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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 5 months

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Hi , miss Raven

Their is something has been on my mind for while ;

In rook suitor suit vignette he Compose a flattering poem about Crowley

While Ace and Epel was talking about how rook would compliment anyone , rook insisted that he mean every word he say .

And there's this specific weird line

"if it weren't for your presence , I wouldn't be here"

Like what do you mean?????!!

Do you think this line is hinting at the fact that rook didn't join NRC via traditional way or he wasn't chosen by the dark mirror , since he is one of the light trio

Or To the fact that he transferred to another dorm smoothly without any problem?

For some reason I started suspecting rook recently 😭

The fact he was one of the reason vil overbloted by convincing him to watch neige performance and also he is the one who convinced vil to add Ace and deuce as part of VDC team while I thought lilia and cater was a better option

I would like to hear your opinion about it 👀

Ah, so if I'm understanding you correctly... You're theorizing that Rook might be an outside agent of some kind? One that Crowley intentionally brought into NRC to facilitate triggering overblots??

I’ll try to respond to one question at a time; hopefully this will make it easier to follow along! The post got quite long, so it's all below the cut~

Beginning with Rook’s poem, and, more specifically, “If it weren’t for your presence, I wouldn’t be here”. It’s funny that you mention this line, because when the vignette first came out (in JP; the terminology used is similar to “I would not exist/be here”), people interpreted it VERY literally. As in… “Rook is Crowley’s son because he literally could not be conceived without a father! They’re even both named after birds! They have to at least be blood related somehow!” Strange how in 2020, Crowley was suspected of being Rook’s father but now in 2024 Crowley’s being suspected of being Malleus’s father. The poor headmaster just can’t catch a break 😂

Personally, I don’t think that line is implying anything strange about Rook’s enrollment. As far as we know, he did not join NRC though any abnormal means, and nor did Silver. Of the “light trio” (a label that I must stress exists within the fandom but is not endorsed by TWST), only Kalim fits the bill. Kalim was originally homeschooled, but received an acceptance letter to NRC a month into the school year. Another month later, he transferred in. As far as we know, all students at NRC (save for Yuu and Grim) were chosen by the Mirror of Darkness, even the light trio. Again, I want to emphasize that TWST does not use “light trio” or a similar term to refer to or to characterize Kalim, Silverc and Rook. We’ve gotten no formal in-universe explanation as to why those three in particular have light cosmic magic instead of everyone else’s dark cosmic magic. (This is entirely separate from meta theories, which are out-of-universe explanations for why the “light trio” exists. The popular meta explanation is that it’s because Silver, Kalim, and Rook are not twisted from Disney villains but rather “good” characters like Aurora, the Sultan, and the Huntsman.)

On the subject of transferring dorms, the option is always on the table. We see mob students talk about transferring dorms as early as 1-14:

In 6-67 (part 20 with the Pomefiore group), Vil describes the transfer process as being tedious and involving a lot of “complicated paperwork and ceremonies”. Crowley also says the process is “burdensome” in 1-20, but this phrasing is quite vague and could mean any number of things. (Burdensome to whom, the staff or the students? Why exactly is it burdensome?) Overall, it seems like transferring dorms would take a long time and require various formalities, but not necessarily be full of problems.

As long as you’re dedicated and consistently complete what is asked of you to complete the process, transferring should be no issue. I don’t think it’s a given that you’d normally experience troubles in trying to transfer. It should be smooth by default (unless the student backs out, is uncooperative, and/or fails to complete the required steps). So following that logic, I don’t think the poem line is saying anything about Rook’s dorm transfer either.

While it’s true that Rook encourages Vil to watch Neige’s performance and advises that Vil pick Ace and Deuce for the VDC/SDC Tribe, I do not believe there was malicious intent behind these actions. It’s hinted throughout book 5 that Rook’s reasoning for doing these things was to help Vil recognize the value of his “beauty” is something he gains from himself, not from the approval of others.

This is most likely Rook’s motivation for suggesting Vil observe the competition or to consider freshmen for the team. It’s exposing Vil to the contentedness that can come with imperfection or not being at the very top, something Vil fails to recognize in himself until the end of book 5. Being as perceptive as he is, Rook would have realized that outright telling Vil the moral of the week would not sway his strong-willed friend’s mind. Thus, Rook devised a more roundabout plan and involved Yuu (who, at this point, has a reputation for settling dorm-wide disputes) and co. (unpolished and clumsy underclassmen that Vil could shape as well as potentially also learn from in a reciprocal manner). Maybe Lilia and Cater would have been more technically skilled, being members of a club band and all, but they wouldn’t have provided the same opportunity for growth that Yuu and Adeuce did.

Rook is someone who has always been portrayed as a supporter of Vil’s, a good friend and a trusted confidant. He does have a nefarious side and is 100% capable of deception (like the time in Endless Halloween Night when he quickened his heartbeat to convince Sebek he was also scared and therefore was not a traitor). However, I don’t think Rook would want to betray his friends by actively harming them and putting their lives in danger (both during book 5’s overblot and immediately after in book 6’s rescue mission); he truly cares for them and wants to see them happy and healthy. (One could argue he should have voted for NRC instead of RSA to help Vil achieve his dream instead of betraying him, but that’s another discussion entirely.)

There’s no reason why Rook would go out of his way to do innocuous things like helping Epel with his UM or imparting wisdom to Deuce unless he actually cared and wanted to see them develop. Beyond the scope of book 5, why would Rook do even more innocuous things like trying to make Epel feel welcome and assisting him with learning table manners? Why wouldn’t he go out of his way to provoke Vil more often? Did Crowley hypothetically have even all of these little details down and instruct Rook to do (or not do) these things??? It sounds too far-fetched to attach a hidden motive behind everything Rook says or does. It could be as simple as “he wants to be there to support his friends”.

Before we wrap up, I’d like to quickly touch on the suggestion that Silver and Kalim too were catalysts for Malleus and Jamil’s OBs, respectively. It’s true that they were, but I doubt Silver or Kalim were aware and did so intentionally. Both seemed genuinely ignorant as to the true stress that Malleus and Jamil were under, and Silver + Kalim do not present as toxic people who would want to inflame their friends’ negativity. Of course, there’s always the possibility that Puppet Master Crowley (™) is orchestrating everything from the shadows (but I’m not going to get into the “time loop to gather all the necessary information and learn what the correct choices are” theory here www). I just don’t think Rook is Crowley’s accomplice in all of this if the time loop + intention overblots theories overlap.

This is one of those instances where I see Rook as being very honest with his intentions and because of his… generally strange character (?), his peers and players alike still suspect there is a deeper meaning to his words. I interpret his poem as nothing more than waxing poetic to expressing gratitude to the one man that makes it possible for him to be at NRC as a student: Crowley. Rook states that he wanted to give an exemplary poem using a subject that both Ace and Epel were already familiar with, so he went with the headmaster. Furthermore, we know that Rook is able to witness many wonderful and beautiful things at NRC, as well as make meaningful relationships with interesting people like Vil. He would not be able to do any of these things were he not extended an invitation to NRC—and it is for this reason that it would make sense for him to genuinely be appreciative of Crowley.

Those are all my thoughts on this matter all for now ^^ Hope it was an interesting read!

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3d-wifey · 10 months

Text

And They'd Find Us In A Week - Chapter 9

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Word Count: 5.7k Synopsis: Here! Playlist: Listen up! Tag list: @melancholicmelanin , @yvy1s, @honethatty12 A/N: Thank you for waiting so patiently, Finnick girls! I was able to post this one in its entirety. SMUTTTTT, and then angst. I give y'all a lil kiss and then I shoot ya. 🥲🥲🥲

Past (x) - You

[19 & 20] - THE CAPITOL; ELEVENTH FLOOR

How your body looked had never truly been important to you. Growing up, the only thing that mattered was whether or not your arms and legs were strong enough to heft you up a tree, whether or not you had the stamina to climb up and down wooden giants with sacks of fruit on your back, whether or not your malnourished muscles could endure the strain of the games.

You know you’re attractive. Not because it’s something you thought of yourself, but because you wouldn’t be in your position if you weren’t. That fact doesn’t stop the nerves from bubbling up as Finnick unzips the back of your dress.

In the garden, under the open sky, each kiss became more searching and desperate. It was unspoken, the step the two of you were taking—the two of you laughing and shushing each other as you snuck into your room like teenagers, still riding the high of your drinks.

The zipper stops at the base of your spine, warm breath on your neck. He moves one strap down and then the other, placing a kiss on your bare shoulder.

His fingers brush the bare skin of your back, and you turn around to face him. He holds your face between two big palms, grinning big and happy at you before kissing you. Finnick kisses like his lips against yours are the sum of his whole being. Like he’s trying to rob you of your last breath and replace it with his own. Like there’s nothing else he’d rather be doing for the rest of his life. Your hands go to his waist, and you pull him closer until your chest presses against his. He’s warm, even through his shirt, and you feel that heat rubbing off on you. If you grip him any tighter, will your fingerprints sear into him? Will they become a permanent fixture on his body like the ghost of his touch is on yours?

You move one scalding palm to his chest, where his shirt cuts open. In your mind, you leave your handprint over his heart. You graze blunted nails over bare skin, making a red trail of five from his clavicle to his Adonis belt. He tenses and then leans into the drag. You unbuckle his belt and untuck his shirt from his pants. He licks at the seam of your mouth, and you welcome him graciously. He groans deep in his chest as you suck on his tongue, and you can stay here languishing in his affections until the sun gives out.

He backs you up until your calves bump into the foot of your bed.

He pauses, not to take a much-needed breath like you do, but to pull his shirt over his head and throw it in the general direction of where he left your shoes. In the back of your mind, you imagine how upset your stylists would be to see the two of you treat your clothes with so little respect. And with that thought, you let your dress drop to the ground.

You sit on the edge of your bed, heart in your stomach. In the past four years, you’ve seen each other in various states of undress but never with any intent behind it. This is different.

Finnick stands before you, and you laugh at his expression. The look of astonishment certainly makes you feel more confident. His eyes don’t move from you as you lounge back.

His face twists up in apprehension like he’s psyching himself up to say something.

"I've never done this before. I mean, I've done this before, obviously. I just," he runs a hand through already messy hair, "I've never been with someone I care about." You sigh, and your shoulders relax. Relief washes over you. You have experience, sure, but everything you’ve done has been for the pleasure of someone else.

"Me neither… But I wanna learn how." Your tongue is quick to add clarification that isn’t needed. “With you.”

“I’d hope so.” He chuckles, and a realization crosses his face. “I guess this is both of our first times, then, huh?” He pulls his belt from the loops before toeing out of his shoes at a leisurely pace, in no real rush. You lay back onto your elbows and watch him undress, probably smiling like an idiot.

"I don't want this to feel like it usually does. I want this to feel real." You want him to feel real. You point your toes to brush his clothed thigh as he undoes his pants.

“Always.” He promises. This will be something special for the two of you to share, a kind of loophole. Something no one else can take away from you.

“If we…” You trail off as he finally hooks his thumbs into his waistband and pulls it down, leaving him in his tight, black briefs, “Um.” You finish rather unintelligently. The corner of his mouth twitches up.

“Sorry, am I distracting you?” He gestures to himself, eyebrows lifted in a disingenuous apology. You shake your head dumbly as you watch his lips move, and he stalks towards you. What a novel thing, you decide, to actually feel attraction towards your partner without the aid of any aphrodisiacs. You had honestly doubted that it was possible, but Finnick had always been in the business of proving you wrong.

He straddles one of your legs, knee settled high between your thighs, and he leans in for a kiss that already belongs to him. Finnick urges you further up the bed with a nod of his head; kisses pressed to the underside of your jaw as you settle in the mountain of plush pillows.

His mouth is pretty and pink. You give in to the impulse and bite his bottom lip, tugging it with your teeth. He moans into your mouth when you soothe it over with your tongue, and when he pulls away, his shark-tooth necklace dangles in your face.

You bite the bullet and go to unhook your strapless bra, but he stops you.

“Let me.” He murmurs against your lips long after you’ve forgotten what he’s asking you. You nod anyway, leaning up, and he moves to fully settle between your legs. His fingers brush your back as he unhooks it and pulls it off. The air nips at you, tightening the skin around your nipples.

You’ve been naked before, plenty of times. But never in front of Finnick—never fully. You’re half tempted to do something childish, like cover yourself, but you’re stopped. Not by his hands but by the sheer adoration in his eyes as he looks his fill.

“You’re ravishing.” He grins down at you and says it like a fact. “Somehow, more than I imagined.”

“You’ve thought about me before, Odair?” You aim for cockiness, but you can’t keep the smile off your face for long.

“I always think about you. Whenever I’m in bed with a client, I'm picturing you instead.” You blink. And then blink again. While you’re a little surprised at the admission, you understand. You do the same thing yourself. You feel warmth spreading throughout your chest. Fortunately, he doesn't seem to expect a response from you, so he continues talking.

“I thought about how you’d feel, how you’d look. The sounds you’d make when I did this,” You gasp when he licks a strip up the valley of your breasts. “And this.” Your thighs clench around his slim waist as he blows cool air on the trail of spit he left. Your chest arches towards his mouth, a mind of its own.

“You always manage to exceed my expectations.” The muscles in your abdomen twitch with each syllable as he kisses his way down, light shining flattering on his bare back. “You’re beautiful.”

“So you’ve sai—said.” You say, too distracted by the drag of his lips on your skin and too flustered under the weight of his devotion to think clearly.

There's a sanctity in the way Finnick looks at you that confuses you at the best of times and overwhelms you at the worst. You never strain under the weight of just how in awe of you he is, but your knees get the urge to buckle and yield.

You want to ask how. How can someone love another person so much? But there's no point in voicing it; you'd just be a hypocrite since you end up answering your own question whenever you look at him. You look at him now and feel that same certainty. You're two zealots, worshiping at each other's altars. A religion of reverence.

“And I’ll keep saying it until you believe it,” he kisses where your thigh meets your hip, “I’ll keep saying it until my lungs give out and even after that.”

"And how are you gonna manage that, huh?" You snort at the conviction in his voice.

"I'll figure it out,” he shrugs, smiling against your skin. “For you, I'll find a way." You snort again, shaking your head. Always so confident when it comes to you.

“What’s so funny?” He grins up at you. And the fact that he keeps moving further down doesn’t escape you.

“I can’t say anyone’s ever waxed poetics while going down on me before.” You laugh, stretching your arms above you and settling deeper into the soft bed. Finnick follows the movement like a hawk.

“A shame.” He grabs a handful of your thighs in each hand. “These alone deserve sonnets written about ‘em.” You sigh in a put-upon way to hide how flattered you actually are. You’ve had people go down on you before, though it was never for your own satisfaction. You’ve faked so many orgasms that you can’t recall the last time you had a real one.

Familiar fingers push the crotch of your panties to the side, and it all feels so natural. You’re breathless. He runs his knuckles over where you’re soft and warm for him, and you flinch into the feeling. It would’ve been mortifying just how wet you are if you were with anyone other than Finnick.

“This all for me?” He laughs, still giggly from the wine. Scratch that thought. Still mortifying with Finnick—maybe even more so.

“Oh my—please, shut up.” You groan into the safety of your hands, and you yelp when he nips at your leg in retaliation, skin made sensitive from his proximity.

“You gonna shut me up?” He smirks against your thigh, eyebrow lifted in a silent challenge and you clench around nothing at the gleam of indulgence in his eyes.

“Maybe.” You take the unsaid request for what it is and thread your fingers through his hair, leading to where you’re aching for him.

“Pinch my arm if it’s too much.” You nod, but it seems he’s waiting for verbal confirmation. As soon as you give it, your only warning is a hot puff of air before soft lips descend on you with no preamble. Your back arches off the bed at the hot drag of his tongue.

Finnick wastes no time, so much so that it makes you wonder if he’s more eager than you are. He’s enthusiastic in his approach, licking at you almost greedily. His scruff rubs against you as he moves his head.

He groans as you clench around his tongue, fingers jerking in his hair as your body tries to decide whether it’s too much or not enough. You could’ve come from that alone, his hands nailing your hips to the bed as he builds the heat in your abdomen with just his tongue.

“Fuck me.” Either the alcohol has left your muscles loose and uncompromising, or you’ve seriously underestimated Finnick’s strength. Most likely both. Your attempts to buck away from the onslaught of pleasure are useless, with the arms wrapped under your thighs and the hands on your hips rendering you immobile. It’s like he’s made from stone, moving only when he wants to—not that he needs any guidance.

“I plan to.” He pulls away for a second, and you think that’s the end of it. But then he spits, and your eyelids flutter as he lets it drip down before licking it up. The sounds, wet and sloppy, make your ears burn, and your toes curl. It’s embarrassing to hear just how much you’re enjoying it, just how much you want him. Almost as embarrassing as seeing and hearing how much Finnick is enjoying it. Moaning into you, hips jolting into the bed. The champagne teams up with the pleasure in a mission to make you light-headed and unsteady.

One of his hands travels up the expanse of your stomach. He holds the weight of your breast in his hand before he pinches your nipple. He twists the hard peak between his calloused thumb and forefinger, and it sparks down your back to the base of your spine. You say his name on each exhale and grab his wrist, just to have something to anchor to, or you’ll float away.

You throw your head back, a moan trapped in your throat. You claw at the pillow by your head and push on his head, though it’s futile. It only accomplishes him pulling you further down into his grasp. The more you squirm, the tighter he holds you, to the point that you’re practically riding his face.

“C’mon, Star,” he murmurs against you, and you’re left throbbing at the vibrations. You bite your lip hard enough to sting, “I know you can take it.” It’s more than you’ve felt before, the pleasure. It’s overpowering, drugging your senses. It’s never felt like this, like walking on a tightrope—one good push and you’re plunging over the edge head first. Finnick does something with his tongue that drains all the fight from you. You give in and grind down. And then you are riding his face.

You’ve never really focused on Finnick’s hands before. A grave oversight, you realize, because your first real exposure to just how big his hands are is when he slips his middle and ring finger in all the way to the knuckle. They’re thicker than yours, longer, and far more skilled than you’re used to—reaching places you weren’t prepared for and stretching you out more than you were expecting.

The tip of his tongue makes quick work of your clit, circling the bud once, twice, three times before he purses his lips around it—fingers working in tandem, keeping unforgiving pressure to a spot you’ve only ever had touched in passing. The hand you have on his head threads through his hair again.

"Stick your tongue out," he does as you ask and you buck against his mouth, "Fuck, Finn." You pull his head side to side, using the drag of his tongue to get off, and he goes along willingly. The sound of him pistoning his fingers inside of you is loud to your own ears, but the way he moans as he licks into you—in the gaps his fingers leave—is louder.

Your toes curl, and you glance down. His lids are lowered, barely open, as he smiles up at you. Not with his mouth but with his eyes. Tiny crow's feet and dimples, probably proud to watch you wither on the bed. You grip the sheets with your free hand as you whine. You throw your right leg over his shoulder and use your foot to press his hips into the bed; he shudders.

“Please.” You don’t even know what you’re begging for, mind muddled with thoughts of Finnick’s hands on you and Finnick’s mouth on you and Finnick, but he does. Of course, he knows what you want.

He’s relentless. Long digits curl along your walls before stretching you out in a scissoring motion that has you seeing stars. But he always seems to know just when to switch back to periodically slurping at your clit before redirecting his attention to lapping at your leaking hole. It’s messy in a way you never associate with Finnick, yet strategic in a way you do.

All it takes is for his nose to rub against your clit, and the knot in your stomach unravels so suddenly that it takes you under like a wave. You come with a buck of your hips and his name on your tongue like it’s something holy, nails scratching uselessly at the sheets. And through it all, you can feel him watching you carefully as he fingers you through it; his gaze is heavier than any metal.

He leans back on his knees, and you both catch your breath. You stare up at him, breast heaving with each inhale. He stares back with your wetness coating his chin and mouth, light eyes made dark with lust as they trail over your body, and suddenly, you decide he’s too far away.

You pull him close with the foot that’s still hooked behind his back. Close enough to see the light smattering of freckles on his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. His eyes flicker over your face in anticipation and you kiss him chastely before going in for another. And another. You grab his chin, licking your way into his mouth and you can taste your pussy on his tongue.

“Thank you.” You whisper in between kisses, bringing your knees up to cage his hips and you flip him on his back.

You always knew he had a candid sort of beauty, in an offhanded way. Something so rich and straightforward that it can’t be argued against. The sky is blue, the grass is green, and Finnick Odair is beautiful.

Though it’s an irrefutable fact, under you, he doesn’t hold himself with the arrogance of someone who knows they’re attractive. He never has, never genuienly.

Every feature works in tandem to paint his picture. Golden blond hair, bleached from being in the sun so much, is made even messier as you run your fingers through it. Long stretches of tanned skin jump under your touch as you trail a hand down his chest. His eyes shine under the hotel lights. As green as the sea glass he’s sent you and just as soft as he watches you map out his body in your mind.

He smiles up at you, beaming—sunny in the truest sense of the word. Like if you looked at him any longer, your eyes wouldn’t be able to handle it. He turns and his lips, kiss-swollen and pouty, drag up one of the hands you've propped beside his head. He stops at your bracelet, holding eye contact and kissing the shell much like he did on the roof. Though, it’s far from an innocent peck.

You settle your hips and grind against the hard line of his dick. You jerk into each other as the fabric drags against where you’re bare, his briefs being the only thing separating you. A blush spreads down the apples of his high cheekbones and becomes a backdrop to the freckles on his nose. It creeps down his long neck and you’re half tempted to follow its trail down his chest.

So, you do.

His pec flexes under the bruising attention of your mouth. You take it a step further, scraping your teeth against the mark you’ve made and kissing it as an apology. You do it again a few inches down on the edge of his nipple and you feel the moan in his chest more than you hear it.

As you come back up, you trail your fingers down his happy trail. The smattering of hair is coarse against the fingers you dip into his waistband. You watch his reaction as you take him in hand. Soft lips slick with spit fall open between pants and his eyes fight to flutter shut. He hisses as you pull him out of his boxers and he’s warm and heavy in your hand. You glance down and you can say with utmost certainty that Finnick is pretty everywhere.

When you look to him for permission, he gives a laugh that’s on the verge of a moan. “‘M followin’ your lead here.” He pants, bucking into your hand. You rise to your knees. You know where you want to lead him.

You lower yourself down slowly, then all at once, moaning at the stretch. Finnick lets out a punched-out breath and his hands hold onto your thighs. Blunted nails dig into your skin as you rise up and drop back down with a gasp. A fire, starting low in your belly, gradually grows with each drag of him against your walls.

"Fuck, Star." He swears as you ride him, sitting up to hold you closer. Your thighs already burn, but you don’t even think about stopping. You push through it and Finnick is in your ear muttering incoherent half-sentences about how good you feel. How he’s even able to form words with how much he’s trembling is beyond you. You nip at the skin around his collarbone and stop yourself. You’re attempting to be mindful of how hard you’re biting, how hard you’re pressing dull nails into his skin.

“Don’t. Please.” He begs and reaches up, moving your right hand from his shoulder to lace with his left, “If I’m gonna have marks, I want ‘em to be yours, please.” He says it as a confession, or like a wish only you can grant. You’re used to vulnerability from Finnick, he gives it away like rain from a cloud. And, as usual, you suck it up like the droughted roots of a tree.

You lean forward, sucking at the skin where his neck meets his jaw—keeping your grip on his shoulder and hand. You let out a breathy whine when he instinctively bucks into you, your eyes almost rolling into the back of your head. He meets your thrusts with upward strokes of his own, each one knocking a gasp out of you.

Sweat drips down your back from the exertion and from being on top of Finnick’s warm body that grows even warmer with every clench of your walls. He’s hot and throbbing inside of you, and you buck down to chase that warmth every time it leaves your body. You meet each other in an open mouth kiss, barely pulling away to breathe.

His blurry eyes are heavy, routinely flickering from your face to where the two of you are connected and back again. You look down at the circle of white you’re leaving at the base of Finnick’s dick. The blond hair of his crotch is slick with it, wetting his happy trail. You grab at the wide expanse of his back, nails dragging red lines on his tan skin, hoping to be closer somehow, closer than two naked bodies rubbing against each other. He hisses and leans into it.

Distantly, you’re aware of the headboard hitting the wall with a resounding thud with your movement and you pray to anything listening that everyone on floor Eleven is asleep. Neither of you would ever be able to live it down if you woke up Chaff.

“We have–,” Finnick sucks a bruise onto the top of your breast, moving down to catch your nipple in his mouth, and you can feel him in your marrow, “-have to stay quiet." He nods into your neck, arms wrapped tight around your back. You both grind against each other and he grabs your hips so tight his fingerprints will be ingrained in your bones.

“I love you.” He breathes into your neck, then pulls back. Thin, identical rings of green surround black. He stares up at you, pupils blown with love and lust in equal measure. “God, I love you.” He whispers it like it’s a secret that can do harm. In the wrong hands, it just might.

Right now, all that you care about is this. This atomic moment in time that you and Finnick have carved out for yourselves, a space that’s only big enough for two hearts to beat as one.

“Finnick, you’re clearly tired. It’s okay. I mean, you’re practically asleep already.”

“No, ‘m not,” he mumbles under his breath, turning slightly to nuzzle his nose into the side of your thigh, “just restin’ my eyes. Keep goin’.” You sigh at his stubbornness.

You had been trying, and failing, to describe different crops to him. It’s very hard to point out the differences in trees using words alone, you’re not the poet between the two of you for a reason, and that’s when he came up with the grand idea of just showing him the plants using the projector on the far wall.

You’ve been telling him stories of your youth, the good ones as few as they may be, of the shacktowns, the different family businesses, which farm had your favorite cow; things he wouldn’t have learned about Eleven in a textbook. And it was all going well until he started nodding off. To be fair to him, you have been going on for at least an hour and a half. You think you lost him somewhere in between miming how to use a hoe and explaining what an eggplant is.

“If you insist.” You shrug, picking up the remote.

“I do insist.”

You trail your fingers up and down his spine, looping over freckles and moles as you change the hologram until a mango orchard appears. You worked on one just like this for most of your life, but the picture is off—it’s wrong. It’s too bright, too picturesque. The grass isn’t as high as it should be and the mangoes hang overly ripe on the branches.

“Mango trees were my favorite to work on. The branches spread high and far, so when it’s time to harvest, the leaves act as an umbrella to the heat. My only problem is how sticky they are. They’re such juicy fruit so they’re almost always sticky. Now, imagine having to collect hundreds of them and climb up and down these giant trees. Oh! Not to mention the sap. When there’s too much fluid built up, the mango will squirt sap that’s practically acid that burns your hands. You get burnt, you slow the work day down—” You’re cut off by snoring.

The arm that was previously wrapped around your waist like a snake has fallen to drape over your legs, warm and heavy. You comb his hair back, running your nails over his scalp. You freeze as he shuffles around and he makes a discontented noise after you stop. He moves around until his entire cheek rests on your thigh, nose nudging your stomach and you feel the puff of air heat up your skin even through the sheet. He settles back down once you start moving your fingers through his silky strands again. You shake your head, smiling down at him. Demanding even in his sleep.

Not tired your ass.

My love,

You deserve the stars. And if I could reach up and pluck each one from the night sky to give you, I would. For now, I offer you my soul—though it’s a poor substitute. It’s all I have. That and my heart, which is more yours than it was ever mine.

You’ve left your trace so that I can carry a piece of you on my skin. When I’m alone, I’ll press on bruises in the shape of your lips so that the pain will remind me I’m alive with your heart beating in my chest.

There are many people I envy. But that can’t outweigh the pity I feel for them. Because they’ll never have the chance to feel your warmth.

What a privilege it is to love and be loved by you.

-Yours, and only yours,

Finnick O.

Present (IX) - Finnick

[23 & 24] - TRAINING CENTER

Victors young and old chatter amongst themselves as they wait to give their solo performances. Predictably, no one seems particularly nervous. They’ve all done this before.

He catches the woman from Nine rubbing the back of her district mate who’s looking a little green around the gills. Correction, Finnick’s not nervous. What number they’ll rate him is the last thing on his mind. It won’t dictate his likelihood of survival and it’s not like he needs a high score to garner sponsors if and when he’ll need them.

Mags presses her hand to his cheek and he leans into the contact. She’s always been able to make good of a shitty situation, but since that special night with Haymitch, she’s been especially content—serene even. Normally, her optimism would rub off on him. There’s plenty of pressure to succeed in the arena, but, if all goes well, everyone he cares about will be safe. It’s a notion that should have made him ecstatic. His eyes sweep to the right towards the back of the room where you sit between Chaff and Peeta.

Nothing’s ever that easy.

What are you thinking?

If everything was as it should be, Finnick would just know. The two of you would’ve spoken extensively about the entire situation together. What was it that Haymitch said to sway you? What part do you play in the plan? He’d kill to hear your thoughts on something this important, no matter how pessimistic. He’s been dying to speak to you. But, clearly, the feeling isn’t mutual.

He’s only spoken to you twice in the past three days, if that even counts as talking. Not for a lack of trying, and it’s a daunting task. It would be one thing if you were angry at him—if you were blowing up at him. He could endure your, rightful, rage. He could handle that because at least you’d be acknowledging him. No, you’ve resorted to ignoring him. Not only that, but you’ve gone out of your way to avoid him.

Whenever he tries to spark up any conversation, you regard him with a level of detachment you didn’t even give him when you were strangers. But his will is as strong as yours. He keeps trying. He keeps coming back like a kicked dog that won’t learn its lesson. It must be a spectacle to watch for those who don’t know him well. And for those who do, it must be pitiful—he must be pitiful. Finnick is a good actor, but it slips through the cracks. It can’t be helped. When it comes to you, he’s always been laid bare. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

Now he’s acting like one of those yearning protagonists in those victor romance novels they sell in the Capitol. But his feelings can’t be expressed with ink on paper. He’s tried turning to writing as a means of escape instead of any substances, but it hurts too much never being able to send anything to you. To know someone inside and out and to be known in turn, just to be little more than strained strangers? It’s something out of Finnick’s worst nightmares. So much so that he has to fight the urge to pinch himself whenever you walk away from him.

But who is he to complain? He’s living in a hell of his own creation. You could tell him to jump off of a bridge and he'd be so happy you talked to him that he’d ask if you preferred a swan dive or a backflip.

Your arms are crossed loosely under your chest while Chaff speaks to you animatedly. To anyone else, you must look annoyed. Brows furrowed and mouth twisted to the side. But Finnick knows better, knows you better. Your eyes are fond and engaged with whatever he's talking to you about.

Look at me, he wants to tell you, look at me and see me. You glance up and he panics at the thought that he might’ve been thinking out loud. He almost looks around him to check if anyone heard him, but he’s scared that if he so much as blinks, you’ll look away. You glance up and, just for a second, that fondness in your eyes is directed at him. It’s a moment that stretches for only a nanosecond before you look away again, but it feels like years.

He’s been staring too long, staring long enough for Katniss to notice. She catches his eye with thinly veiled confusion. She doesn’t understand and he doesn’t want her to. He doesn’t need a seventeen-year-old’s pity. He’s quick to turn back to Mags and her sympathetic stare. He used to find it grating, how much Mags can see. But he appreciates it now.

Something Chaff said must’ve been funny to you, because he hears a sound he hasn’t heard in years. His heartbeat jumps in the tempo of your laughter. Mags threads her fingers through his hair. Though it offers little comfort, he’s thankful for the attempt.

When it’s finally Finnick’s turn, he doesn’t go in with a plan. He partially ignores whatever Plutarch is saying to him in favor of trying to see the resistance leader hidden in the shell of a Capitol elite. If everything Haymitch says about him is true, then he just might be a better actor than anyone he’s ever seen. Because try as he might, Finnick can’t see the connection.

He looks at everything laid out before him and makes up something simple. There's no need to show off.

He picks up a length of rope and ties it into the knot he taught Katniss, a noose. He puts it around the neck of one of the training dummies, hoisting it over a metal bar and tying the end to one of the sturdy metal table legs. He glances over the array of weapons and considers the dummy. It’s plastic, a hardened casing that should be impervious to damage.

It should be.

He picks up the sharpest knife he can find, testing the point, before grabbing a spear from the display. He takes a few steps back and then a few more. He flips the knife in his non-dominant hand one time before aiming for the spot in the rope that’s holding the most tension. He throws the blade, sniping the rope, and dropping the dummy. But before it can touch the ground, he brings the spear back and throws it forward. It pierces the dummy’s head, sending it back a few feet.

He walks out to the sound of applause behind him.

Much, much later in the day when scores are released, Finnick isn’t surprised by your eight or his eleven. However, after seeing Peeta and Katniss’s matching twelves, he has to wonder how organic any of that scoring was.

A/N: Star, rolling a nat 20 in intelligence and charisma, but a 7 in wisdom: Fuck Finnick, he obviously pities me that's the only reason he'd ever want to talk to me Finnick, literally on his knees: pLEASE 🥺🥺🥺 Pussy put his ass to sleep, buenas noches🤭🤭🤭. I went to a different plane of existence making this smut. I hope y'all are picking up all the water and earth imagery I've been implementing. At first, it was accidental, but then my beta READER said it was cool so I pushed into it. Also, doing Finnick's interview was my clever way of avoiding making one for Star heehee

#finnick odair x reader #finnick odair #hunger games catching fire #catching fire #thg finnick #finnick odair fanfic #finnick #finnick x reader #and they'd find us in a week #hunger games fanfiction #the hunger games #hunger games #thg series #thg #hunger games smut #finnick odair smut #finnick odair x you #masterlist

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tteokdoroki · 2 years

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*ੈ🌩️‧₊˚— count to five + mirio togata.

૮˶ᵕ ༝ᵕ˶ა synopsis — when your job as your teacher takes you halfway across japan, you don’t expect a little boy and his father to change your life nearly as much as they do. or the five times in which you encounter mirio togata and his son, yoshi.

⭑ warnings — please read + mdni ! characters aged up to 20s, fluff, smut, strangers to lovers, single-parenthood, mention of hospitals, mentions of reader being smaller than mirio, unprotected sex, rough sex, exhibitionism, choking, dacryphilia, auralism, scratching, biting, creampie, squirting, fingering ( f!receiving ), praise!kink, daddy!kink, size!kink - fem!reader, teacher!reader, single-dad!mirio.

⭑ words — 6.3K.

⭑ notes — hi !!! it’s been a while! thank your being patient with me! here’s a little commission written for the lovely @roses-and-whisky who has given me permission to post. i hope you all enjoy !! - m.list ✩

the first time you meet mirio togata, it’s oddly warm for the season— the usual bite to a late autumn’s day nowhere to be found. sunshine beats down on your back, only adding to the heat simmering and rushing through your body as you work to unload moving boxes from the van you’d hired. though, you’re sweaty, and tired from hours of travelling across the cities of Japan, you’re excited for your fresh start. a degree hanging from your belt, plenty of experience behind you— the world is now your oyster.

cardboard filled with knickknacks and memories from your parents, childhood and all your school years sits heavy in your palms before you place it on the sidewalk— knowing that your host in this city will help you move into the gated community nearby, a room with your name painted into the blank white walls already set up for you.

“thas’a cool snow globe!” a childish, boy-ish voice squeaks from beside you once you’ve set the box down— daring to tug your gaze upwards to meet a child who perhaps embodies the same sunshine that’s giving you warmth today. his eyes are a brilliant blue, gaps in his teeth where his adult ones just about break through the gums. the boy points a finger tip covered in blue marker, no doubt, towards the trinket in your box with glimmering matching eyes.

smiling softly, you take it out of your box, thumbing the embossed logo of your university before shaking it and handing it to the tiny blonde. “isn’t it?” you whisper to him like you’re sharing a secret, leaning in real close and cupping his hands in your own. they’re warm. “if you hold it up to the sky, just right…” you add, pushing your hands upward with his to hold the snow globe under the sun. “the light catches on the glitter inside, making a snowy little rainbow!”

“woaaaah! that’s even cooler!”

the boy grins, eyes scintillating like the pearlescent flecks mixed into the water of your snow globe— little bits of white covering the two happy caricatures stuck inside.

“yoshi! how many times do i have to tell you not to run ahead, buddy?” the little boy, that you now know as yoshi, freezes in place— candescent azure eyes shooting over to his father as if he’s been caught in the act. he knows they’ll be late for swimming if they don’t keep walking…but your snow globe is just so cool. if you thought the kid was bright, the man before you is even brighter…the centre of your solar system, a warm heart lodged between his two juicy pecs and a chiselled jaw. he looks like he’s walked straight out of a movie, sending your brain into a tizzy.

he’s stunning and your words come out jumbled as you address him. “is he yours?” you ask, body struck with the heat of the pro hero before you, the sun above you too.

you feel a bit silly for asking the question, the uncanny resemblance between the two becoming even more obvious— as with the fact that it’s lemillion you’re talking to. the elder blonde’s hearty laughter echoing between you both on the side of the street. “yes, he’s mine. all my own flesh and blood,” mirio responds proudly. you’ve always loved children, but you never thought the pro hero would have one of his own.

and you never thought you’d wanted to mother someone’s children as much as you did his. mirio togata, desirable, handsome and good with kids.

“introduce yourself buddy, be polite.”

the little boy nods eagerly, bowing to you with respect after beaming at you warmly. “i-i’m yoshi togata! nice ta’meet you ma’am!”

you giggle and mirio grins. you’re cute, endearing almost— and he finds himself laughing with you.

“it’s lovely to meet you too, yoshi,” you reply, sticking your hand out to shake his tinier one as you give them both your name kindly.

sweet, just like you. mirio likes the way you interact with his son. he likes you, so far.

before mirio can introduce himself back, the driver in your mover’s van honks loudly. “move it lady! i’m not waitin’ out here for you all day or i’m uppin’ the price of your service.” you give the pair an apologetic look in response, offering a high five to yoshi and a shy wave to his dad, scurrying off to finish unloading the van.

and mirio watches you go, for more than one reason.

the second time you encounter mirio togata, is after a disaster— his very reason for existence, his sunshine, little yoshi, nearly loses his light.

you had always wanted to teach. nurturing children into the faces of tomorrow was your calling— guiding them to be good and help others without question…and as it turns out, the graduate teaching position you’d been hired for took in a lot of students who were the children of pro heroes, and the little blonde raised by his almost identical father just so happened to be a student in your kindergarten class. yoshi togata had taken an instant liking to you as his teacher, a child-like wonder akin to magic from fairy tales emitting from the little boy whenever you looked at him, helped him along in reading and solving calculations in the dreaded maths classes.

yoshi absolutely adored you.

he wanted to sit with you at lunch time, tucked himself into your side during nap time and screamed your name the first time his quirk ever activated. as much as the darling boy looked like pro hero lemillion— his quirk was scarily similar to it as well.

yoshi wails the whole way to the hospital, the lack of air he received after slipping through the concrete in the school yard while scraping his knee, a little beyond the school nurse’s jurisdiction. you’d already gotten someone to cover your class, speeding to the nearest emergency room with hope that someone had alerted his father of the situation.

when mirio arrives, yoshi’s cheeks are luckily smeared with chocolate pudding cups instead of saltine tears and he’s surprisingly cheerful for a kid attached to a small IV drip— dressed in his own red-riot themed hospital gown, with you resting beside the bed in his ward.

“how ya feelin’ buddy?” lemillion whispers, tone on the edge of worry as he slips off the cape to his hero costume. “heard you got your quirk today.”

the bouncing baby boy with sunshine in his eyes shuffles onto his knees, wobbling over the edge of his bed before being snatched up by his dad, bright laughter bubbling on his lips when he nearly slips through the beefy man’s arms. “uh huh! an’ miss got me puddin’ cups! said i was real brave.”

“you were kid, but we gotta get this quirk under control! dad’s gonna have to teach ya!”

togata turns to you next, appreciation evident on his matured features— radiating around you warmly. “h-he really was brave,” you say sincerely, sitting up and a little more awake now the pro hero of your dreams is looking deep into your soul. “i was so worried! but yoshi behaved just like a pro.” you cringe a little at your choice of words, but the strapping blonde before you only takes your hand, lips brushing across the back of your knuckles in such a way that tingles run down your spine.

sapphire orbs flick upwards to make yours as you feel the heat of the sun simmering underneath your cheeks.

“thank you for looking out for him,” he says, voice cheerful and like honey in your ears. “i never got to properly introduce myself, even after all this time. i’m—“

“lemillion, i-i know.”

“mirio. togata, actually. and it’s a pleasure to meet you.” mirio cuts you off but the gentle smile never leaves his handsome face, and you’re sure you might pass out— embarrassed by his forwardness and flirting in front of his son, your student ( who’s too occupied by pudding cups and old cartoon reruns to actually care. )

there’s a knock to the door before it opens as the two of you share a moment. “mrs…togata and lemillion, sir! i have an update on your son’s vitals and quirk—“ suddenly, the doctor enters the room like a hurricane disrupting a quaint little farm.

and you jump back from the pro hero, bashful and shy. “o-oh! no. i’m not…we’re not!” gesturing between yourself and mirio, you shake your head— trying to dispel any wedded-couple vibes the pair of you might give off. “i’m just the teacher.”

the doctor raises a brow, looking up from his sheets on the young togata’s vitals and then hums. “my apologies then,” he turns to mirio. “your son seems to be doing extremely well— considering the circumstances and shock to his body he must’ve experienced….”

the doctor’s words fade into nothing but static as you attempt to calm your beating heart— sending reassuring smiles in yoshi’s direction from time to time while his father and the medical expert discuss the next steps to take regarding his quirk.

but you don’t think you’ll get your heart to calm down tonight… not with the way mirio still holds your hand, thumb brushing over the back of it fondly.

your third memorable encounter with mirio togata falls on the day of your school’s winter fundraiser.

lemillion had made himself a permanent fixture in your humble little life as a teacher—somehow acquiring your number from the school offices to constantly text you throughout the day. you knew that the pair of you were crossing the boundaries of professionalism, parent and teacher, but it couldn’t be helped. your heart fluttered at every message you exchanged, pictures of yoshi enjoying himself at school and some of mirio on patrol being sent back and forth.

and so, you were beyond excited when the winter fate rolled around, the children of your class volunteering with their parents to help out at different stalls— yoshi had been sure to sign up to help you with the bake sale, roping in his dad as well. the two stayed up all night prior, baking pro hero themed cupcakes decorated with hundreds and thousands and dollops of tubed colourful frosting to sell, though messy, it only warmed your heart having their company.

“remember yoshi, i don’t want you phasing through the tables to steal the merchandise from the bake sale!” you remind the younger togata sweetly as he helps you set up the various baked goods for display. he shakes his head in affirmation, golden curls bouncing over ocean eyes and freckled cheeks despite the crumbs residing on them— evidence of his crimes. “though, i’m sure your dad will boost our donations! since he’s a pro hero and all.” not to mention all the mothers and single teachers are ogling the hell out him right now, you’re sure that they’re plotting your murder too.

wiping yoshi’s mouth, you shift your attention to his father— rolling your eyes amusedly at the bags under his own from staying up late to bake. “i certainly must be givin’ you an ego boost helping out too, having a pro hero do all your dirty work.” lemillion teases, voice lowered and husky— though grateful when you pass him a hot coffee.

“oh please mister togata,” turning on your own flirty charm, you send a wink the pro hero’s way. “you adore being my little helper, i’m sure you’ve missed having a woman boss you about like you need.” the second half of your words are whispered, almost sultry as you cross more boundaries in your unique and blossoming relationship.

mirio flushes, and in the tight space of your bakesale booth— presses his broad and molten-warm chest against your back, coffee in one hand while the other sits in a calculated manor on your hip.

“oh, i do love a woman in charge, miss.” the way he utters your name, sounds like and is as sweet as melted chocolate— far too risqué for a school fundraiser, and it’s your turn to shy away from the heat of the moment.

you allow yourself to be distracted by the children, yoshi included — who must have snuck off using his quirk— playing dangerously close to a heavily decorated Christmas tree that threatens to topple over as they weave around beneath it, and rush off to stop them— leaving the darling lemillion to deal with a swarm of hungry mothers and staff, desperate for a slice of his pie and not the cake your booth has to offer. he can’t help but watch you longingly, the way you bend down to speak soft to the children, holding their chubby little hands while giving them a gentle reprimand.

you’re so good with kids, good with yoshi— and mirio would be lying if he didn’t say you were good with him too.

you didn’t judge him for having a child before marriage, when he was still making a name for himself— you were kind to him, sweet and oh so understanding.

and perhaps he’d come to like you for reasons more than just being good with his son.

though his fantasises of having you close, having you to himself and making you a part of his family are promptly cut short by the intrusion of his long time friend…izuku midoriya. when the number one, his competion from way back when, seems to appear from nowhere— joining you with the now squealing children, giving them a lesson ( no doubt ) on how to be a good hero. or some mushy crap like that.

you seem impressed, smitten at how good deku is with your students, ruffling their hair and holding them up high above the green ringlets that make everyone go crazy…including you. mirio doesn’t miss the way your eyes light up brighter than those on the Christmas tree as izuku plays with your kids, puts his hand on the small of your back and whispers way too damn close to your ear.

since when did that shrimp have moves? the blonde can’t help but wonder. why do you like him so much?

your smile is near blinding when you return back to the bake sale booth with izuku on your arm— rambling about how much it took to get him to come, how good for the school it will be… as if togata hadn’t been standing right there the entire time. it bothers mirio a little bit, just how bright you shine when this other man is around, despite the budding romance you both might be sharing.

so he really can’t help himself, jealousy boiling over, when he blurts out. “are you two dating? am i missing something, number one?” in a strained, faux happy voice.

“o-oh! god no!”

“w-what? mirio no! midoriya is my cousin.” you’re quick to dismiss the idea, shaking your head while the number one hero turns bright red. “i invited him along today because he’s obviously a hit amongst single parents— freckles like this are sure to bring in the big bucks.” you cheer, punching your relatives star spotted cheeks.

izuku is rendered embarrassed for the remainder of the fundraiser, mirio absolutely mortified and you extremely amused but the rest of the bake sale goes without a hitch until closing and clean up time. yoshi sleeps on a bench behind your booth ( ultimately crashing from a sugar high ) as your cousin serves the very last of your eager customers trying to tempt him with their cookies instead of buying the ones izuku‘s girlfriend makes for a living.

as though not to disturb his sleeping son, the elder blonde shoots you a quick text.

mister togata - 5:45PM : I definitely was not jealous earlier.

mister togata - 5:46PM : So pls disregard me making a fool out of myself in front of your cousin.

you stifle a breathless chuckle like music to mirio’s ears, before looking back to see if yoshi is still resting peacefully and shoot another text in response.

yoshi’s pretty teacher lady - 5:49PM : oh i dunno, don’t think i can forget you mistaking my cousin for my boyfriend.

yoshi’s pretty teacher lady - 5:49PM : but maybe i can make an exception for you.

that familiar crack of heat flitters in the air when you both look up from your phones and catch one another’s gaze— suddenly aware of how small the space in booth is, how close you both are…how if you stood on your tiptoes you might be able to…

to kiss him.

to kiss one another.

but the moment is soon lost, wanting energy dissipating within the air as yoshi stirs to mumble tiredly. “don’ get too close to daddy miss!” the baby boy utters your name once, rubbing his eyes. “he’s got cooties.”

it’s only then that you truly realise how close you to the man…to this pro hero whose son is someone that you teach. it’s wrong, unprofessional… and losing your career isn’t worth kissing togata, no matter how much you want it.

so you back away— treating mirio togata as if he really does have cooties, putting up a wall between you both.

the fourth time you cross paths with mirio togata, you’re wet.

and not because of him.

the rain from an unexpected storm after work soaks you to the bone as you desperately call out to deku from your shared front porch— pleading and begging with the gods for him to be home since you’d forgotten your house keys back at your office on campus.

neither of you had realised it at the time, but when you’d first met mirio on your move-in date— you’d made arrangements to bunk with your cousin, izuku, in the same gated community that mirio lived in. the one where he just so happened to be neighbours with the top hero too.

the sunshine-like pro hero had spotted you shivering like a purse dog outside while home with a sickly little yoshi and despite the frosty awkwardness that built up between you both after the bake-sale, mirio knew it would be cruel of him to just leave you outside like that. “come inside,” he frowns, as if to scold you the same way you’d do with your students. “you’ll catch a cold like this if you don’t. and i’m not taking no for an answer, deku is on patrol, won’t be home until late.”

you look defeated, like a kicked puppy as you trudge into the togata household, clothes heavy with water. “i’m sorry,” you pout, as cute as ever— stealing mirio’s heart right from where it beats in his chest.

“don’t be, head upstairs and take the first right into my room. you can grab a change of clothes and stay here until your cousin comes home. i’ll fix you something to eat.”

it has the man’s stomach in knots how easily you follow his command, how beautiful you look with raindrops clinging to your skin. you’re even more so when you come back down dressed in an old sir night-eye shirt of his, heading over to join a pleased yoshi on the couch who can’t stop talking about how how he hated missing school and being sick and how glad he is that you came to visit.

yoshi trusts you so much, and that’s more than enough to drive mirio insane…but seeing you in his shirt too? it’s icing on the cake.

the rest of the evening is spent with you making funny shaped homemade pizzas with the younger togata and picking a book for him while his father and lemillion draws him a bubble bath. after washing up, you read yoshi the story until his eyes droop… and you can’t help but be a little jealous of how long his golden lashes are as they brush the freckles on his chubby cheeks. mirio spends that time avoiding eye contact, staring at your bottom when it peeks out from under his shirt and thinking of you in the most unholy ways.

when the time comes, you tuck the darling yoshi into his dinosaur and suneater themed sheets alongside his father before letting the elder togata guide you to the guest bedroom just one floor up and two doors down from his own. “sleep tight,” you murmur to the man, just a breath’s width apart in the doorway. “i-i’ll head back to midoriya’s in the morning. s-so thank you for tonight…”

he wants to say thank you back, for spending time with his son and teaching him so well, but lemillion’s words are lost on the way you look up at him with such bright doe eyes and a sleepy sweet smile. you chuckle breathlessly and slip away into the room, leaving mirio a flustered statue in place.

neither of your nights end there, however.

crossing the lines of professionalism once more, surrounded by all of his scents— hazelnuts and burning wood…you’re overcome with desire, there’s a familiar twitch between your thighs and a throb at your clit that you have to soothe. every neuron in your brain screams at you to stop, though your fingers circle your nub from over the crotch of your panties and thoughts of mirio above you, inside of of you and all over you ebb at your moral judgement.

it’s wrong, to moan mirio’s name into his sheets that smell like him…for you cunt to drool selfishly through your night clothes against the warm blanket he’d provided you with. the blonde hears you through the paper thin walls, cock swelling more and more with every mewl you let out. ones that are promised to him and him alone.

mirio chokes on groans, fists his cock and spreads his precum all over his expensive bed linen, humping his duvet as he imagines your supple, heated flesh beneath him. you’re like the sun, pulling him into your orbit and incinerating him from the inside out. he calls your name like it’s a prayer, half hoping you can hear his wanton for you echo across the hall, too busy jacking off to burst into your room and pump you full. make you a mother to his second and third child.

it’s far from appropriate, the pair of you getting off to one another in the middle of the night like this— but neither of you can think to stop, minds clouded by lust and orgasms that breach the horizon of the early morning… the tastes of each other’s names like sins on your tongues.

the filth and final time you encounter mirio togata like this, you’re like a lamb being sent to the slaughter.

pretty prey walking into the lion’s den.

you learn from yoshi during pick-up time that his father had fallen sick with the winter’s cold…explaining why you hadn’t seen him much between the special encounters after your night of sin. suneater— or mister amajiki, a close friend of the togatas, picks up yoshi under the guise of a play date while mirio recovers from a particularly serious cold and flu he caught on patrol.

“you should go see daddy!” yoshi babbles before bounding down to his uncle’s car. “he calls out for you a lot!” the cluelessness yet enthusiasm of a child will never cease to amaze you, and you have to control your stutter when hesitantly agreeing with your student. you know why mirio calls your name so much, that night hadn’t been the only time you’d gotten off to one another, nor would it be the last. you’d even walked in on the pro hero fisting his cock with your name wet on his tongue but neither of you had said a word at the time.

once all of your students have been sent off with their parents and carers, you make sure to swing by the closest mart to make somewhat of a care package for mister togata. some cough drops, cold medicine, heating pads for his hands and several tins of soup— all with the hope of helping him feel better.

you’re not nearly prepared for the sight you’re given when knocking on mirio’s door later on.

he says your name as soon as he opens up, hoarse and almost sultry,, and the man is half naked too— golden skin radiating with heat, coruscating with sweat and a slight flush from the fever. “fuck, pretty girl. you’ve come t’take care of me, hm?” mirio slurs in a slow and sexy way, swaying on his feet and collapsing onto you right on the front porch. “wha’d’are ya doin’ here gorgeous?”

embarrassment floods your veins, tangling with the heat burning from mirio against you. “l-lets get you inside, you’re sick.”

“lovesick, baby, been missin’ you all week.”

his words shouldn’t send your brain into a flurry as you push the pro hero back into his house but they do. you struggle with avoiding how he slobbers all over you like a horny dog, how he smirks cockily while you push him to sit against the livingroom couch. “we need to bring down this fever,” dismissing the blonde, you rush to his kitchen for a tall glass of water and boil the kettle to make him one of those medicated hot drinks. “you’ll be better soon, mister togata.”

blinking over at you with reddened lined eyes, lemillion keeps a predatory gaze on you despite how ill he is. “using formalities with me, sunshine?” he coos in response, distracted when you return by attempting to tug off more of his clothes…or his pants, rather. “that’s not what you were calling me the other night when you phoned to let me watch you shove your tiny fingers into that tight…pretty pussy…moaning my name—“

“mirio!”

“just like that gorgeous… fuck, say it again, baby.” you know that the man is delirious with his flu, but the low voice he drops deep, dripping with honey, filling you with that familiar lust you got off on whenever the two of you met up in secret. “‘mirio, m-mirio…oh fuck! mirio!’ you get so cute when you whine for me like that.” he’s playing you for a fool and you’re falling for it— like an easy game of cat and mouse, mirio coyly flirting with you as you desperately try to keep his sweatpants on. bundling him up in blankets and filling him up with cold water to calm down his fever.

you’re about to check his temperature again while pressing the back of your hand to his forehead when large and calloused hands grip the fat at your hips— tugging you straight into mirio’s lap like a lion dragging around its prey before the kill. “d-doesn’t look like you’re hot anymore…” you squeak, quivering in his grip and feeling every ripple of his thighs and abs beneath your fingertips as you steady yourself against him.

“fever went down ages ago baby,” he grins, all toothy and pearly white— pinching your waist, slender fingers cupping the curve of your ass to pull you back and forth over the growing bulge in his lap. “you’re just so fucking cute, dotin’ all over me, sunshine.” biting your lip, you fall apart easily— bearing witness to tousled golden locks and a smirk that sets a fire alight in your lower belly. “you wanna kiss me, don’t you?”

then you’re nodding your head, any logical thought cleared from your mind ( even the ones about not spreading germs that you usually tell to your students )— you want to know what the sun tastes like, if it’s as warm or as hot as science makes it seem. a heavy hand cups your throat without squeezing and brings you down for a passionate lip lock, your own finding the thick tresses of light and fiery hair as mirio’s tongue glides over the seam of your lips after pressing against yours. you moan at the sweet taste of honey and ginger on his lips, whimper in the form of begging for the man to let you in and consume you whole until you’re nothing but stardust.

neither of you part, lungs burning for oxygen like you’re lost in space with no air to breathe— grinding and kissing like your lives depend on it. everything is sloppy, spit-slicked and full of the admissions of feelings— you like each other. need each other like the earth needs its light and the sun needs something to shine down on. mirio sucks on your bottom lip, takes it between his teeth and slowly pulls away from you, but you follow him, chasing your own personal ecstasy.

“so needy, sunshine,” mirio coos, a certain deep rasp caught in the ridges of his throat. “so pretty like this too, so cute, all small in my lap. with my hands around your darlin’ little neck.” cobalt eyes, as luminous as the skies on a clear day flicker up to meet yours, swimming with tears of desperation— a craving for more of mirio togata carved into each fleck, drowning your dilated pupils. “do you want me to fuck you?”

you nod again, the world around you spinning and your thoughts intoxicated with the golden boy hero beneath your thighs that tremble with each compliment he feeds to you. “yes— god, please.”

“please, what?” togata asks you, voice stern as he works on pulling you out of the layers of your clothes— blouse and bra gone before you can even register it.

pouting, you whisper a needy. “m-mirio?”

shaking his head as if chastising a child, the man tuts and mocks your pout all while working on plucking off your skirt next, leaving you in nothing but your innocent cotton panties. “that’s daddy when i’m with you,” he tells you like it’s a promise with his fingers once again fumbling between your bodies and underwear to toy with the pearl between your puffy pussy lips, dragging the newfound wetness over your clit. clear strings of your arousal seep through your panties and leave a dark spot on his sweats. “daddy, when i have you like this, you got that?”

“y-yes,” you mewl eagerly, shifting on your knees so you’re better spread over mirio’s lap— giving him better access to prep your sweet hole as it flutters around his thick digits, earning a breathless chuckle from his wet lips. “yes, daddy.”

“good fucking girl,” he says proudly, gaze fixated on between your pretty thighs— watching you quiver from the praise before mirio relents, easing two fingers past your soaked entrance and scissoring them immediately. stretching you wide to take his girthy cock. “oh fuck, my little sunshine’s so warm, so wet for me.” he groans, drawing his name against your silken walls, thumb painting wide sloppy circles into your clit.

your face feels hot with tears, something that mirio enjoys seeing, especially when they clump in your eyelashes. “please…i want more,” i want you. is what you mean, nails lightly cutting into mirio’s shirtless shoulders as you ride the digits pumping in and out of your slick cunt, squeezing tight around them as you gush into the seat of his palm. “d-daddy!”

“shhh, i know little sunshine, daddy knows,” he hums softly after pressing down on your g-spot, carefully pulling his fingers out of you to push you onto your back on the couch. “be good f’me and don’t cum yet, kay? want you to hold onto that until i’ve got you on my cock. yeah?” mirio’s words are tender, though domineering, while he shifts to hover over you, hot tongue burning against your skin as he licks a trail from the hem of your panties, between your arching back, bare breasts and budding nipples until he meets your lips— drooling into your eager open mouth as you pant out for more. “so fucking perfect, sunshine.”

cool air rushes over your pulsating, glistening pussy— mirio having pulled your underwear aside, only causing you to cry out from the lack of stimulation. “don’t cry, pretty baby,” you manage to hear him over the blood pulsing through your ears, body tingling all over at the feeling of mirio’s girthy cock pressing against your inner thigh through layers of fabric. “‘m gonna fuck you now, don’t worry. daddy’s gotcha.”

he hikes a thigh of yours up over his hip, shoving down his boxers and sweats just enough to let his mushroomed and seedy cockhead press into the heat of your pussy. you dig your nails into mirio’s sweaty scalp, mouth hanging open and hips rising from the sticky leather of the couch covered in your juices. the man above you is the centre of your universe, you think. though your relationship may be somewhat taboo, you feel the care and affection he has for you in every single one of his touches. calloused hands moulding your body into the perfect shape to fuck, to make love to and makes you feel like jello as his fat, veiny dick pushes deeper into you— big for the slickness of your pussy to resist him.

“relax for daddy, sweetheart, let me in…c’mon, fuck. open up f’me,” mirio simpers, rolling his hips slow and sensual until your walls tremble around him— welcoming his dick home, bathing him in all of your arousal. he throbs inside you, finally sheathed in all your warmth as if you’re the core of his earth. “that’s it…my good girl, oh fuck. fuck, you feel better than i ever imagined. so fucking tight baby, gonna let daddy fuck you right, huh?” you can tell that he’s losing himself within you, now forcing your knees into your shoulders to put you into a mating press and wasting no more time setting a rough, feverish pace to his hips and pounding into your sweet cunt.

you cry and squeal and claw at togata, the world spinning on its axis around you while the blonde fucks you into a stupor— his tip smearing copious amounts of thick precum along your velveteen insides until there’s a white ring of your mixed arousals cuffed around the base of his blue veined cock. “d-daddy…s’good. so fuckin’ good,” your own juices splash up against the pro hero’s stomach and and every time his hips slam down against your own— wet skin slapping on skin in a rhythmic and sensual tune.

galaxies twinkle in your pretty eyes, your teeth sinking into mirio’s golden and broad shoulders while you scratch at his back. the sound of sex clinging to the air in the room is primal, animalistic as lemillion cups your throat again— tilting your head so that he can mark his claim into your sweat tainted flesh. the fabric of your panties pushed to the side rubs deliciously at his soaked, creamy shaft and the waistband of his pants rub your clit raw, the effect the clothing has on you both leading you to believe that neither of you will last much longer like this.

“‘m makin’ you see fuckin’ stars, aren’t i sunshine?” he asks you, each word punctuated by a harsh thrust—cum-loaded balls tapping against your ass, the sound mixing with your squeals to make a lustful song. “want this pretty pussy to cum for me. can you do that, my good girl?” mirio moans heartily above the couch squeaking beneath your bodies that dance together in rough and passionate movements.

he smiles again, nice and bright when you nod and start to circle your hips upwards as best as you can into his. “‘m close, can cum for daddy. wanna cum for daddy. please don’t stop, please—!”

“alright baby, i gotcha…look at you. so cute and needy for your daddy. for me.” mirio gunts back into your mouth, falling apart at the sight of your lovesick and teary face, crumbling at the way your cunt clamps down on him— refusing to let him pull out in an attempt to milk him for all his worth. you’re tight around him, practically choking mirio’s cock as his fat milky tip bullies your insides and harshly bares down on your g-spot— sending you headfirst into your orgasm. “that’s it…fuck look at that, pretty lil pussy cummin’ around daddy’s fat cock. s-shit.”

soft praises are expelled into the buzzing air between you both, with you gasping for breath and squirting on the blonde’s dick so hard that he’s forced out of your pulsing walls before he cums in hot waves over your raw mound— painting your ravaged pussy lips white with his hot and thick seed.

you’re both left panting and sticky messes on the couch as you come down from your highs— your mind running a mile a minute when you realise what’s just happened, what you’ve done with the father of your student. no less.

“m-mister togata, i-i’m—“ you start to apologise, coming too, heart rate spiking in your chest.

but mirio is quick to stop you, forehead and sweaty blonde locks pressed to your own with a dreamy and satisfied look on your face. “before you say anything more. i want you to know that this wasn’t just a hook up for me. nor were the times before that.” he explains,blinking up at you with unadulterated affection, perhaps even love. “i like you, a-and i like how you look out for my son. and i know our relationship has been far from appropriate, i’d like to take you out for a proper date— do things right instead of sleeping with you to work up my courage to ask you out.”

“mirio…” you smile, brushing back his hair. “i’d love that, a lot actually.”

“yeah?” he asks, timid for a man who just fucked you to the high heavens and back before linking your fingers. “say you mean it, or you’ll be breakin’ both mine and yoshi's hearts.”

“yeah…” you murmur through a laugh, leaning up for a sweet kiss to seal the deal.

the fifth time you encounter mirio togata, you walk into the lions den, but come out with him hand in hand— your hearts belonging to one another.

#mirio x reader #mirio smut #mirio togata smut #bnha smut #bnha x reader #mirio togata x reader #mirio imagines #mirio fluff #mirio x you #bnha imagines #mirio togata x you #mha smut #mha x reader #mha imagines #mirio togata fluff #tteokdoroki #✧ ₊˚੭ — writing

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reasonsforhope · 1 year

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How can I stay positive regarding the wildfires?

It can be really hard in the face of so much destruction. I don't know how much anyone can specifically stay positive in the face of disasters like this -

but I can give you some thoughts about how to let hope live alongside everything else you're feeling about this, and how to avoid spiraling and remember that this is not proof that we're doomed.

Possibly relevant note lol is that I've lived my whole life in California, so suffice to say figuring out how to move forward among the consequences and destruction of massive wildfires is something I'm definitely not new to.

I remember walking to my classroom in elementary school, about 20 years ago now, and it was literally snowing ash around me. This too shall pass.

Take a few deep breaths. I know it's cliche but it's also important

Zoom out in terms of perspective: Wildfires can make the sky look apocalyptic (like I said, I have lots of experience with this!), but they are regional, and they always end. These wildfires are awful but this specific wave of fires is happening in just one country in a huge, huge world. There's far more land that isn't burning

Canada is about to get substantial international aid in fighting the wildfires - there are already 200 additional firefighters headed over from the US and France, and Canada (Quebec specifically) is also already in talks with Costa Rica, Portugal, and Chile about additional firefighters/resources. Help is on the way and these numbers really will make a big difference, and as the disaster continues (unfortunately it is uh...pretty early in fire season), more help will be sent. People are doing what they can to help, because in the face of disaster, that's what we're wired to do

There are actually MUCH better fire management plans than just about anyone is using, esp in North America but that we COULD implement and increasingly WILL going forward. A lot of the wildfire situation these days is because of the West's incredibly wrongheaded derision toward traditional Indigenous land and ecosystem management practices, including cultural prescribed burns that keep massive wildfires from happening. California in particular is already partnering with several First Nations to revive prescribed burns, to significant success. As fires continue to be terrible, more and more places will get on board with this. We can and will implement practices that will truly change our situation

Cultural burns work because, ironically, the reason for the wildfires is that "is that we've been so good at putting out every fire possible that it has led to overly dense forests and a buildup of burnable material like branches and dry vegetation" that makes wildfires much worse in a number of ways. At lower intensity, however, as with cultural burns, forest fires can actually have huge environmental benefits

Finally, every time a natural disaster happens like this, as awful and destructive as they are, it serves as a wake-up call for thousands of people and adds both ever-mounting urgency and ever-mounting evidence to the importance of fighting climate change, which really does translate into action. For a lot of people, "saving the environment" feels super distant - but you know what feels super immediate? Saving their homes from burning down (or getting flooded or otherwise destroyed, etc. etc.) In 2021, the UN ran the world's largest climate survey, across 1.2 million people and 50 nations, and almost TWO-THIRDS SAID THAT CLIMATE CHANGE IS A GLOBAL EMERGENCY THAT WE NEED TO WORK HARDER TO ADDRESS. Imagine that 10 years ago! That other third of people aside, this really is real and massive progress

Also, every time there's a big disaster like this, climate change deniers look more and more baldly ridiculous. Think about it: How often did you hear US Republicans bullshitting about climate change denial 10 years ago? And how often do you hear them doing it now? In fact, there's increasing evidence that Republicans really are shifting on climate change (mind you they're managing to do it in an obnoxiously somehow pro-fossil-fuel way, but it's still a major sea change). Some of them are literally calling for a clean energy transition, and Kevin McCarthy himself (guy in charge of the US House right now) created a task force for to a conservative climate change agenda that acknowledges climate change is real. There's now a conservative climate conference that does active lobbying and a House Conservative Climate Caucus, which somehow has SIXTY MEMBERS. Again, something that would've been unimaginable just six or seven years ago.

Every acre that the fires burn this year is an acre that's pretty guaranteed to not burn next year, for what that's worth. (And I do think it's worth mentioning, esp with such a high number of acres)

The battles are going to be hard, but I truly believe that even the ones we lose often bring us closer to winning the war.

Fires burn, but life always grows back.

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dollypopup · 5 months

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FINE, if no one else is gonna say it. . .

it is WEIRD that we as a fandom are so okay with Debling being a 'serious' option for Penelope. She is a 19 year old woman. She is a third daughter from an unpopular family who has no father. This is a 30 year old man, 40, even, who is pursuing a teenager. All the 'oh, he notices her as a woman!'

and none of us are asking why it is that a seemingly 'perfect' guy is out here going for a woman on the outskirts of her society, who most people do not pay attention to? a powerful man with a lot of money and a title pursuing a woman who is largely unnoticed in her world, in a family without a father, who doesn't have, on the surface, any other options? our fandom doesn't talk about how big of a power imbalance they have between them, or even how Penelope is being styled to look extra young in contrast to him?

she looks like his DAUGHTER. He's even styled to be a more mature man in their society. Compare him to the fashions of younger men. Clean shaven, sleeker lines in their fashion,

He is, in fact, most comparable to Will, who is a married man with three children.

Debling legit looks like he could be her father. That is NOT a 20 year old man. That man is in his 30s at best, and in his 40s at worst. Which gives him and Pen a decade or two of age difference. Add on the fact that he's titled and she's a literal teenager, and it just gives me the MAJOR ick.

People are praising the idea that Debling makes Penelope feel like a 'woman' but as someone who has been a 19 year old woman with much older men interested in me (especially a PLUS SIZE 19 year old woman with older men interested in me) claiming I am oh so mature, it's. . .uh, not usually a GOOD thing?

We'll demonize Colin for being a 22 year old man who doesn't see Penelope as a romantic option because for the grand majority of the time he's known her, she's been a minor, but see absolutely nothing wrong with the idea that the production has given her a suitor who is an outsider of their society, who could take her away wherever if she actually agrees to marry him, and now have this 19 year old woman no one is going to really check on to do with as he so pleases? And we're wanting him to. . .what? Make out with her? Take her virginity? Just the thought of that makes me deeply uncomfortable.

We'll talk about the power imbalance between Colin and Penelope, about how he has experience that she doesn't and how that can cause concern, but absolutely NOTHING about the ACTUALLY CONCERNING power imbalance between her and Debling? Colin is 22 and a third son, he and Penelope have known each other for years, he is safe. He would never take advantage of her or lead her astray, he cares about her as a person and then comes to love her and desire her in ways outside of friendship. Debling has known her for less than a month, is likely in his mid thirties, has a title and money and power, and felt okay with feeling up on her in public in an era when holding HANDS was considered scandalous.

Imma need us to give Monopoly Man more smoke because I am confused as to how he's oh so perfect and yet the option he chose for a wife is an unpopular and financially unstable 19 year old woman who is largely ignored in society. None of us find that weird?

Meanwhile, we have Colin who has, yes, held Penelope's hand and called her by her Christian name, but has also complimented her on things that aren't just her appearance, and who has asked how she's been, and tried to help her, and called her his friend, and wrote her letters, and cared about her, and I reiterate, is much much closer to her in age and can relate to her considerably more.

The whole 'oh, well Penelope should sleep with Debling to give her and Colin more even ground' is CREEPY. Colin slept around with sex workers on his travels because that's the regency appropriate safe and responsible way to explore such things for men of his age and status. He is following examples his brothers, whom he trusts and loves deeply, have set for him. He is not exploiting anyone. He is paying for a service and that service is being provided. And he's an attractive man who is young and respectful, these women are FINE, so don't go pearl clutching over how he's being oh so fetishistic just because he's exploring kink. Penelope doing these things with Debling would be HIM taking advantage of HER, and putting her in a very vulnerable and scary position. If that actually happens, what options does she have? He could say he ruined her and that would be game over for her, she has no other choices or options outside of that. And if it's actually true, she is TRAPPED.

I need this fandom to be so serious here right now. You don't ship Pebling. You ship Penelope being seen as desirable, and COLIN finds Penelope desirable. He will make that very VERY evident. We don't need an almost 40 year old man to pursue her and do nothing but compliment how hot she is and feel up on her in public to do that. He doesn't see her as a person, but Colin does. We should be rooting for one of these men, and it's not the one a lot of us are.

#polin #penelope bridgerton #colin bridgerton #anti debling #anti pebling #imma be real y'all it gives me the major ick #how has no one else talked about this???#i know luke is 31 but he can pull of a man in his 20s #and nicola can pull off a woman of penelope age #debling's actor? no shade to him but he CANNOT pull off a man in his 20s #why is no one talking about this????.

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derinthescarletpescatarian · 3 months

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hello! i didn't want to reblog the post but if you are interested in hearing how/why a specific person (me) cares about Taylor Swift's art, here is a wall of text!

i definitely think it would be hard (impossible) to pick up on this particular element of her appeal by listening to a couple of songs in isolation - it does in fact necessitate the kind of frothing all-in discography-memorizing madness that the fanbase is famous for. she is a woman who has been world famous since she was a literal child (almost 20 years!), and for a lot of that time her music has been a really interesting and increasingly complex project in engaging artistically with that experience from inside of the experience itself - ie, writing palatable, digestible pop songs for a mass market. the narrators and characters in her songs aren't her, but they're in active conversation with her public image - the harpy who dates famous men just to write breakup songs about them, the evil scheming PR mastermind, the stupid lovesick idiot who's just found her 197th soulmate, the bitch who sues everyone, the dumb blonde girl who has no talent and couldn't possibly deserve any of her fame, etc etc. the popular dismissal of Taylor Swift is that she just keeps writing songs about her famous boyfriends, but she's actually writing songs about an insanely famous woman who writes songs about her famous boyfriends, and all of those stories are in turn in conversation with the "true" stories of her experience in the public eye (relationships, lawsuits, public disputes, etc - the majority of which are constructed by the media rather than being "true" in any real sense, you know?). her level of fame means she is uniquely situated to do this, and she does a LOT with it. this is why Swifties seem insane about easter eggs and hidden meanings and clues and layers and hints and cryptic little references - it is rewarding to dig into her art like that because that is the kind of art she makes. it's deeply self-conscious and artificial and manufactured and above all, deliberate. for those who take an interest, there is a lot of fun to be had disentangling the layers. if you don't dig the tunes and aren't interested in playing that game, fair enough, and I absolutely understand getting tired of hearing about her all the time (unfortunately, hearing about her all of the time is part of the project!). but I do feel like the "crazy fanbase" stories are often weaponized as a way to discredit and diminish what is a genuinely interesting and significant facet of her storytelling, and as much as it sounds ridiculous to say this about the richest and most famous pop star in the world, I don't think she gets enough credit for how good she actually is at what she's doing (especially for her use of irony, but it's going to be a whole thesis if I follow that thread.) IN CONCLUSION: sorry to add even more Taylor Swift content to your life, but I just think she's neat.

I still don't get it but I'm glad she provides you with joy.

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the-great-ladyg · 7 months

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So, I watched the James Somerton second apology video so you don't have to, this are my highlights, feel free to add more if I missed something important:

He monetized the video to donate to HBG's team and Wikipedia, apparently, he said also he has reached some of the people who he plagiarized but still, if he did he would have explicitly said "I'm donating to them"

Did he really said "well, I'm a white cis gay man, I don't have the same experiences as others in the community" as an excuse on plagiarizing others' works? And the "I thought I might be able to won over some people" sounds like some white savior shit

He still throws Nick under the bus, it really shows that James doesn't regret any other times he did that and it sounds like he hired Nick as a shield for criticism and not to have a more diverse work team

He apologizes to Jessie Gender and many others, but doesn't explicitly addresses why he might have offended them on first place (except for the police incident), yeah, he says he was reactionary, but he has been on many occassions. I'm not expecting a full detailed explanation, but at least he could have said "for the Nebula drama" or something like that

James says that at one point, due to covid economic consequences, he and Nick became poor and that led him to plagiarize more since they had to upload more videos, and look, I suck at organizing my time, I tend to do everything with little time before the date, and I wrote most of my thesis on the last minute with one or two days of investigating and I still didn't plagiarize, I could cite all of my sources the correct way, if my early 20s procrastinating ass could wrote a 70 page thesis on my own without plagiarizing, he could write a script with a second person without stealing but he prefered to do it anyway

Also the alegedly head injury, I'm not going to say that's a lie, but knowing how this guy uses any card on his favor, this might be something he pulled from his ass to justify himself

I don't know why but some of this Telos drama explanatiom sounds again like he didn't even know how to do all of this, and I get what is to start a project having little to no idea on how to start or continue, but he tried to do so much with so little without asking for any help when he clearly needed some help other than Nick, and also sounds like another excuse to justify plagiarizing

"Misinformation made its way into our past videos", no, my friend, it doesn't make its way when you investigate or check a site other than the first one you see, James loves to say he likes to investigate but still says things like this. "It wasn't malicious", (seriously, the audacity of this bitch), oh yeah, there's nothing malicious coming from the mysogynist biphobic and transphobic dude who misgenders trans people and erases a woman's bisexuality, specially when this lady told you she wasn't a straight woman as you said and this was a known fact for a few years

The ADHD thing feels like some ableist shit, like "don't blame me, I have ADHD uwu", James has offended many groups and communities through his youtube career and in his apology video he still finds the way to insult another group that suffers from many harmful stereotypes

As I said on a post addressing his first apology video, James can't create a space for everyone if he's transphobic, mysogynist, acephobe and racist, and he pretends he's convinced he was creating an "inclusive space"

Just as many people have said before, he didn't address anything of the things he's been accused of except plagiarism, he only says "I'm sorry to everyone who I have offended", no dude, you don't address mysogyny, racism or transphobia this way, James is a piece of shit and a coward.

And this idiot has put on public display some of his videos, specially the ones that show his racism (yeah, the Killing Stalking and Painter of the Night videos), I'm not clicking on them but I'm pretty sure he didn't cut his racist mysogynist rants, because they might not be plagiarized (if James is to be trusted) but they show the worst parts of him when he's trying to be original, and putting this shit videos on public shows he regrets nothing on being a piece of shit.

#james somerton #james somerton can kiss my enby ass #seriously just log off the internet #no one wants you back specially after this

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racxnteur · 8 months

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Incomeless; will proofread your fics! (Or anything else.)

I'm not sure how to head this with a snazzy, attention-catching image given I'm not offering an obviously graphic service like art commissions, but let's give it a go...

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Qualifications:

Bachelor's degree in English with a minor in writing

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eggingtontoast · 2 months

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Please tell me more about how you view Jeri!! I know you’ve talked a bit about her before, but I’d love to know more!!

Oh fuck oh shit oh sweet jesus-

Oh dear god Storm my dear friend you already *know* how I am about Jeri but I'll lay it all out here as well, and I'm collecting stuff from my Campfire Confession Document as well as stuff I've thrown into the BRP discord server.

I will add a disclaimer that I headcanon Jeri as a queer woman, so if that isn't your thing, that's perfectly okay! I will also discuss themes of trauma, abuse, and sexual themes.

NOW HERE WE GO:

Let's talk about themes.

Jeri is a character who only shows up in one Nightmare Time 2 episode, but we can glean a pretty good amount of stuff regarding her character and season that with a healthy dose of headcanon!

Jeri’s main theme is suppression.

That much is evident, she’s hiding the fact that she had premarital sex and a child out of wedlock, something that goes directly against what her church wants. She’s held onto this secret for several years, and, seeing as Lumberaxe/Lil Jerrie is roughly 20, decades.

Her actions in Abstinence Camp also get stopped, be it calling for the police and Boy Jerry stopping her, or her being talked over/ talked for. Jeri doesn't really get to speak for herself, not until she's alone with Grace after having chased her down in the woods. Jeri is a follower, not a leader, when she is around Boy Jerry. She gets little bits and pieces to provide input, but other than that she's pushed aside by Boy Jerry. She doesn't get to speak her mind without judgement!

Therefore, Jeri is afraid.

Jeri’s secondary theme is anxiety.

No seriously, look at her. When faced with the possibility of Steph being pregnant, Jeri starts to spiral and project her own fears onto her.

This isn't to say that she's purely anxious, but that anxiety and fear are a huge motivator for her and the actions she takes. She goes along with whatever Boy Jerry says because he pokes at her insecurities with having a child out of wedlock, for having sex in the first place, etc.

Let's consider where Jeri comes from.

There's not a lot that canonically mentioned in Abstinence Camp, but it's enough to make a mountain out of a mole hill.

Jeri presents the idea of teen pregnancy to Steph in a way that very much feels like she speaks from experience. We can glean from this that Jeri herself was disowned by her family for having premarital sex and getting pregnant. She's most likely from the same church as the Chasitys, so it's possible that she was raised similarly to Grace or even how Mark and Karen were as kids. In this sense, Jeri's family and church were her main pillars of support, and by getting pregnant when she was younger she lost one of those pillars.

Jeri is someone who is very much a person of trauma. With the way she was raised, she was taught to believe a skewed sense of purity, and with being disowned by those who should love and care for her, and that event weighing on her mind so much to project onto Steph? She has trauma.

Particularly about sex, and probably has a more than healthy dose of fear and anxiety surrounding it, desire, and how she is perceived as a woman. She had a child out of wedlock, was not prepared for it at all, and grapples with the shame of it by leaning on her religion and doing her best to teach other how not to be like her. How not to fall to temptation and sin. She thinks of herself as a shameful, filthy creature, because of how she had sex and got pregnant. To Jeri, she had succumbed to a desire she should have been stronger to refuse, and that to her is one of her greatest shames and secrets.

She feels shame toward herself and her more carnal desires because in her eyes she messed up, and doesn't want to make that same mistake again. Getting pregnant was considered her fault, and that sentiment is shared by Boy Jerry, and possibly her family. Not to mention, that Boy Jerry seems to use her guilt over this as a way to keep her on a short leash and control her, whilst denying any part he's taken in it unless it's useful to him somehow.

This is where I come out and say I'm not the biggest fan of Boy Jerry, haha!

Let's talk about gender and how Jeri's called Girl Jeri.

In our modern day society gender is a hot topic. Be it from gender roles, which are still reinforced to this day, to the ways we transcend from such restrictions. In a setting such as an abstinence camp, campers are segregated by a binary gender system, and as such so are the counselors.

Boys and Girls. Boy Jerry and Girl Jeri. Sure, the nicknames are to maintain a fun and friendly atmosphere for the campers, but I argue that this could also be used to maintain the status quo narrative that Boy Jerry set for both himself and Jeri. They're just fun, quirky, camp directors, nothing weird here! They tell the campers at the start of camp that they can use the nicknames too, but even when both Boy Jerry and Jeri are alone together, they call each other by those nicknames, almost like a reminder to not spill the beans.

We can see in the NMT2 episode that Jerry, while unhinged when under pressure, is methodical albeit frustrated when he finds the dead bodies of the campers. He's exasperated, whereas when Jeri comes across Gabe's dead body, she is shocked and immediately is taken aback. This could be evidence enough that Jerry was the one to present the idea of burying the bodies? But they do come out of the trees together with shovels, so this could just be me picking at straws.

Let's talk about gender roles though. In these religious settings it's not uncommon for the people in it to look toward the idea of man and woman, where the man brings home the bread and the woman looks after the house. We could argue that Jeri does more to maintain the illusion of nothing wrong ever happening at the camp, but that this was Boy Jerry's idea all along. In the NMT2 episode there's a scene where Jerry tells Jeri this line:

"I don't think you've thought this through, Girl Jeri. [...] No, they're gonna poke around. And they're gonna find everything. You ready for that? For the whole town to know what you did, dirty girl?"

Like I've mentioned before, Boy Jerry blames Jeri for getting pregnant with Lil Jerrie. This type of sentiment isn't uncommon, blaming a woman for getting pregnant while not bothering to put any of that blame on the man who impregnated her. In the scene with the quote Boy Jerry is using their shared beliefs to control Jeri and maintain their status quo, keeping her under his grasp to keep himself above her. I bring all of this up because I see her being called Girl Jeri as an extension of that want for control. Hell, it could be even worse. Jerry calling himself Boy Jerry to soften his own actions, whilst calling Jeri, Girl Jeri to belittle her. If Lil Jerrie is around 20, the Jerries are possibly around their 40s.

Jeri's a grown woman. She's a grown woman being called a girl, being treated like a girl, do I have to explain how that can be insulting? I don't think so. We can see from how Boy Jerry talks to her that he calls the shots, and he wants her to listen to him and not put up a fight on how he wants things done. I'm sure there's a part of him that does care about Jeri on some level, but when it comes to the potential of people finding out about Lil Jerrie/Lumberaxe, about the number of dead kids on their hands? He's going to strong arm Jeri into doing what he wants. Jeri is a doormat to Boy Jerry, and he will stomp on her to clean his own boots.

So who is Jeri?

Jeri is traumatized. She is belittled and talked down to. She is forced into a skewed sense of what it means to be a woman, and she is stifled by it. Jeri is a victim, a murder accomplice, a camp director, and a mother. She is fearful, and puts up a front of cheeriness for the sake of the campers she looks after. She carries so much love in her heart for these kids, and she wants to teach them and guide them and impart as much good as she can into each summer at camp. She is scared, because she knows what will happen if any of them "fall from grace" like she did years ago. Jeri looks at each dead camper like a version of herself, and she cannot handle the guilt that comes with each shovelful of dirt she lays over their bodies. And worst of all?

She thinks it's all her fault.

#jeriposting #girl jeri #hatchetfield #starkid #nightmare time 2 #hatchetverse #I put this into google docs and it's three pages fuck me dfjkgdsfhdsfh #egg can talk #character analysis #I guess???

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