

Think about it

Laios wears that style with the lil collar and v neck

(The height of the collar on this shirt is… interestingly variable from panel to panel, but that happens. It’s collared enough to show up under his over shirt later)

Kabru and Mithrun ran into Laios’ party’s old packs and took their shit

Mithrun got spidered the fuck up

Kabru a) has no spare clothes on him and b) is not that much bigger than Mithrun; he’s bigger, but not quite “swimming in his clothes” bigger

The only other Canary bigger than Mithrun is Lycion

And. Well. We know it’s not his.

Other options in the area are: Thistle, one of the few people tinier than Mithrun, and these guys

Yaad’s too short and his shirt is too fancy, Monsieur Mannequin has his elbows out, and if Delgal is wearing similar it’s a layer deep, so I doubt it

That’s Laios’ fucking shirt

And Mithrun’s wearing it for the full rest of the series so I mean whether Laios even noticed or not he’s probably not asking for that back

This is as usual entirely meaningless trivia I just like to make useless connections and enjoy the idea of the final dramatic showdown and Mithrun’s just stolen Laios’ shirt

[chngmins]

HE HIT HIS HEAD ON THE LAMP TRYING TO RUN AWAY FROM THIS CONVERSATION LMAOOO

[lomlompurim]

respost separated from the og post bc I really liked this silly little thing I made

And a little extra of my own

little binghe has a goal in this life and it only gets worse once he mets sqq, no one dares to threaten his position as sqq's future wife, he literally was born to be his spouse!!

[doberbutts]

Recently Youtube's algorithm really wants me to watch Schindler's List and I never had so the other night I sat down and actually watched it.

Having a lot of thoughts about it but a major one I keep coming back to is how even an immensely and deeply flawed human being can go against "just following orders" and instead put in the work to actually help.

It may never be fully enough. It may never save as many as you'd hoped. But when you have a choice to either follow orders or save your fellow humans in front of you, I hope you choose the latter.

Schindler died in poverty. He was not a renown war hero nor was he at all famous or widely beloved. But he saw that he could help, even in some small way, and so he helped.

He was a Nazi who saw what the Nazis were doing to Jews and said no more. Enough. If I can even spare those under my charge, maybe a few extras, then at least I will have tried to do something about this.

I think a lot of people do not fancy this type of activism. It is messy, dangerous, and often completely thankless. Schindler survived as long as he did after the war due to those he saved helping him with donations. He was not popular in his hometown due to his association with Nazis, he was not popular in Germany, he was not popular in Argentina. His businesses all failed. His wife left him. A movie about his deeds was released several years after his death, where he would receive none of the benefits. He went to prison multiple times for simply refusing to hate Jews.

I think a lot of people like to think they're activists, but are sorely unprepared for doing this type of work, and then in truth become activists in name only. This is hard work. But without him, another thousand or so people would be on that death toll.

He took his position of extreme power- a Nazi owning a factory almost entirely operated by Jews, making oodles of money off that cheap slave labor- and said you know what? No. I'm not doing that. I can't save everyone, but as long as they are within my factory, you will not kill my workers. As long as I'm here you aren't harming one hair on the head of any Jew under my care. You're not sending or keeping them in Auschwitz. You're not randomly executing them for entertainment. They're people. You're not murdering them.

"Just following orders" they say. But they didn't have to. They could have helped. They could have did what he did, look around and say "what the fuck am I doing here", and stop. He did. They could have. They didn't.

[kittykatninja321]

Very deeply annoyed by the fanon idea that Talia treated Jason like a pet or a tool when he was catatonic, because when you actually read lost days you can clearly see that Talia is literally the only person who looked at Jason while he was catatonic and still saw a person and treated him like a person while everyone else around her (Ra’s and the doctor she hired) was ready to dismiss Jason as an empty shell

[fumifooms]

People should talk about Yaad and Thistle more. Weird granduncle that killed your dad in a petty impulsive punitive act, leaving you very scared of him as you live under his control for centuries. Imagine growing up hearing stories of the King’s brother, the kind, clever, collected and calm advisor and right hand man. But only knowing him by how warped he’s become, violent and erratic. He punishes you, too, robbing you of any agency by putting you inside of a doll. And then despite, he becomes catatonic and you’re left to take care of him in his brother’s body while he thinks you’re him. And then you see those slivers of that nice caring person you heard so much about in your childhood a millenium ago, and as he babbles about Delgal thinking he’s you, recalling memories and old habits, you wonder about how things must have used to be, before, and how they’ve changed irreparably. Today is melancholic again.

Yaad being like, Thistle’s sort of great-nephew who’s lived most of his life seeing him as being out of his mind and only a mirage of the noble attentive person he once was, now having to take care of him, someone who was an older familial figure to him… Seeing him gentle, soft and unhurried after all this time spent in an emotional anxious paranoid frenzy... Yaad and Thistle post-canon is so special

[valtsv]

Internal inquiry? What does that look like

so basically i got a U in my physics A(S)-Level exam (twelfth grade for people who didn't attend school in england). which means that i scored so badly that i couldn't be awarded a grade. and i attended an academically selective school which was considered one of the best public schools in the entire country (my parents' doing, i did not want to be there lol). they had never had someone get a U grade before, ever. so i made history! unfortunately though it did mean that my physics teacher had to be investigated to make sure it was my fault for being stupid and not his for being a shit teacher.

[sheikfangirl]

"There's nothing wrong with you." ❄️💔

-Pre-Calamity drama- Zelda was straight up dying of hypothermia in the damn Spring of Wisdom. Having to stay on guard duty while she was freezing to death was obviously not as painful as what Zelda was experiencing, but it was torture for him.

After one too many whimper, Link couldn't stand it anymore! No way Link was gonna let the woman he secretly loved die, under HIS WATCH, on her BIRTHDAY!

Link jumped in the spring and scooped Zelda up in is arms. She really tried to resist but she was so weak and frozen, he just ignored her protests... The rest of the night was tense and heavy...their convo too. But I'm actually considering eventually making an animatic of the whole scene, so I'm not gonna spoil the rest of the HC. Cheers PS: I might not be as prolific for the next month, i am in a professional rush. I'll try to keep posting rough sketches but i have so many Zelink plans for the mid summer and after, my idea backlog exploded.

[doingpushupsindrag]

the only photo of him ever

[jesuistrestriste]

fwb!art starts to get attached to you so quick. it only takes a few weeks before he’s dreaming about just kissing you and holding you and making dinner with you.

you’d both agreed to keep things simple by only having sex and not developing feelings for one another, but you should have expected that art wouldn’t be able to keep the promise.

one evening, when you’re getting up from his bed to leave, he sits up and swallows thickly before speaking up; his covers pulled up over his lap to hide his nakedness.

“would you, i mean… w-would you wanna stay the night tonight?”

and you immediately know what’s going on. art’s the total package; he’s cute, and he’s sweet, and he’s smart, and he’s talented, but you don’t want to be tied down to a relationship right now. your stomach drops a little.

“Art,” you start, but this makes him instantly shift to sit up further with this look on his face like he knows you’re about to crush his heart.

“it’s just one night,” he says gently, almost bargaining, “it’s like, basically midnight. wouldn’t it just be easier to stay over?”

but its art. you know him. you can’t. if you give him an inch, he’ll beg for a mile.

you can’t stay.

so you grab your clothes, and you make him watch you get dressed silently, before you walk back over to his bed and sit down. you sigh and cup his cheek, “we said we weren’t gonna—“

but his face instantly crumples and it halts your words from spilling out any further. it’s subtle, the way his face changes, but you know he’s on the verge of an emotional breakdown. you frown and move your thumb to stroke his cheekbone before he hangs his head and leans into you. his forehead pushes into your shoulder.

“i can’t do this anymore.”

his voice comes out quiet and whispered and broken against your skin, his hands resting over his sheets. he shakes against you, and then you realize he’s—

“i don’t know why im crying—i dont—i’m sorry—“

tears rush down his cheeks in the next moment, and he sniffles wetly before a stifled sob gets stuck in his throat and he wraps his arms around you pleadingly.

“it just… i can’t do it. it hurts letting you go—it hurts watching you leave,” he trembles.

you move to place one of your hands on the back of his blonde curls and the other over his upper back, before his lips brush your neck and he whispers warmly into you with the desperation of a million lovers combined

“please…

just don’t go tonight.”

[lotus-pear]

i think you guys are onto smth..

i unironically got invested in this HELP