#and refuses to acknowledge the core problems
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yusiyomogi · 2 days ago
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so i've been thinking about patterns and trauma cycles in iwtv series a lot lately, and i already said that i believe that lestat's behavior in the end of s2e8 indicates that he's not ready to say sorry yet… and you know what i noticed? in the fucking episode 2 of season 1. is literally one of the first examples of this pattern in the show. when louis killed a guy, and lestat got angry at his recklessness and refused to listen how microaggressions affected him.
the most striking thing in that moment is that despite apologizing and "making it up" for louis, lestat never really got to the point of realization why louis was so upset. the very next episode confirmed it: lestat acted supportive and happy after louis killed alderman, because louis got mad at him for not being supportive last time. even though situations was completely different and affected louis differently. but instead of looking at the bigger picture or reflecting on anything, lestat acted in the way he thought would immediately please louis.
and that's the whole thing, exactly why this pattern is so destructive to everything in lestat's life. i think, every time he fucks up in relation to his loved ones, his stance on it is simply "that's because i'm a monster/awful person and it's a part of my horrible nature" instead of him actually trying to understand what happened and why. the interesting thing is that he acknowledges that he fucked up and feels deeply sorry for it, but his understanding of it comes from people's reactions, not from his own honest realization. and when people get angry at him, his next step is groveling usually, because he can't stand when his loved ones are mad at him and he genuinely feels like he's the worst person on the planet or something. but it doesn't solve anything and the core of the problem will stay intact.
he makes stupid decisions, doesn't really think about them and then deals with the consequences based on vibes only (usually a lot of crying). this tendency makes him horrible at receiving apologies as well, because he'd need to see bigger picture to actually solve the conflict, but he reacts to apologies based on his immediate emotions instead (not forgiving claudia in s1e5, dismissing louis' words in s2e8).
so what would lestat say to louis in s2e8? another sorry? another please forgive me for my horrible nature/father's temper/loving you too strongly? i think only after lestat sits with reality of his own trauma and humanity, he will be able to realize what he did wrong and actually truly apologize for it.
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clonerightsagenda · 2 years ago
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("Pan Pan")
LOVELACE I will never understand you people. How can you stand to be around him? HILBERT Because they understand what you never have. You do what you need to. You adapt. You survive. Sometimes you have to work with the devil, but - MINKOWSKI Hilbert, stop talking. HILBERT Why? Am I being too indelicate? MINKOWSKI No, because if you don't shut up right this second she's not going to get a chance to kill you.
("Happy Endings")
HILBERT Captain? Slowly, three heads turn towards the other person in the room. HILBERT (CONT'D) You have been very quiet. So she has. For a BEAT she just stares at Hilbert evenly. HILBERT (CONT’D) You understand. You know how bad things will get. You are not like them. You are - LOVELACE You have ten seconds to get out of this room.
Love that Hilbert just keeps trying the exact same thing on different people. Actually that's his entire character isn't it
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fairuzfan · 10 months ago
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I'm to the point where if I hear you're endorsing/voting for Kamala Harris and you're publicly getting mad at people for not voting for her, I'm not even going to listen what you have to say, you've made it clear you have to strong principles to guide your decisions beyond "what's worse for me personally?" I think Harris voters have no actual ideologies to live by, despite claiming they do, and I fundamentally don't respect them for it. It's one thing to be angry at people who won't vote for Harris, but it's another thing to pretend you're doing it because you have some sort of moral authority and not basing it off pure selfishness. You think that solidarity is posting about things and that's it. You refuse to make yourself uncomfortable, even momentarily. And you get mad at people who are willing to go through discomfort for the sake of others. You call them names, ans claim that THEY are the selfish ones in this scenario. You've given up on making a change in the world for the better, or maybe you were never interested in it. All of your arguments pale in comparison to reality, because Harris is actively funding a genocide. She has even refused to acknowledge a reality in which she does not fund that genocide. Has made such a thing clearer and clearer. All my problems here in the imperial core are secondary to that. I'm about to go through multiple personal issues that are made increasingly hard by political factors and I still think that's nothing in comparison to what Palestinians and Lebanese are going through overseas. You've placed yourselves as the ultimate victims in the world and to me it's laughable and completely out of touch with just how fucked everyone else is because of the imperial beast that is Amerikkka. And speak nothing of the way the victims of Amerikkkan imperialism on Turtle Island bear the brunt of societies' woes for your personal comfort and refusal to make any meaningful change. Not ev baby steps! You think trump is an accidental anomaly and not a product of a larger issue within white amerikkkan politics. Is it not shocking to you that so many people here are voting for trump so enthusiastically?
Seeing things like the weaponization of personal identity, like "Muslims for Harris," used so plainly is an insult to the ideas of internationalism that you all claim to follow. What use is solidarity with the victims of imperialism if you refuse to acknowledge the entirety of the imperial complex? That includes the democrats you hold so dear as well as the Republicans? What use is any of this if you only think for yourself?
You claim to be thinking of others, and that's why you vote for Harris... but what is so incomprehensible to me is the comfort in which you accept the inevitability of Palestinian deaths. Why are you so willing to accept that reality? Why are you comfortable with that reality? It shocks me and disgusts me in a way that I can not really describe. You lot argue and argue and argue, but in the end, the difference between you and me is that I refuse to engage in a reality where Palestinians must die in any case. You have yet to refuse that. In actuality, you all refuse the baby steps, the bare minimum, of refusal to engage in continuation of that reality. And because of that, I do not take you seriously, nor do I view you as being moral in your decision to sacrifice Palestinians.
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my-quirk-is-fred · 2 months ago
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My take on the male loneliness epidemic:
It’s real, but not only is it not what people believe it to be, but it’s also not actually treated accurately by those that claim they are affected by it.
The cause of the epidemic is not one thing, not one factor, but a multitude of reasons that even men refuse to acknowledge and consider.
Whenever I see a man (and in some cases women), usually right leaning or incel-like, go on a tangent about the epidemic, it usually comes down to how they cannot get female strangers specifically to validate them. Seriously. There are men who complain about how women don’t appreciate or trust them (ex: bear vs man hypothetical), how they can’t get anything out of them (ex: a relationship), etc, and it always seems to actually downplay the epidemic that they claim to be effected by.
If you are lonely because you want a woman to validate you, then that is a self inflicted expectation that was inflated by the real issue. Women are not the real reason you are lonely.
Gay men are also affected by the same epidemic as straight men. And it’s not women who make them lonely.
So what is the cause of male loneliness? What is the root issue? And what is it that contributes and continues the epidemic?
Let’s dive into this, shall we…?
1. The start.
The male loneliness epidemic actually starts when you are a child. As a young boy, you are expected to be tough, responsible, in control, etc all while the adults push the expectations of getting a wife or a girlfriend on you.
You are expected to wear and like ‘boy’ colors, you are expected to like rough sports that may not have been your choice to begin with, you are expected to have your personal boundaries broken if it doesn’t align with the adult’s wants (ex: they cut off your long hair because it’s “gay”)
If you cry, they mock you for being pathetic.
If you emotionally reach out to another boy, you are called gay by your equally affected peers and adults.
If you reach out to a girl, everyone assumes you are romantically interested in her, which leads to you or the girl distancing yourselves from each other.
You are not allowed to develop emotionally, you are not allowed to explore boundaries and relationships, and you are not allowed to be human.
That. That is the core. The beginning of the infection.
It’s not your fault. You don’t deserve to be beaten or mocked when you cry.
But unfortunately, that is going to be ingrained into you for the next several years…
2. Growing expectations.
As you get older, people expect you to take on bigger responsibilities and they expect you to like it. They want marriage and to grow up faster than is possible. They expect you to ‘man up’ while giving mixed signals about the opposite sex.
“You don’t need a woman but you need a woman to have your emotional, physical, and spiritual needs met.”
Women are treated as both the answer to your problems AND the cause of them. It confuses and hurts your mental health without you understanding and it leads to unrealistic expectations. And it doesn’t help that your deprivation of emotional connections to non-romantic relationships is screaming for something to relieve it.
You now expect to have a spouse or a woman to fill that gaping hole that the adults in your childhood had dug and infected with confusing and damaging ideas.
You expect to get a high labor job that could literally kill you to prove your worth to this nonexistent woman, your peers, your mentors… and yourself.
You are at a stage where you have mental blocks that are keeping you from reaching out to people, developing your emotional intelligence, and understanding the growing hurt you are feeling due to shame and fear.
You think it’s weak to cry, you think that either you or the women are the problems, and you view other men as threats with or without your knowledge.
You unknowingly seek out validation from abusive men, hoping they will tell you that the women are the problem, that you’re perfect but you need to get a better job, and that there’s nothing wrong with you.
3. The self infliction “stage”
You spiral, you miss what really causes this isolation, and you worsen the problem to the point where everyone steers clear of you.
You have now entered a stage that you don’t realize you are in. It makes you bitter, it makes you neglect your true needs, and you take it out on strangers and those close to you who have to walk on eggshells around you.
It’s not your fault that you were groomed into being lonely… but you are an adult now. And as an adult, you need to clean the mess. No one else will. Some may help, but it requires you to actually let them into your house to see all the ran down furniture and the mold that spread throughout your living space.
4. The solution.
There is no simple solution. It is not a physical wound, it’s wound that remains in the complex system that is your mind. No one is the same, and some people have different priorities and recovery stages.
The first thing you can do is recognize and understand. Other people who aren’t as affected as you have figured out the root issue and have addressed it without pushing their luggage on others. You do not need a ‘bad guy’ to blame. You need yourself.
Self love is much deeper than just wanting for yourself… self love is addressing your flaws and ridding yourself of bad habits without tearing yourself down. It’s like your pet dog, you cannot simply let your dog lash out at others, you cannot let it indulge in too much of something or too little. Your dog, as much as you love them, may have problems. If you love your dog, you will not let it eat chocolate or chase down a cat.
If you love yourself, you will not expect others to fix things for you and will find yourself with someone backing you up… yourself.
Yes, to ‘cure’ loneliness is a group effort. It requires you to reach out to others and vise versa, but in order to do that, you need to understand that everyone is an individual with limits and boundaries. You need to understand that they cannot control your identity and value. And you cannot control theirs. If they cannot be emotionally available, then you need to remind yourself of your worth and leave them be.
You won’t be cured of your childhood conditioning overnight. You will still suffer. The best you can do is work towards ending the cycle. Starting with letting that little boy be a kid and emotionally reach out to his peers, male and female.
5. Conclusion/tl;dr
You don’t need a wife. You don’t need a gender specific validation. You need friends. Real friends. Real family. Real community.
Romantic relationships and surface level validations like compliments and simple acknowledgment are temporary solutions. They are Bandaids that your peers and society has hyped up to unrealistic standards. They are not your solution.
If someone found a special someone who has helped them, then props to them, but do not expect that delicate bond to fix everything nor occur so soon in your lifetime. Bonds need you to be responsible in order for it to work.
You need to have platonic bonds with others, even if you don’t think it’ll help. You need to be able to work independently without demonizing your needs and dependency for emotional connection outside of a romantic relationship.
What strangers think of your vulnerability does not matter. Your ‘femininity’ and ‘gayness’ doesn’t make you less. Who cares. If you’re happy for once, then do not concern yourself with expectations you can live without.
Now go watch transformers, share your interests with fellow autistics, and make cool shit 🫵
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lostintransist · 3 months ago
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The Real Problem With The Trolley
Coffee Shop Meet Cute | Part 8
Part 1 here. AO3
Turns out, Kyle is a sore loser. Who knew?
You had, in fact, kicked ass at Uno and beat him handily three games in a row. Poor man thought he had it in the bag when he laid down a wild and called for a green. House rules here said no matching color/number? Draw until you get what you need. The red six in your hand didn’t help at all on a green two. First card drawn? A yellow two. Perfect. You threw down the matching number shouting ‘uno’ and play passed to London.
Kyle sat to your left. One of his cousins, Drew had snagged the seat next to you before he could. When play passed to him he eyed you, hoping for vengeance on his prior two losses at your hand, and slapped down the wild card.
“Green.”
“You motherfucker! Admit I am better at cards already!”
Drew laughed as he laid down a green six.
Jumping up you tossed your card down on the discard pile and shot him a rude gesture.
“Take that!”
You heard London chuckle and say something to David, who you learned was her husband but not Kyle’s father.
“I can see why she isn’t allowed to play spoons if this is how Uno goes.”
Kyle threw his cards, all two of them, and huffily pushed back from the table. Without a glance to you, he stalked inside. Trisha, who sat opposite you at the table, pointed to the house with her chin as she collected and shuffled the cards.
“You better follow him. I don’t think he would leave you here, but he might.”
“Good to know. Thanks, Trisha.”
Hustling across the yard you wave to acknowledge her call of ‘I’ll see you on Friday’. Darkness had fallen between dinner and cards. The bright lights strung across the backyard had fought back the night.
He waited for you at the front door, the purse that you hadn’t remembered setting down in his hands. Kyle opened the front door and gestured you through it. Then his long stride ate up the distance to the car and he opened the passenger door for you.
The ride was tense with the creaking of Kyle’s knuckles and your unwillingness to apologize for being good. You refused to give ground you had won fair and square. Kyle would have to deal with the fact he couldn’t be the best at everything. His posture, back straight and not pressed at all on the back of the seat combined with the lack of music playing showed you a new side of the man you thought you had a decent handle on.
After the third turn being taken a bit sharper than your liking you snapped at him.
“Knock it off or I will call your captain and tell him you’re being a pathetic walnut.”
The engine sounds quieted as Kyle let off the gas. Watching him from the side you get a front-row seat at the cascade of emotions that washes through him.
Confusion, shock, anger, mild amusement, before tucking his expression into one of annoyance.
“You’re gonna tell my captain on me?” He asked, incredulous.
“I’ve met your mom and stepdad. If I want your behavior to change I need to complain to Captain Price,” you nodded once as you said it to punctuate the point.
He slowed down to a stop at a red light and turned his head your way. Exasperated could be the only word to describe the look he gave you, Kyle let out a surprised huff of a laugh when you winked at him.
Shaking his head and his sour mood, Kyle relaxed back into his seat. The muscles of his thighs un-bunched and his fingers cracked as he stretched them along the steering wheel.
“David isn’t my stepdad by the way.”
The information is shared in a carefully casual way, like it was a big deal but he didn’t dare make a big deal about it.
“Isn’t he Trisha’s dad? She’s only what, five years younger than you?”
This conversation carried weight. These distinctions would be a peek into Kyle’s character, the nature of who he was at his core, and you soaked it up like spring rain to a desert plant.
“David is Trisha’s dad, but we’ve never…” he drifted into a charged silence as he chose his words carefully. “I have never felt comfortable calling David my dad. I had a dad and he abandoned me, so I don’t need another one.”
Your eyelids pull together as you watch the headlights of other cars flick over him.
“It sounds more like you wanted to pick your dad and since David wasn’t your choice you rejected him entirely. You trust your judgment of men more than your mum’s.”
When his mouth pops open in shock, you realize what you said and how presumptuous it had been. Foot did not say hello to mouth before jumping right in.
Sitting back and turning your gaze away a queer feeling settled in your chest.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t comment on things I don’t know.”
A hand-shaped heat settled on your knee. Your dress had slipped up leaving two fingers worth of flesh to be seared by Kyle’s touch.
“No. No, don’t apologize for that. I,” he paused again.
You stared at the hand on your leg. His long nimble fingers with knuckles that stretched beyond the width of the bones above and below it, and his almond-shaped nails that needed a trim. They weren’t long or ragged but you knew Kyle was particular and careful about his grooming, especially when he was home.
Twin heartbeats started up; one under Kyle’s middle finger on the inside of your thigh and the other a bit higher in your core.
He started speaking again, you missed his first word pulling your attention away from his touch.
“— appreciate learning about myself. I don’t think I would have made that connection on my own.”
In for a penny, in for a pound you guess, might as well give him more of your thoughts on the matter.
His hand is still there. Touching you. Maybe if you don’t draw attention to it he will keep touching you.
“Isn’t that why you trust your captain so much? He’s someone you chose to follow, someone you know won’t abandon you or lead you astray.”
The throb in your thigh is dissipating; the one in your core is not.
“How do you know so much about my captain? You’ve met him what twice?” Kyle sends you an arched brow as he keeps his eyes on the road.
“You talk about him, not a lot but when you do there is this,” you swirl your hand around looking for the word, “respect that bleeds through. It happens when you talk about your lieutenant too, but less.”
“Does it happen when I talk about Soap?”
The curiosity in his tone almost has you fucking with him. Deciding that the darkness of the cab called for truth, like cathedrals called for grief, you tell him.
“You only talk about your best friend with respect when you’re regaling me about his wild escapades that you are shocked he made it home in one piece from.”
Kyle laughed and laughed and laughed. Tears leaked from his eyes with how hard he laughed. You expected his hand to leave your knee to wipe them away, instead, he quickly swiped at his face with his other hand before returning his grip to the steering wheel.
When his laughter had died down you pounced on the question that had been simmering for months and months.
“Have Simon and Johnny kissed yet?”
Now that got you an open-mouth no-eyes-on-the-road stare.
“Kyle,” you laugh even as you say his name and point to the road, “Watch where you’re going!”
He turns back but casts wide-eyed glances at you.
“Why the hell would you say that?”
It is your turn to let laughter bubble out of you like a spring gurgling with water.
“They watch each other. Simon couldn’t keep his eyes off Johnny when we were at the bar and every time you talk about them it sounds like Simon would follow Johnny into hell if only to pull him back out again.” You turn slightly, Kyle’s fingers shifting more to cup the fat of your thigh. “Are you telling me that you, who was a cop and now a soldier, haven’t noticed it? Aren’t you trained to notice things?”
“Not things like that!” His hand tightened on you, shaking you as you laughed.
“You’ll see it now though!” You point a hard finger at him, “Don’t you dare say anything to them though. Let them figure it out on their own.”
Kyle rolled his eyes, “They will never end up together at this rate then.”
“That’s half the fun though, the yearning and dreaming,” the wistful tone slipped through.
“Do you yearn or dream?” He asks quietly like the direction of his life hinges on your answer.
You answer with a sigh on your lips.
“Far too often, and far, far too much.”
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Kyle walked to the door. Stood close enough that the heat of his body pressed on your skin in the elevator. He could see it in the way you swayed forward and back. He stepped closer. If the door hadn’t opened that exact moment he would have kissed the slope of your shoulder.
Watching you interact with his family today, falling into step like you knew the lines by heart, solidified for him that he wanted you in his bed and your hand in his. He would have thought you wore the dress to tease him, except that wasn’t your style — you were straightforward, a throat punch of honesty to everyone but yourself.
You haunted him. If he kissed you would you be haunted too?
The conversation had died after your confession of dreams and yearning. His hand hadn’t left your leg until he climbed from the car. Despite your vehement dislike for waiting for him to open doors, you waited. The look in your eyes had been unreadable when he offered you a hand. In taking it Kyle knew something had shifted — he could only pray the change looked like the thaw into spring and not the fault line buckling.
Reaching your door has you smiling up at him as you dig around in your purse with one hand for your keys, Kyle suffers the pricks of his desire, feral and buried under the chains he had wrapped around it.
“Tell your mum thanks. I had fun tonight; a lot more fun than I expected in all honesty.”
“I’ll tell her,” Kyle slid his hands into his pockets to avoid the twitching in his fingers from turning into touching you. “Thanks, by the way, for coming. You didn’t have to.”
The face you pulled, polite disagreement, had him laughing.
“Mum can be a force of nature, but she would have understood if you had declined,” he replied a smile from laughter still on his face.
“If you say so.”
Annoyance slid into your tone and had you looking away from him to find your keys. They always managed to get lost despite your best efforts.
Taking a chance, because risking his life was his job, Kyle leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on your cheek.
“I do say so.”
He pulled back and about faced with a precision that would have left both Price and Laswell with a sense of pride. Deciding the random noises trailing him to the stairs next to the elevator were you coming to terms with his kiss, Kyle comforted himself through the fear that ringed his neck like a collar.
A call from his sister as he headed home solidified his plans for this coming Friday. You were skittish about his affections, watchful as a hare before a storm. He knew pushing now would send you bolting. Friday being nearly a week away would be enough time for you to get comfortable with the scent of electricity licking at your wrists.
Coffee Masterlist | Masterlist
@soldierservant @demothers-empty-blog @thriving-n-jiving @blackhawkfanatic @skeletonsucker @readingthingy @goatgoesmbe @littlelovebug98
*No. I will never have a regular schedule. I try not to apologize for things I am unable to change.
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morphean42 · 10 months ago
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Rewatching Falsettos I was suddenly struck by an epiphany that I’m sure someone else has had at some point, but I needed to write out. This ending scene from “March of the Falsettos” jumped out at me from the first watching, but even though I recognised the nod to the “See no evil, speak no evil, hear no evil (and lesser known do no evil)”, I didn’t know what it meant. Today, I tried to piece it together, and I think I’ve gotten it. These poses represent core attributes of the characters, as well as Trina’s view of them, so click the read more to hear the ravings of a mad man wayyyyyy too obsessed with this show
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The idea of ‘evil’ to me is very loose. It can represent a lot of things for these characters; their actions towards each other, their character flaws, etc. But, for this analysis, one can replace ‘evil’ with ‘truth’. Each of the characters refuses to see, speak, hear, or ‘do’ the truth (please excuse the lack of grammar for that last one), and that is where the ‘evil’ stems from. Taking into account this is mostly based on Trina’s view of the men, I think ‘truth’ fits in well.
Let’s start with the one who fits in least— Jason. “March of the Falsettos” is a physical manifestation of how Trina views the men in her life (as childish and immature), but some slack is given to her son. He doesn’t sing his lines in falsetto, because we acknowledge he is in fact a child, and has more of an excuse to act as such. So, take his analysis with a grain of salt. The boy has every right to be a little selfish— he’s 10.
So, Jason has his hands over his eyes, representing ‘See No Evil’. This is a direct nod to his character flaw; his view of the world with him at the center. Although his parents are less than good to him, he still sees them through unfair lenses— ‘My mother’s no wife/My father’s no man’. He sings ‘everybody’s yelling and everybody’s ruining it’ in “Everyone Hates His Parents” because he is unhappy with how his Bar Mitzvah is turning out and wants to simply cancel it. He doesn’t have a concept of doing things for other people (again, he’s a child, I’m not blaming him per se), so he is blind to the will of others and refuses to see their side. In addition to this, even when Mendel tells him Whizzer will most likely die, Jason pleads with G-d to save him. He still views himself as the center of his world, thus Mendel’s line ‘Life’s not all about him’.
In addition to this, his ‘See No Evil’ means something when thought about from Trina’s perspective. She thinks her son is blind to the truth of the world, this son who stays inside playing chess alone, this son who ‘seems like an idiot to [Trina]’. She worries Jason will turn out like these other men in her world, blind to everyone but himself.
Now we come to Mendel, who has his hand over his mouth in ‘Speak No Evil’. Mendel’s flaw throughout the show is his refusal to accept the truth of any situation. He tells Jason to ‘feel alright for the rest of your life’ instead of actually trying to help, he is ‘frightened of questions’, he repeats over and over ‘I’ll make you well’ to Whizzer in the hospital. He will never say anything negative, nor will he allow others to do so. Even in the end of the show, he tells Jason they don’t know ‘when or if’ Whizzer will get better— he is still not accepting that it’s a definite thing. He believes that if he and those around him just don’t speak about the real problems, they’ll go away.
Trina’s view on Mendel is complicated here. In the next song she agrees to marry him, of course, and we know she at least likes him (the most of all three adults she knows). She says that Mendel ‘decides the role to assume’. She looks down on the fact that he can’t speak the truth to her, that he’s expecting this happy wife, this perfect new family. He wants her to play along with him and make their home together, even if she sings ‘liking our lives’ instead of loving. Even if he’s better than Marvin ever was, there’s still an element of control here. Mendel wants this family, and he wants them to all pretend nothing is ever wrong again.
Marvin, our titular character, is in the ‘Hear No Evil’ position. This one is fairly straight forward— he wants control and will never listen to the needs of those around him. He can’t hear what they actually need, he simply does what he wants. He also struggles with his masculinity throughout Act 1, his outward misogyny and need for the nuclear family (his treatment of Trina and Whizzer), so he imagines himself at the top of his family system. He will never take any other opinions, or counsel, in his decisions, seeing that as weakness. He’s similar to Jason in this regard, as he only hears what he wants to (like Jason only sees what he wants). He ignores the pain around him to pursue his own desires, he covers his ears and moves on.
Trina, of course, despises Marvin at this point in the show. Her subconscious showing Marvin in ‘Hear No Evil’ can tell us a lot about their relationship, how she was never seen as equal in decisions. Marvin always put her to the side, not listening to her needs, acting without thinking of her.
Whizzer is complicated. I’ve seen people laugh at his pose before, saying we’ve got ‘See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Speak No Evil, and Gay’, but I think he represents the ‘Do No Evil’. This final character is not often seen with the other three, and can be depicted with arms over the chest or covering the genitals. It wouldn’t make sense to have Whizzer be the outlier (especially because the fourth depiction of evil does exist), so I’m assuming he is supposed to be ‘Do No Evil’.
This fits in well with Whizzer’s flaws throughout the show. He doesn’t accept responsibility for his relationship with Marvin; seen in the lines ‘I’m not responsible’ during “Late For Dinner” or ‘I will not accept blame’ in “Games I Play”. He sleeps around, despite Marvin wanting monogamy, and clearly did not have an issue hooking up with a married man. Whizzer fundamentally doesn’t think his actions have consequences, he believes he has done nothing wrong (he has done no evil). Whizzer also has a hard time admitting to his love for Marvin. He says it ‘depends on the day’, he flat out says ‘no’ when asked if he loves him. He doesn’t want to show his love for fear of being too vulnerable, so he hides and doesn’t do anything about it.
To take this even further, him being ‘Do No Evil’ can represent his later question of ‘why me of all men’ when he is dying. He hasn’t done anything to deserve his death, and ‘all men get what they deserve’, right?
Moving on to how Trina sees Whizzer. He’s come into her life and ruined her marriage, though she ‘wants to hate him’ she can’t. She views him as the cause of her recent hardships, his actions being to blame. He is ‘Do No Evil’ to her because he has done evil in taking Marvin away (though it is obvious Trina is better off because of it). He has upset the careful balance of her world by breaking down the lies of her marriage and exposing the truth— Marvin never loved her, could never love her. She puts him in ‘Do No Evil’ because what he has done is what the rest of the men won’t— see, hear, speak the truth even at the detriment of her family.
Another way to view this is, of course, the fact that ‘Do No Evil’ is rarely seen with the others. Trina is separating Whizzer from the other men, not putting him in the same category as the rest of the ‘family’. He views himself as an outsider as well, yes he’s part of the group, but only as a technicality. Only as Marvin’s lover. Once he leaves Marvin, he is easily taken out of the equation and the remaining three do not feel the loss.
My conclusion is such: Each of the poses our men do represents the character flaw they must overcome throughout the show, as well as how Trina views them in her mind. I really hope this made any sort of sense, and if someone has already said all of this well… I guess it can’t hurt to be thorough.
I’m way too tired to read through this again so if there are spelling mistakes please print out this post, correct it in red pen, and send it to me by carrier pigeon.
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fantastic-nonsense · 2 years ago
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I think people who genuinely wanted Percy to rebel against the gods and overthrow the system kind of...miss the whole point of the series
The question is not whether or not the gods deserve to rule; the books are kind of unambiguous that they don't! That the gods are generally undeserving of their children's loyalty is the one thing that Percy and Luke both agree on! But PJO is less about divine right to rule vs. ruling via consent of the governed and more about improving dysfunctional family systems. It's not about whether unfair rulers deserve to continue ruling; it's about forcing the gods to be better, fairer rulers and a better, fairer family given limited alternatives.
Because what are the alternatives, as presented to us within the scope of the original PJO series?
Option 1: allow Kronos to topple Olympus and take over. Clearly not a viable alternative for all of the reasons the books show us.
Option 2: the demigods overthrow the Olympians and rule the world themselves. Okay. How's that going to work out long-term, given demigods are mortal and cannot control or protect their parents' domains? Demigods will die out within a generation or two, so that's potentially a one-generation short-term solution, and then everyone's right back where they started. Except worse, because now the world has been out of divine balance for a century and the gods have a completely legitimate bone to pick with all demigods. Materially worse outcome.
Option 3: demigods ignore the gods and their will entirely. They integrate into the mortal world, refuse to participate in quests or talk to their parents, and pretend prophecies don't exist. Except that's clearly not a viable option, since we see that demigods usually can't safely exist in the mortal world without monsters coming after them, the gods are cruel enough to use blackmail and engage in hostage situations to get demigods to act as heroes, and prophecies have a way of coming true regardless of everyone's best attempts to circumvent them. Again: materially worse outcome.
And for Percy, for the demigods at Camp Half-Blood, for Luke and for everyone else who defected....for the most part, they don't actually have an inherent problem with the gods ruling them. They just want to be acknowledged, valued, and loved by their families, to be treated as more than a tool for their parents to wield whenever their services are needed. That was the core thesis of the demigod rebellion, which was wholly separate from Kronos' specific motivations for overthrowing the Olympians, and it's why Percy's asks at the end of TLO were what they were.
The point was always that had Percy grown up in a slightly more dysfunctional family environment...had he grown up with Frederick Chase's seemingly conditional love or May Castellan's madness instead of Sally Jackson's steady, quiet, unconditional love...he could have turned out like Luke. Like Ethan. Like the dozens of demigods who defected from camp to join Luke's cause. Percy could have turned out just as a bitter and angry and vengeful. Just as ready to tear down the system. Just as willing to betray and kill his own family for the sake of making a point.
But instead, Percy openly reprimands the gods for abandoning their families and using them as cannon fodder in their own petty disagreements. He forces them to acknowledge and claim their children. He demands that everyone who is part of the godly family be recognized and accepted, not just those related to the Twelve Olympians. He asks for those unjustly punished (like Calypso) to be set free and accepted back into the family. Because that's the point at the end of the day: not forcing bad rulers to step down, but changing an insanely dysfunctional family system that the gods and demigods are all members of into a better, safer, and more accepting environment for demigods to grow up and live in.
Overthrowing the gods wouldn't solve the problem at the heart of the series, which is the gods' shitty parenting and family management skills. It would only exacerbate the massive familial fault-lines that Kronos exploited and leave the demigods open to more godly manipulation. Which is why the series ends as it does, with Percy using his wish to tangibly improve the lives of his family instead of selfishly improving his own life (via accepting immortality/godhood) or overthrowing the gods. Because the conflict isn't about the gods as rulers. It's about the gods as parents.
PJO's core thesis is Percy, who grew up knowing unconditional familial love, looking at this whole world of children who didn't and saying "that's not fair. Gods should be better than this!" But instead of destroying them the way Luke wants to, instead of overthrowing them and putting himself on the throne, he instead challenges them to be better parents and family members. To be part of the solution instead of the problem. And Percy's demands don't solve everything, but they were necessary first steps! Without forcing the gods to acknowledge a bare minimum floor of inclusion, the cycle would simply begin all over again the next time a major conflict popped up.
So that's the problem Percy solves and how he successfully fulfills the prophecy: by believing that the gods had the capacity to change and forcing them to break the cycle of familial abandonment, he preserves Olympus and takes the first steps towards a new status quo, one that is objectively better for demigods than the one he grew up in. That's why he succeeds, and it's why Percy overthrowing the gods would have made for a much less satisfying ending than what actually happened.
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exquisink · 10 months ago
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Because You're a Big Deal - Satoru Gojo X Fem!Sorcerer Reader
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Content Warnings: handjobs, body worship, exhibitionism, cockwarming, edging, cunnilingus, satoru might have a slight humliation/degradation kink, satoru is lowkey a creep and yandereish but not really, he also has no concept of personal space
Word Count: 10.1K
Summary: It’s common knowledge that Satoru Gojo is completely devoted to you. Why?—Because he makes it everyone’s, especially your, problem!
AO3
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Since he’s been ripped out of his mother’s womb, life has bent to Satoru Gojo’s will. Everything falls into place as if the universe itself acknowledges that he’s destined for greatness. He barely has to lift a finger, and his achievements pile up, much to the irritation of literally everyone around him. It’s not just because he’s able to back up his skill—he makes sure it’s known that he’s the best sorcerer in the modern world, though—it’s also the way he exudes this untouchable self-assuredness which sets him apart from the rest. He’s practically a God walking among mere simpletons.
In a way, you find yourself pitying the guy at times. You can see how that kind of existence could be isolating. Being blessed—or cursed—with so much power from the get-go. He’s high above everyone else, like he’s observing the world from a higher vantage point—like a God in the sky or on another plane of reality. So to someone like you, who scrape by on sheer determination, ambition, and hard-headedness, Gojo’s life feels impossibly distant.
You’re not part of the elite three clans. You’re…just you, really. You’re a fledgling sorcerer who’s stumbled into this world all on accident, thanks to some Grade 2 curse spirits running amok on your college campus. Among the student and faculty body, you’re the only person you know who can see them, the only person who can react. It’s kind of made you an outcast there because you were afraid of stepping out of your dorm. That’s how you ended up here, after meeting Gojo and the others through chance. You’re training at Jujutsu Tech under Yaga and Gojo’s guidance, as a Grade 3 now—not that far along, but still a step above from where you began which was rock bottom. You still don’t compare to your peers at all in terms of experience.
But as much as you are grateful for Satoru Gojo and his small group of students, who have already rapidly become family to you, you can’t say you’re exactly pleased to be in his presence 99 percent of the time.
Why’s that, you wonder?
It’s simple, really.
From the moment he met you, he’s made it painfully clear that you have captured his attention. He’s obsessed, locked on you with such fervor it could decimate entire buildings with the same energy as a Hollow Purple. While it may have started as a shallow infatuation—you can’t even begin to imagine why—you know better than to let your guard down. With men like him, it’s easy to feel like a conquest, a prize to be won. From someone who’s so used to winning, without a doubt, he sees you as a challenge.
His favorite toy. You refuse to give him that satisfaction.
You don’t know how wrong you are about that assumption, though.
Because titles aside, he’s still just some dude who probably thinks more with his dick than with his brain.
You’re not sure why you in particular, either. Maybe others who’re more aware of his reputation might find it flattering, for the following reasons: he’s the strongest sorcerer of the modern times. That’s one. He’s rich as fuck. That’s two. He’s also stupidly handsome with those striking blue eyes of his and that lanky figure. That’s three.
You can’t find it in your core to give a flying fuck about it, though. Because beyond the superficial, he’s lacking in a lot of areas.
Everyone around you seems to agree.
Even now, as you sit in the classroom, waiting for him to show up—because of course, he’s late again as usual—you feel the tension building in your gut. You lean back, your chair creaking as a deep sigh leaves your lips. Your fingers idly trace the screen of your phone. Fushiguro’s gaze bores into your skull, with an all-knowing feeling. Is Gojo going to pull some bullshit today like he always does?
Your eyes roll, as you whip around to meet his gaze. As if silently communicating to him. Of course he is. Gojo always pulls something and everyone knows it, but especially Fushiguro. You have learned to expect it just as everyone else does.
The door swings open with a rush of air, and in strides Gojo, with that smug grin plastered across his face. He carries himself with a straight posture, hands stuffed into his pockets, acting like the world revolves around him because obviously it does. To him it does.
“Sorry for the wait! Since there’s not a lot of things we have to go over today before Megumi and the others are sent on yet another mission, I won’t keep you guys that long.”
Even without looking up, the weight of his gaze locks on you. You feel like you’re on a stage and those blinding blue eyes are the spotlight. When you do glance his way, you catch the faintest twitch of his lips. You’re not wearing your uniform today, and that seems to spark something in him. His blinding blue eyes, though hidden beneath his blindfold, must gleam with mischief. He’s definitely scheming.
“Well, most of you,” he finishes, that smirk of his widening.
You suppress a groan, already knowing where this is going and what thoughts might be running amok in that idiot brain of his, which only thinks with his dick in your presence. The outfit you opt to wear is nothing special—just a pair of shorts and a tank top—but for Gojo, it’s like a gift sent from the Heavens. He always twists the simplest actions of yours into a reason to give you a hard time.
As the briefing drones on, your eyes drift upward by mistake, sneaking a peek at him. What a bad move. Of course, he’s already looking at you, that grin still so wide his face is cracking. He raises his hand to his mouth—thrusting his tongue between two spread fingers—and your face flushes deep from embarrassment. Without thinking, your hands fly up to cover your face as you bite back a sigh.
He knows exactly what he’s doing.
Luckily, no one notices.
True to his word, the briefing is just that—brief. Itadori, Kugisaki, and Fushiguro head off, leaving you behind with Panda, Inumaki, and Maki for a few moments…at leaste, until they, too, make their hasty exit, leaving you alone.
Leaving you alone with that sad fuck of a man.
He slides up to you, peeling his blindfold up with a slender finger as he leans in closer than necessary. His breath fans against your forehead, and you have to resist the urge to step back lest you want to stir up more trouble for yourself, to push him out of your personal bubble. But Gojo doesn’t seem to have any concept of personal space. He never has. Those eyes of his, sharp, and blue like glaciers in the north, flicker across your face, down to the exposed skin of your shoulders and collarbone.
“Where’s your uniform?” he asks, his voice casual, with a playful note beneath it. There’s a layer of something else, though. His slender fingers trail along your arm, ghosting over your skin where the thin fabric of your tank top exposes you.
The guy acts like he can do whatever he wants. That he’s the man.
You aren’t ever going to give him the satisfaction of admitting that because he already knows he’s a big deal. He already knows he’s absolutely all that and he doesn’t need more reminders. You aren’t interested in stroking his ego (or any physical attributes of his body, for that matter). That must get under his skin and you might be a little too proud of yourself for that, mentally giving yourself a pat on the back every time he seems a little disheartened by your lack of reciprocation.
You need to set that record straight with him. He needs to be knocked down a LOT of pegs.  
Fuck him and his Infinity…you’d love to kick him where it hurts because that’s the only thing he thinks with in that idiot brain of his…
You finally swat at his hand, irritation burbling beneath your skin. “Didn’t Ijichi tell you? It’s at the dry cleaners.”
Gojo gives a non-committal hum in response, but his grin never leaves his features as he settles onto your desk, sprawling out like he owns it. His gaze locks on you, studying every part of your body, and your insides are screaming at you to bolt out the door. But it’s only going to cause him to be more annoying.
“You sure you didn’t wear this just for me?” His voice is a low rasp, dropping an octave, a purr in your ear that sends a shiver dancing down your spine. His hand brushes your cheek, his thumb grazing your supple skin.
You smack his hand away again, maintaining a blank expression.
“Not interested,” you deadpan, rising to your feet. “Now, am I dismissed?”
Gojo’s expression falters for a fraction of a second before that smugness of his bounces back, slipping the blindfold back over his eyes.
“Sure,” he replies, but not before his fingers tuck under your chin, tilting your head in an angle ever so slowly.
You swallow on a lump of nothing—
Oh.
--that bulge in his pants, straining against the fabric of his uniform, growing more and more prominent by the passing second. You swallow hard again, your heart dropping tor your stomach.
“Now you know,” he finishes in a low murmur, sliding off your desk with his infuriating smirk still on his fucking face.
You scowl so deep your forehead wrinkles, stepping back away from him. Before you make it further, he grabs your elbow, pulling you close—too close. Flush against his warm body, where your thigh brushes against his hardness. You hate the way it makes you feel.
You hate that you don’t hate it.
“You’re too beautiful for your own good, you know that?” His voice is low, soft, reverent, but the edge of teasing remains.
“I could have you written up for sexual harassment,” you mutter under your breath.
His laugh is quick, sharp, echoing through the walls of the empty classroom.
“Hoho, I’m so scared,” he retaliates in a mocking tone as he allows you to break free from his grasp. “The worst Yaga will give me is a little reprimanding and a swat on the wrist, which won’t change much in the grand scheme of things.”
Utahime is right, you idly muse. He’s a fucking man child.
Why does he find such joy in being a troll? You want to give him the benefit of the doubt. That maybe he has some depth beneath the stupidity he embodies. Is it to hide trauma or something? Can’t he, for once, be a little more serious? Address you like a person because that’s all you want from people?
Do you even care to pick his idiot brain and find out?
“Because you’re the untouchable one in this universe,” you remark with a defeated sigh. Maybe consider transferring to Kyoto? But then he might find another way to harass you…
“Exactly,” he retorts, as you whip around to fully face him. He towers over you; he towers over nearly everyone. But you don’t often take note of how intimidating that is in combination with his reputation. You wonder if he truly is blessed in every aspect of his life (perhaps his only vice, that you can name thus far anyway, is his lack of interpersonal intelligence).
“I’ll be seeing you, Sensei,” you mumble through gritted teeth as you gather your things and amble out the door. His wolf-whistle follows you out, and you resist the urge to turn around and deck him on the spot. Not that you can be able to with his goddamn Infinity.
Maybe you should still write him up for harassment.
But then, upon further reflection, you sincerely doubt it’s going to make a difference. He even says so himself. Nothing changes his mind.
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The cool autumn air rushes through your hair as you and the other students stroll down the busy streets, laughing and chatting it up. You find comfort in this routine—the way you can shed the weight of becoming a sorcerer, even if only for a few hours.
To cap off the end of a grueling week, the students often orchestrate a fun night out in the town. You and the other students engage in some semblance of normalcy outside of jujutsu society. You actually get to have fun—and not in the presence of any of your superiors, which helps you take the edge off, for sure.
Itadori and the others—well in particular he, Fushiguro, and Kugisaki—they make you feel like one of them and you haven’t even been with them for that long. Each and every one of them, they’re unique and talented and genuine people. You are willing to admit even Gojo is, in his own right. You just won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing that, on some levels, you do respect him for certain things.
You probably won’t be alive today if not for these guys.
Itadori grins, his arms stretched behind his head as he glances at the group.
“Is anyone up for a karaoke night?” Itadori inquires, eyes twinkling.
“I’m down, but maybe after I’ve had a few drinks,” you tease with a light giggle. “I’m no Mariah Carey or Ariana Grande.”
“None of us are,” Fushiguro scoffs, shaking his head. “Except for Gojo. Naturally.”
You resist rolling your eyes. Even when he’s not here, Gojo finds a way to worm into the conversation and in your fucking bubble.
“Of course he is,” Kugisaki quips with a smirk playing on her lips. “Guy’s got no shortcomings.”
Fushiguro is quick to challenge that statement.
“Actually—!” Fushiguro starts, only for Kugisaki to cut him off.
“—What, Fushiguro? Apart from his lack of personality, what else?” Kugisaki asks, curious.
That clamps his mouth shut, lips pressed in a deep frown. He falls silent as you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose.
“Can we actually not talk about Sensei?” you ask, your own frown stressing your features. “I want one night where I don’t have to think about him and his stupid face.”
Fushiguro glances at you, his eyebrows furrowing.
“Yeah, of course,” Fushiguro states, “Is he still giving you trouble?”
“When does he not give any of us trouble?” Kugisaki chimes in with a sigh. “Then again, he’s been a bit pushier with you lately. We can bring it up to Yaga, you know.”
Your shoulders tense for a moment, before you shake your head.
“He hasn’t done anything,” you realize how meek you sound and try to find that strength in your voice again. “Well, nothing Yaga would take seriously. Not like Gojo would take anything seriously, either.”
“Understatement of the modern age,” Fushiguro wisecracks in a low murmur.
“Come on, Sensei’s not that bad,” Itadori interjects,  always the sort of person to give people the benefit of the doubt. Where applicable, of course. Which for someone like Itadori, it’s 99 percent of the time—especially when it comes to people he admires like Gojo.
Never mind how overt and rambunctious Gojo can be, he’s still a good person. Or at least, he fights for the right things. You can concede to that. But still…
“Sure, he’s kind of…persistent, though. I don’t know him all that well still so maybe Fushiguro will have a better handling on that.”
“He’s as idiotic as any other man comes,” Fushiguro concedes with a grunt. “If I have to punch him out, I’ll punch him out. That is, if he’s gutsy enough to shut off his Infinity to take a little disciplinary action like a man.”
“We’re still talking about him,” you point out.
“Sorry,” they all apologize in unison.
The conversation finally drifts away from Gojo, and you find yourself easing up a bit. The tension melting off of your body. It’s nice to be in the presence of your friends.
“So,” you drag out the word to catch their attention again, hoping to lift the mood. “Karaoke?”
“Yeah! Let’s do it!” Itadori jabs two thumbs up in the air.
The lights of the karaoke bar you all frequent blinks ahead. You’re excited for a few hours of escapism.
Of course, life has other plans as it seems the faculty of Jujutsu Tech orchestrate their own karaoke night. Since you’re together in the same bar, you decide to rent a room for all of you to sing your lungs out with unlimited drinks.
The karaoke room is dark save for a few string lights casting soft glows across the plush seats, low tables, and around the ceilings. The music blares from the speakers, the laughter of your friends mixing with the thumping, reverberating bass as you amble over to the couch. While Gojo and your mentors are here, you still find yourself unwinding and enjoying your time with your friends.
But of course, the universe has decided you can’t have nice things for very long.
On your way to the couch, you trip over something—a bag, a dropped can of beer, a foot, who fucking knows—and before you can catch yourself, you fall right into someone’s lap.
Not just anyone’s.
The odds, as always, are in Gojo’s favor. The planets always align for this fuck.
His arms secure around your waist instantly, securing you in place with an unyielding, vice grip.
“Well, well, well, happy birthday to me,” he murmurs, his breath fanning the nape of your neck. You shift, attempting to break free, but he yanks you back down, pressing your ass into his lap. That unmistakable hardness beneath you makes your heart jump to your throat.
“Stay,” he whispers, his voice demanding, as he presses the growing tent in his pants between your ass cheeks.
You grind your teeth, whipping your head over your shoulder to glare at him. His grin is as infuriating as ever—that shit-eating smirk that makes you want to tear him a few new assholes.
“I’m about to go back up and sing,” you hiss, squirming in his lap which only seems to encourage him, a low whimper escaping his lips that only you can hear. It makes your hairs stand on end and your blood burble. He tightens his iron grip, grinding his hips against yours.
“Stay a little longer,” he coos, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. He bites back another little whimper as he rolls his hips again, and there’s a heat pooling in your legs that’s impossible to ignore. Luckily, everyone’s too distracted with Shoko’s and Utahime’s drunken rendition of Smells Like Teen Spirit, and no one’s paying attention to you or to Gojo.
For once, the universe isn’t humiliating you.
“Fuck,” he groans, nipping at your jaw. “I wonder how amazing you’d feel bouncing on my wood.”
“Gojo!” you whisper in a harsh tone, finally slipping free from his lap. You’re tempted to smack him, and you almost do, but you recognize the challenge in his gaze.
Him and his fucking Infinity.
“Fuck you,” you sneer, turning on your heel and returning to the others, but you still hear his response:
“Soon,” he calls back with a lazy wave.
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You know you don’t get the luxury of avoiding Gojo.
You come to a realization that hits you like a Falcon punch to your gut: you’re not sure if you want Gojo to ignore you. It’s not because you’ve come to enjoy the attention. Far from it. He’s still crass; he’s still pushy; he’s still overt and obnoxious. It’s still infuriating and he’s still very punchable about this shit.
But today…today, you just aren’t into entertaining him. Today, you’re feeling really off your game in more ways than one, and he wants to whack the hornet’s nest out of sheer habit.
He must sense your shift in mood since that karaoke night. One second, you’re telling him to piss off, leave you alone, and the next, his large hand wraps around your wrist, jerking you toward him. His body is pressed to yours, and you can feel that hardness against our thigh.
You’re praising the gods above that there isn’t anyone around to witness this because this is probably you at your most unbecoming self.
“Sensei,” you grind out, your voice low with frustration. “Let. Me. Go.”
“Come on, no need to be so formal here. It’s us, baby girl. Say my name. Satoru.”
“Gojo,” you sneer, attempting to pull away, but his grip strengthens like titanium around your wrist. Those blue eyes of his—no, they look more like predatory slits now—bore into you with an intensity that you only saw once before back in Shibuya. When something inside of him fractures, splitting like glass under the high stakes. The memory of it, jagged and sharp, makes your heartbeat skyrocket.
You aren’t interested in exploring what lurks behind that gaze; you don’t wish to challenge it. But he doesn’t give you the luxury of turning away. His hand remains secured around your wrist, jerking you off balance as you’re spun in a fluid motion, pressing your back flush against the wall, his body caging over yours. You collide with the cool surface with a light thud, but you’re not all that disoriented. Just a little taken aback. The scorching heat of his body crowds into yours. His knee is still wedging between your legs, the pressure firm but demanding as it rubs into your clothed cunt.
“When are you going to stop punishing me?” he murmurs, his voice a near-growl that rumbles through his chest and vibrates against your skin. The sound is barely audible, yet it hits you like a tidal wave. Your breath hitches, and your eyes narrow into slits out of defiance.
“I’m not—!” The retort dies in your throat as his lips graze against your ear, his breath sending a rush of heat from your neck shooting all the way down to your groin. He shifts his knee, pushing it harder against the sensitive core between your thighs, and the friction draws a gasp from your lips before you can act to suppress it.
“Don’t feed me that bullshit,” he growls, his teeth taking in your bottom lip and grinding it between them. He chews hard on it, just enough to make you flinch, before his tongue swipes across the sore spot, soothing the light sting. More heat rushes to your cheeks, spreading in waves throughout your body as his hands roam your body, still skimming the modest areas, but it’s enough to make you squirm and fidget. It makes your breath come out in short, ragged, uneven breaths.
His grip slides dangerously lower, tracing the slight dip of your waist with his fingers that linger just a little too long for your comfort.
“Stop dancing around how you feel about me.”
“Gojo…” you whimper, though your voice pitifully muffled against his mouth. Your hands push against his chest, but to no avail, you’re weaker than him (everyone is weaker than him, but you especially so and for other reasons not related to physical prowess); your mind is torn between pushing him and away and… wanting to understand what the hell this is. What the hell he’s doing with you. What he wants to do with you.
“Satoru.” He corrects, his voice thick and guttural from arousal. The way he demands it, it’s primal, feral, a low rumble like distant thunder that leaves you no room to refuse him. “Say it.”
“Satoru,” you stammer, the syllables tumbling from your lips unbidden as he nips at your lips again, hard enough to draw yet another breathy gasp. You reluctantly tilt your head back, exposing the line of your neck to his relentless pursuit.  “Stop.”
His eyes continue to bore into yours, drilling deep like a jack hammer through your skull. Those eyes of his, they’re so bright, so blinding, almost as if they can strip you bare with just a glance because he can bend everything to his will like he always does. Even with his Infinity shut off, they’re so intense. He’s suffocating. Inescapable.
Unforgettable.  
“You don’t mean that,” he whispers, his voice softening to a lower murmur as he dips his head lower, his nose brushing along the sensitive skin of your neck. His lips trail after, feathery light over your skin, barely there, and he inhales sharply when he reaches your pulse point thundering just beneath your collarbone.
“I know you don’t mean that.”
Your cherry perfume lingers in the air between you as he continues. His fingers graze at the dips of your waist. Suddenly everything feels too constricting, all consuming.
“Please,” he mutters, his voice cracking. He sounds almost…pained, almost vulnerable in a way that you have never seen from him before. He’s always so sure of himself. So haughty. For another second, there’s something fragile flickering in his gaze.
“Stop torturing me.”
It happens before you can stop it—you can’t help the slight twitch of your eye. Torturing him? Is he serious? You almost want to laugh off the sheer absurdity of that accusation. But the thought soon dies when he leans in again, his lips wet, sloppy kisses along your jawline, taking his time like he’s savoring this moment. Like he’s not sure he’ll ever have a chance again. He might be wrong; he might be right.
You don’t even know yourself.
He stops at the tip of your chin, his voice a low crackle like the strike of lightning.
“You’re torturing me by not acting,” he grunts out that explanation, his words now rough and strained. There’s a rawness in his voice—a kind of sincerity that you’re shocked he even has in him. His hand slides even lower, now grazing your hips, before grasping your wrist and guiding it down to rest against his pelvis. There’s the heat of his arousal, the strain of it sticking through the thin fabric of his slacks, and you freeze.
“You see what you do to me. You see how hard you make me,” he whispers, guiding your hand along the rigid length of him through his slacks. His eyes remain locked on yours, bright, blindingly hungry, studying your reactions. As always, he’s relentless in his pursuit of you, determined to get what he wants. He’s not used to things not falling in his lap.
He moans low, guttural, still pained, like…like this is a need for him.
The world between you narrows, sharpens like a camera filter, focusing in on the two of you. Just the two of you in the empty classroom. His ragged breaths fill your senses, the feel of his smooth hardness beneath your soft moisturized palm. You feel the erratic pounding of your own pulse in your eardrums. He moans again, low, needy, a pained, pitiful sound. It’s so thick and suffocating, and you honestly wonder how you got to this point. Why you’re letting him do this.
It’s a lot, and yet you can’t find yourself ripping away from his gaze. His gaze never leaves yours, even as his hips buck slightly into your hand, seeking more of that delicious friction. Those eyes, full of that unsettling lust and vulnerability, continue to glow bright and shiny. It’s too much, way too much, too bright, too overstimulating. You want to break the connection, yet you can’t. You’re caught in his web. You’re trapped.
“Keep rubbing me like that,” he rasps, his voice in broken gasps, as he presses his body needily into yours. His hands find your waist and grips tight, fingertips digging into your skin, securing you in place as if he can’t bear to let you leave as he continues to grind helplessly against your hand. “Fuck… your hand’s so soft… feels so good…”
He keeps rolling against your body, making your breath catch. It’s kind of sexy. He’s unguarded in a way you’ve never seen him in other settings, even when he’s goofing off with other colleagues or the other students. Every broken whimper that leaves his yappy lips just adds to the appeal all of a sudden, because you can’t believe you’re able to make him succumb to you like this. You’re making his control slip with each passing nanosecond. You’re the center of this world, and you don’t find yourself hating that.
“Fuck,” he hisses, his voice pitching higher now, desperate as he ruts against your paml with a lot more urgency, a lot more desperation. His cock twitches through the thin fabric of his slacks, the friction too much, too good to pass up. His body’s shaking against yours, and it’s because of you. His breath hitches with every languid roll of his hips.
“I need you,” he quavers, his voice catching in his throat as he trails heated kisses along your collarbone. His lips feel soft, but his words are laden with a kind of desperation you’ve never thought you’d see in your life. “Can’t you feel how badly I fucking need you?”
You can. You can feel every ounce of his need, pressing against you. Your bodies are so close there’s nothing but headiness and heat. That need of his…it makes you a bit wary. You don’t trust Gojo for a myriad of reasons.
Not like this, at least.
Yet, while your mind is screaming at you to rip away, to cease this nonsense, you find yourself complying. Your hand remains where it is, your fingers grazing his bulge on their own accord matching the rhythm of each roll of his hips. He’s still trembling, falling apart at your touch. Something about that…something about that is so fucking hot, and you hate that you don’t’ hate this.
“Almost there?” you murmur, your eyes fluttering as your thumb brushes lightly over the tip of his cock poking through. It’s an instinctive motion, and his reaction is immediate, drawing out a choked gasp, his head dipping onto your shoulder as his full body shudders.
“Fuck…yes,” he moans, his voice still rough and strained from need and arousal, rutting harder into your hand. “More. Fuck… please, more…”
Your breath catches in your throat as you jerk him faster, each stroke sending him over a dangerous edge. That grip on your hips constricts, almost bruising your skin as he chases his release. His moans falling from his lips are so soft, breathy, needy…it’s so juicy.
“Baby,” he whimpers, his voice broken as he thrusts one final time into your hand. His cock twitches again, hard, swollen, before he creams into his slacks with a strangled, pitiful whine. He pants in short, ragged gasps as he nuzzles his forehead into your shoulder.
The world halts between you. The only thing filling the room is the sound of his ragged breaths. His body slumps against yours for a few more moments, before he reluctantly pulls away. His gaze never leaves yours, dazed, delirious…drunk off of you.
“Thank you,” he murmurs into your ear before nipping it in a playful manner. He brushes a stray lock of hair from your face, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead before fully stepping back.
You remain there, pressed up against the wall, dumbfounded, your mind reeling from everything that’s just transpired. You want to feel disgusted, repulsed even. Yet…you’re not.
You feel almost…
Your cheeks burn at the mere notion. There’s no way. Guess Hell has finally frozen over.
Gojo says nothing more, sparing you the embarrassment as he retreats, his hands smoothing over his slacks, in an attempt to conceal any remnants of his little time to rejoice. His perfect posture bounces back far too quickly from this. It’s infuriating how he can act like nothing happened and you’re still taken aback. He bends down, retrieving a small disinfecting cloth from his desk drawer, then wipes your hand in a soft, reverent motion.
His eyes flicker to yours as he does, lingering with a softer expression.
“You…” Your voice comes out pathetic, wimpy. You find some semblance of strength over your voice and your body. Everything that’s happened finally sinks in, and your mind is swirling.
His natural scent still lingers, he’s so close. Crisp, fresh.
“What?” he asks, feigning innocence like he always does, a spark of amusement hidden just beneath that calm tone of his. His lips twitch into that infuriating, ever smug grin of his. “Didn’t hate it?”
You open your mouth to snap back, to scream and yell at him, but the words catch in your throat. You can’t even hate him. You can’t even find the anger that should be threatening to burst through that tightly sealed lid, that you keep bottled up. There’s just confusion, frustration, uncertainty…
You rip your hand from his and twist on your heel, ambling toward the door as your body is operating on autopilot.
Your hand reaches for the doorknob, his voice cuts through the thick silence.
“Come on, it was good, right?”
You freeze in your tracks, your back still turned to him. His gaze burns into your skin. You don’t respond. You don’t know how to respond. You can’t. You twist the doorknob, the door emitting a creak as it opened, stepping out into the hallway—away from his suffocating, overstimulating presence.
Suddenly you feel lighter, cooler.
But as you stride down the empty halls, your mind replays the events in an endless loop—that nagging sensation gnawing at your soul.
Are you coming around? You don’t know. You know you didn’t hate it; that’s as much as you’re willing to admit. Your heart thunders, echoes of his parting words lingering.
You don’t notice him peeping out through the door slightly ajar and watching you walk away.
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You can’t bring yourself to look him in the eyes.
Not through the briefing, where the low chattering of conversation barely registers over the pounding heartbeat in your ears. Sure as hell not through the training, where your hands fumble through the motions, distracted. Fushiguro and Kugisaki get a chance to tumble you to the ground without so much as a shred of remorse.
It’s like you can’t break away. Every time his eyes land on you, you can feel them burning straight through our soul, making your stomach twist and churn.
When you’re back in the classroom, it feels stifling. The chalkboard behind Gojo is worn from everything Gojo writes on it. You sit at your desk, twiddling a pencil between your fingers; your mind relaying the events over and over, no matter how much you want to shove them down, push them away. It’s almost impossible to focus on anything else. You entertain the glimpses of his expressions, how he unravels at your touch…they all keep floating to the surface of your brain and it’s both a nightmare and a dream. You’re not sure which.
He's always been open about his feelings. It’s never been a secret. He makes it everyone’s problem, for fuck’s sake. But now, seeing it firsthand, how he reacts to the slightest brush of your fingers…it’s different now. You don’t know how to feel about it.
“Yoooo,” Itadori’s voice snaps you back to the present, his hand waving in front of your face. You blink a few times, jerking back into reality as his curious eyes meet yours. “We’ve been trying to get your attention. Everything okay?
You force a smile, but it feels strained and awkward on your lips. It’s like a mask that doesn’t fit you.
“Yeah,” you lie right through your teeth, strained to your own ears. “Just a lot on my mind.”
You haven’t noticed Gojo excused himself at some point—how long has it been since he left the room? Not like it matters that much to you. Because even when he isn’t present, his energy clings to the air, inescapable, suffocating. Unforgettable.
Fushiguro leans back in his chair, arms crossed, his eyes narrowing slightly as he assesses your reactions.
“Is it Gojo?” he asks, his voice a low, irritated grumble.
You hesitate, your fingers clenching around the pencil.
“…No,” you manage to say, the words slipping through your teeth with a bit of difficulty. “Other stuff.”
Itadori, ever the peppy optimist, flashes you a heartwarming grin. His sincerity can get so annoying sometimes, but endearing all at once.
“Enlighten us? Maybe we can help!” he suggests.
You shake your head, avoiding eye contact. You hate lying to him. “Nah, too dark.”
Itadori is unconvinced, his beady eyes focused on you. “You sure?”
“I’m good,” you insist, hoping your forced smile will suffice. “I swear.”
“She gets harassed enough by Gojo,” Fushiguro interjects with a snarl, swatting at Itadori’s head to knock some sense into him. “Knock it of, Yuuji.”
Before the conversation drifts to another direction, a voice cuts through the room like a blade.
“Yeah, Yuuji Itadori,” Gojo’s voice drawls in a playful way from behind you. You don’t have to see him to know his smirk is ever present on that stupid face of his. “Annoying her to death is strictly my territory.”
You stiffen in place, your muscles tensing as Gojo’s presence draws nearer. You don’t want to turn around; you can’t. His stare presses into your back, seeping through your skin like a stain.
“Alright guys, I think we covered everything we needed to today. Go enjoy the rest of your day, yeah?” he instructs after clapping twice, officially dismissing the students.
You don’t hesitate to scurry past him, the scrape of your chair echoing in the classroom as you hop to your feet. You don’t look back. As soon as the words of dismissal leave his lips, you’re up from your desk, making a beeline for the exit. You think you make it, your feet dragging you toward the sweet embrace of freedom—
--His hand is on your shoulder before you take another step. His grip is firm, not tight, but secure enough to make chills surge through your body. Every muscle in your body is screaming at you to run, but it’s like you’re stuck in place—pinned by the overpowering force of his presence.
“Hey,” he drawls, a soft, teasing purr that causes your skin to tingle. His lips graze against the shell of your ear as he chuckles. Your cheeks flush deep from heat. You curse your body for giving you so much Hell around him.
“Sensei,” you state, voice sharper than intended, yet it still lacks the strength you wish it normally has. “I’m just trying to enjoy the rest of my day, just as you instructed.”
He hums in response, breathing down your sensitive skin.
“Satoru,” he bites back in a growl, his lips still brushing the curve of your ear before nipping at it, a playful gesture that makes you jump in place. He soothes the sting with a few passes of his tongue, and you shiver.
“Say it,” he goes on again. “Say my name.”
You grit your teeth, annoyance laden in your tone.
“Satoru,” you mutter, the irritation in your tone clear. “What do you want?”
He chuckles again, but this time there’s a bit of an edge to it—that same, primal edge.
“You know,” he quips, and before you retaliate, his hand is guiding yours to his lap, and your breath hitches as you feel his unmistakable hardness pressing against his slacks again. He slips his cock out from his confines this time, and in an instant, he wraps your hand around his shaft. Your fingers trace the heat of his length. This time, he doesn’t plan on holding back. The realization of what’s happening dawns on you, and your mind is screaming bloody murder at you to knee him there and see how he likes it, but you don’t. You don’t know why you don’t.
You’re not surprised that he’s not lacking in this department either. So he’s not overcompensating.
“Like what you see?” he teases in a low, silken tone, his free hand sliding up to our neck, fingers wrapping gently around your throat and applying just enough pressure that sends a thrilling jolt through your veins.
“Someone might…see,” you manage through a choked gasp. Gojo glances over his shoulder, ensuring the door is locked, leaving no room for interruption because he won’t allow it.
His head dips lower, his soft lips pressing against the curve of your neck, planting soft kisses along the exposed skin as your hand strokes him, jerking him. His breathing quickly grows ragged, his shaggy white hair brushing against your cheek as his hips roll into your hand.
He’s letting go around you. You can’t believe you’re the one doing this to him. Satoru Gojo is the pinnacle of the jujutsu society, seeming so untouchable, just out of reach. The one who’s been blessed in any and every aspect of his universe. But here, his control is slipping at just your touch.
It’s…not just kind of sexy. It’s really fucking sexy. You will never give him the satisfaction of telling him that.
He clutches your waist, his fingertips digging into your skin and you bite back a whine.
“Fuck, baby, please, stop torturing me,” his voice is a soft, broken cry, and you chew on your bottom lip.
Your eyes flutter a bit, a little dazed and you’re untouched. Entirely focusing on his release. You’re not sure why you’re letting this happen. Probably because there’s not much you can do. If he’s so tormented by the prospect of your existence, then shouldn’t you feel an obligation to grant him some kind of respite?
Why do you even feel that way? You shouldn’t even care, and yet…here you are.
You assess his debauched expression with a soft stare. His face is flushed, his lips parted as he pants for breath, purring your name over and over again. His eyes—half-mast, glassy—flicker open, and you lock gazes. The intensity of his gaze makes your heart flutter.
“Say my name,” he rasps out, pleading.
“Satoru,” you breathe, your voice barely more than a whisper.
“Are you…close?” you murmur, your thumb ghosting over his tip leaking with pre. He chokes on a gasp at that, and you don’t know why you feel so powerful in that moment. Probably because you can make the strongest sorcerer of the modern age like this and you’re barely doing anything much. You don’t think so, anyway.
Your breath hitches. Any smart retorts you may have, have died on your tongue long ago because it’s no longer applicable. You’re right into his hands; he’s putty in yours. Quite literally.
He tightens his grip on your waist and hunches further over as a distinct confirmation. He’s chasing the friction with your hand, his hips bucking in tandem with your strokes.
“More,” his voice is now an uncontrolled falsetto, and you jerk his cock in time with hie hips. “Fuck. More…”
And here you are, the one in control, stroking him faster, harder, watching him fall apart to your touch. You remember telling yourself you wouldn’t stroke his ego or any physical part of his body, but you’re doing exactly that now.
You’re such a fucking liar. He mewls your name, catching your attention.
“Fuck, baby,” he whimpers, jerking into your hand faster until shots of seed leaks from his tip, hot and sticky and gooey. His head drops to your shoulder as he catches hie breath.
He pulls away a bit, his half-lidded gaze meeting yours. He looks all dazed, delirious…satisfied. He leans in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss full of heat and passion, his tongue twirling around yours. When he breaks the kiss, a thin line of spit connects your tongues before he cuts it with a twirl of his own wet muscle, his eyes still never leaving yours.
You’re trapped in a state of shock, your mind spinning. You don’t know how to feel—should you be angry? Repulsed? Relieved? You don’t know. All you know is that he’s getting his way, and it’s pissing you off.
Gojo steps back from your personal bubble, moving toward his desk with his casual nonchalance, leaving you reeling. He once again retrieves a disinfectant cloth, wiping himself clean before tossing that and retrieving a fresh one, cleaning your hand and face as if nothing out of the ordinary just transpired.
You’re frozen, your mind grappling with the current reality as he finishes cleaning you up. He flashes a little smile.
Your lips curl into a soft pout, that frustration still burbling beneath your skin.  
“What?” you demand, voice lighter than you intended—softer, more out of curiosity. He rests his hand—large, calloused, warm—on your cheek, brushing his thumb over your soft, plump lips. The tenderness of the gesture feels a bit foreign to you.
“Mine,” he growls low and gravelly. His eyes, usually filled with mischief and scheming a way to annoy or embarrass you, are shining with pure affection instead. You feel like he’s seeing right through you, and with those legendary Six Eyes of his, you might not be far off. He can read everything about everyone and anything. He’s always constantly processing everything with his Six Eyes and Limitless technique. His thumb presses into your ilps, gentle at first, before grazing the tips of your teeth.
“Gojo…?” His name spills from your lips, tentative, as his thumb pushes further, brushing your tongue now, as your senses are now hit with a tang of salty skin.
“Satoru,” he corrects in a sharp tone, his frown deepening, dissatisfaction etching across his stupidly handsome features. His eyebrows furrow, that little crease forming in frustration. Your attempts to pull away irritate him—it’s clear in his actions. “I don’t answer to Gojo or Sensei with you anymore.”
His words are definitive, absolute. He carries authority like he always does.
And it’s so fucking maddening.
“Satoru,” you try again, your voice faltering as his thumb presses deeper onto your wet muscle, warm and insistent against it. Your heart skips a beat; your heartrate speeding up as heat flushes across your skin. “What… what are you doing?”
He grins that easy, carefree smile you’ve seen thousands of times. Now it feels different. Dangerous, as his sparkly blue eyes twinkling with trickster energy. He might rival Loki himself.
“Assessing how pretty my girlfriend’s pussy is,” he answers easily, waiting for your reaction. “Especially when you’re riding my face the way you will my cock.”
His crassness, though usually expected, still catches you off-guard, and more heat rushes to your cheeks. Your breath is lodged in your throat, embarrassing consuming the very core of your being like a wildfire.
“Did… did you just call me your girlfriend?” your voice wavers, caught between disbelief and something else…something that feels a little bit like…flattery?
Oh, Hell has certainly frozen over.
“And stop being so lewd!” you add in an icy tone.
He responds with a rich and lazy chuckle, far too pleased with himself.
“Don’t act so shocked, gorgeous; don’t dance around what’s been happening since you got here,” he coos. His thumb slides down, grazing your bottom lip. “Mine.”
You step back slightly, gripping his wrist and brushing him off; impressing yourself that you keep your touch firm when you’re trembling on the inside.
“Satoru,” you start again, trying to regain some semblance of control—some clarity amid all of this chaos.
“Yes, honey?” he addresses you in a low purr, teasing and commanding, making hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.
He’s looking at you like he’s already won.
This fucking guy needs to be put in his fucking place.
You chew on the inside of your cheek, resisting the urge to sigh. That frustration is still simmering beneath you; your foot tapping against the polished wooden floor, the sound sharp in the quiet classroom.
“What the hell is this?” you demand, narrowing your eyes into slits at him.
He tilts his head at you, folding his arms over his chest in that casual way of his. The movement causes his shirt to pull tight across his chest, emphasizing his taut lines.
“Isn’t it obvious? Or is your stupid showing?” he quips, but his voice is not in jest; it’s in a more serious manner. You’re impressed he can even take this seriously. “I’m yours, and you’re mine. It’s not rocket science, or some complex cursed technique, you know.”
You part your lips to protest, but he cuts you off, eyes flickering with something dark.
“Yeah, but—!”
“—but nothing,” he interjects, voice firm. “Mine.”
Your frustration finally boils over.
“No,” you growl, taking a few steps forward, forcing him to really look at you eye to eye. “You answer me. You owe me that much right now, Satoru.” You hate that your voice is trembling now, emotions raw and unfiltered because you have nothing to lose here.
He drags out a defeated sigh, the tension in his body easing as he relaxes his body. His eyes remain locked on yours.
“Fine.”
“Tell me the truth,” you demand, your voice low yet firm—a crackle of lightning in a raging storm. “What is this to you?”
He studies your face. When he speaks up, his voice carries a softer tone. More genuine.
“It’s simple,” he answers, carefully selecting his words. “You give me all of you. I give you all of me.”
His fingers trail down your arm, stopping at your elbow.
“Is it really so hard to understand how bad I got it for you? I’m nuts about you,” he goes on, his expression is almost…vulnerable. Open. He’s usually so guarded in spite of his silliness. “This isn’t a game to me.”
He’s giving you a chance to grapple with what he just admits to you. He’s giving a piece of himself he hasn’t given to anyone else since…well, you don’t know. You haven’t known him for as long as the others.
You chew on your bottom lip, warring with the questions in your mind.
“So…” you hesitate, voice barely audible. “Why me?”
He runs his hand through his shaggy hair, his eyes flickering with something that feels out of place. Raw. Honest. Something you’re so unused to seeing in Satoru.
“I mean, don’t you get it?” he sighs, almost to himself.
“Don’t you know how rare it is for someone to get my attention?”
You take a moment to process his words. You know they carry more weight than a casual, generic compliment. So far from sweet nothings. It’s a crack in all those layers he set up for himself. You’re peeling away at some of them.
“That’s not a direct answer,” you counter in a firmer tone, as a frown stresses your features. You won’t let him get away with just that.
His shoulders sag a bit in defeat.
“Then why don’t I just show you?” he suggests, his voice smooth, the challenge in his tone unmistakable. The atmosphere shifts like gears.
Before you can even process what he’s told you, Satoru hoists you by your bottom in a fluid, effortless motion, like you weigh a can of grapes to him (and you may as well have). Your back hits the hard surface of his desk with a thud.
His hands, gentle, but rough, trail down your thighs, his touch electric and the air between you growing thick and staticky, making shivers crawl down your spine. He meets your gaze, his electric blue eys locked onto yours. It’s too much to bear. Too much!
“May I?” he asks, his voice low and gravelly like earlier. His fingers hover just below the hem of your clothes. He’s so close yet so far away and you can’t believe you want this. You can’t believe you’re letting this play out. Maybe you like him more than you care to admit to yourself.
While he poses the question, his eyes tell you he already knows your answer.
Words dying on your tongue, tension in your body winding tight like a wind-up toy…
You bite your lip. With a barely perceptible nod, you grant him the permission.
In that same fluidity and effortlessness, he slips off your pants along with your panties, the fabric falling unceremoniously to the ground, leaving you fully exposed to him. The cool air nips at your skin, sending a ripple of goosebumps over your body as he spreads your legs wide across his desk. You’re vulnerable, laid bare before him, but the way he looks at you…you feel like you’re on top of the world.
Satoru’s gaze flits downward, and his liips part slightly as he takes in the gorgeous, raw sight of you, glistening in your natural arousal already. He licks his lips absently, a soft, animalistic sound escaping from deep in his throat.
“And you claimed you weren’t into it,” he purrs, his breath fanning against your sensitive flesh. The words are so teasing, so trolling, like he always is, but the effect he’s going for is anything but playful for you. Your body jerks involuntarily.
“Mean,” you pout, your lips forming that irresistible curve you know now that he can’t resist.
But you doubt Satoru’s going to give you any mercy here.
He shushes you, his voice a soft command as he leans in closer, his nose barely grazing your sensitive sex. Slowly, he uses both his hands to peel apart your folds, the movement achingly intimate. His eyes glisten with something almost feral as he whistles softly at the sight he’s been blessed to behold. Then, carefully, he dips a finger between your folds, gliding it along the slickness building there. His touch is feather-light, teasing, reverent, causing more heat to pool low in your belly and your groin.
“Look at that,” he teases, dragging the pad of his finger through your wetness, making you squirm under his touch. “All soaked for me. God, that’s the highest compliment in the world, baby. You have no idea.”
Your face burns from embarrassment, the flush spreading down your neck like you’ve caught a fever.
“Shut up,” you whimper as you feel his breath ghosts over your core again; the anticipation is worse. It’s so much worse. He eyes it for a few moments too long before finally sinking his teeth into the delightful meal that’s you.
The moment his tongue hits your sensitive flesh, a jolt of electricity shoots through your entire body. He starts from your entrance, rolling his tongue slowly up through your goopy folds, tracing a deliberate pattern toward your clit. The wetness, the gooeyness, everything leaves you breathless. You jolt in place, your back arching off the desk, but Satoru’s strong hands are quick to keep you steady. But his grip is tender yet firm.
His hands find yours, fingers intertwining with a kind of gentleness that is quite the juxtaposition to the party going on between your thighs. His thumbs brush over your knuckles in a soothing gesture, grounding you as his tongue pokes and prods at your sensitive flesh, lapping at your slick, gooey folds. He makes low groans, soft hums, little whimpers like he’s honored to finally do this.
It's so mean. It’s too much.
“Relax for me, gorgeous,” he purrs between fervent licks, his voice muffled slightly by the way he’s devouring you whole. The pressure coils in your stomach as his tongue continues to lap at your building slick, sloppy, wet, passionate. You can barely think straight now. The only thing swimming in your mind is Satoru, Satoru, Satoru. But you’ll never let him know that.
“Aw, fuck yeah,” he breaths, pulling back for a moment to speak and get an eyeful of your aroused, debauched state. “You have any idea how long I’ve been jerking off to the thought of this pussy?”
“Satoru!” you shriek, more out of embarrassment than indignation. Okay, maybe a little indignation. Each pass of his tongue makes every nerve ending in your body light up like fireworks!
“Stop being so lewd!” you demand, but there’s no real conviction behind your words.
He groans against you, the sound vibrating against your sensitive sex, and you’re squirming and writhing again beneath him and you know he’s savoring every minute of this, soaking this victory of his up like a sponge,
“I can’t help it,” he confesses, his voice ragged, breathless, reverent, as he continues to lap at your thick slick more urgently now. It’s messy, it’s sloppy, it’s wet, unrestrained, some of that thick slick catching on his chin. “You make me so wild, baby.”
He flicks his tongue over your clit, fast, hard, precise, and you swear you’re going to lose your fucking mind. Your mind is still spinning with Satoru, Satoru, Satoru, oh fuck. But you don’t want to say it out loud. It’s too much. It’s way too much
“And you taste so fucking good,” he growls, hoarse, that reverence in his tone still prominent, unmistakable.
Every roll of his tongue feels amazing. It’s dragging you under like the tides. You allow yourself to drown in the sensations, to live in the moment. Hie’s clinging onto you like you’re the only thing that matters in his world.
Finally, you feel something twitch down there, and something deep inside you snaps in two. The dam breaks, and you’re splattering more of your arousal on his face while screaming his name (something you can’t hold back now) which he gladly laps up like a thirsty dog, dramatically and loudly gulping down your slick as you come down through such an intense climax. Your pussy is still pulsating and he’s still licking along your gummy, sensitive skin, groaning at your natural taste; he tightens his grip on your hands, just slightly.
You find yourself pouting again when he pulls away, his lips and the bottom half of his face sheen from your slick. Your face is deeply red from arousal, panting as you come down. He shuffles around for more cleaning supplies, helping to wipe you down before helping himself.
“That convincing enough for you, gorgeous?” he inquires with a cheeky grin, sticking out his tongue in a petulant manner. He hums as he savors the taste of you still lingering on his tongue, dragging it along his teeth and catching any remnants of your taste.
“Fuck. That’s going to be amazing to come home to every day.”
“Satoru!” Your hands fly up to cover your face. “Stop! Stop! You’re being ridiculous!”
“I can’t help it,” he says again, prying your hands away from your face to get a good look at you in your flushed state. “Fuck, you’re beautiful. God, can’t you just let me spoil you now? Let’s stop dancing around this.”
“If you just stop being so….argh.”
“Like what, a pirate?” He strokes his chin as if lost in thought. “So when you say shiver me timbers, it’s because I’m making your legs tremble when I eat you out and worship you like the queen you are, right?”
You let out another frustrated groan and you so dearly want to wipe that stupid grin off of his pretty face! Why does he have to be so infuriating even now?? Even when you’re not wholly against the idea of being his girlfriend? It actually sounds kind of nice…
“OH MY GOD! SATORU! STOP!”
He chuckles, and a comfortable silence falls upon you both as you catch your breath.
“So does this mean you know how serious I am about you?” he finally asks, breaking through the silence. “I’m crazy about you. I’m nuts about you. I just want you to actually give me a chance to prove that to you.”
“There are so many more productive ways you could have gone about it,” you grumble with a shake of your head. “But fine, Satoru. You’ve earned this much. …I’m still a little pissed at you, but maybe you can make it up to me over time.”
“Deal,” he replies with a grin. “Just as long as I get to call you mine, and you get to call me yours.”
He cups his ear and leans in toward you, his grin not moving. “Now let me hear you call me yours.”
You roll your eyes in jest, leaning in toward him to whisper in his ear. “You’re mine, Satoru.”
His grin widens, and he pecks your lips, gazing into your eyes with pure adoration twinkling in them.
Yeah, you decide in your mind. You can give him a chance.
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raaorqtpbpdy · 3 months ago
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Times They Are A-Changin'
After Danny's coronation ceremony, Sam convinces the trio to go to Undergrowth's realm so she can collect some ghost plants. While there, Tucker accidentally lets slip something that's been on his mind that he'd hoped to keep a secret.
For the Prompts: Danny Phantom is now 16, and as such, is old enough to officially be crowned King of the Ghost Zone. His coronation is…an interesting ritual to say the least. The ghosts don't seem to see how odd it is, but Sam and Tucker definitely are uneasy with the whole thing. And Danny? He doesn't know how to feel. And that's a problem all in of itself. Bonus points for very creepy and Eldritch/Lovecraftian horror or analog horror. {from @sheabeeprime} Danny and Sam finally get their act together, but Tucker starts to get jealous. (Everlasting trio endgame) {from @modordracena} Sam convinces Danny and Tucker to make the trip to Undergrowth's lair so she can harvest clippings of some ghost plants. {from @thefloatingshoppinglist} and Vampire Tucker. That is all. {from @atropos-aeneas}
Read Also on AO3
[Warnings for mild language, blood, and mentions of eldritch horror]
Two years had passed since the ghost portal turned on and changed Danny's life forever—arguably by ending it, but Danny still refused to acknowledge that. As his closest friends, Sam and Tucker's lives had been changed too that day. And every day since.
A lot can happen in two years, as it turned out. Danny defeated the ghost king and in doing so became next in line for the throne. Vlad challenged him for succession rights on a technicality and got his ass handed to him. Tucker got turned into a vampire. Sam started started studying witchcraft so as not to be left out of the supernatural loop. A few weeks ago, she and Danny had finally gotten their acts together and started dating—took them long enough. And most recently, just a few hours ago, they'd gone to Danny's coronation where he officially took the title of ghost king.
Now, they were stopping in Undergrowth's realm so Sam could harvest some clippings from ghost plants for her witch stuff. Danny and Tucker had both argued against it, since they had never been on good terms with Undergrowth, and of all the things that had changed over the last two years, that wasn't one of them. But then Sam pointed out that Danny was the Ghost King now and so as long as they were in the Ghost Zone, he was all-powerful.
Kinda hard to argue with that.
"I'm just saying," Sam said as she stroked the leaves of some kind of vine, taking in its appearance with a discerning eye, "That coronation was weird, babe. Tucker agrees with me!"
Tucker did agree with her, but at the moment he was more focused on her calling Danny babe and the way it kinda made his stomach hurt for some reason. "What? Oh, yeah. Coronation. Weird."
Danny rubbed his chest where the ghostly bishop had reached inside to touch his core. "It was... interesting," he said. "But there were thousands of other ghosts there, and none of them seemed to think anything was odd about it, so maybe that's just how ghost coronations are."
"Yeah, but they weren't the ones getting molested by some strange ghost priest," Sam pointed out. Apparently having deemed the vine a suitable specimen, she pulled a pair of clippers out of her purse and trimmed some leaves off, placing them in a small glass jar and corking it.
Tucker watched her, his thoughts conflicted between how strange she looked gardening when she was dressed to the nines for a royal coronation, and how absolutely radiant she looked. He bit the inside of his cheek, fang sinking through his own flesh as he reminded himself that she was Danny's girl and he could be keeping his eyes to himself, but the soft green glow of the ectoplasmic flora combined with her shimmering black dress made her look ghoulish in the most attractive way, and that was hard to ignore.
"He was a bishop," Danny said. Then he sighed and took the crown off his head, turning it over in his gloved hands with a frown. 
When Pariah Dark wore it, it was a crown of flames, but now that Danny was king, it had become a crown of frost, and the fractals of ice that covered it shone under the green glow like glitter. It went well with the cape, which was lined with stars so it glinted and sparkled when Danny moved.
It wasn't fair. Tucker was wearing his best clothes too, but he didn't look nearly as hot as his friends.
"I don't really know how to feel about the whole thing, honestly," Danny said. "Touching my core was one thing, but that part where everyone started chanting all that stuff about me becoming 'one with the Infinite Realms for better or for worse'? I mean I already don't like that they're explicitly accepting me as a ruler even if I fuck everything up, but... it made me feel... powerful. Like suddenly I could access all the energy from all the ectoplasm in the Zone just by thinking about it. It was such a rush, but also... kinda terrifying."
"It was terrifying to watch, too," Sam told him.
"Yeah, but also kinda cool," Tucker added.
During the chanting part of the ceremony, Danny had started to glow brighter and brighter green, then his form started to blur and expand until he really looked like he was merging into the ectoplasmic sky. Then the bishop formally pronounced Danny King of the Realms, and just like that, he was back to normal, albeit with a brand new cape and crown.
Sam hummed absently, and when she spoke it was in a whisper. "I don't know why... but it reminded me of the portal. You looked so... confused and distressed. You didn't scream like you did then, but... I don't know. Maybe I'm just drawing connections that aren't there."
She knelt down in the dirt to examine a flower.
Tucker wanted to go and comfort her, but he held himself back. That was Danny's job now.
"It didn't hurt," Danny told her, kneeling down next to her and putting a hand on her back. "I'm totally fine."
Tucker wanted so badly to lower himself with them—but they were the ones in a relationship, not him. He was just the third wheel. 
It had been three weeks of this. Ever since the two of them got together, Tucker had felt inexplicably jealous. At first he thought he wanted a relationship of his own, but he went on a couple dates with Ashley from school and it had only made him feel worse. After that didn't work, he thought maybe it was his new possessive vampire instincts. That was a thing, right?
Over the past couple days, though, he'd been starting to realize that it wasn't a relationship he wanted, nor was it his friend's time and attention. He wanted them. He wanted to be with them. The same way they were with each other.
He swallowed back his jealousy, and once they'd had their moment, he decided to change the subject to something a little less disturbing.
"Can we hurry this up?" he asked. "I'm starving, and there's nothing for a vampire to eat here in the Ghost Zone."
Sam huffed a sound that was halfway between a laugh and an exasperated sigh. "How is it that even as a vampire, food is the only thing that's ever on your mind?"
Food and you two, Tucker thought, not that he would be brave enough to say that out loud.
Sam reached into her purse and pulled out one of her corked glass vials. She seemed to carry around an unending supply of them ever since she started studying witch craft, both empty and occupied. This one was full of a thick red liquid that Tucker instantly recognized.
"Snack time!" she said, tossing the vial in his direction.
The old Tucker definitely would have fumbled it and let it break on the ground, but with his vampire reflexes, he caught it easily. 
"You just have this?" he asked her, his eyes flitting between her and the vial in astonishment. He uncorked it and took a whiff of the scent. It was undeniably human. "What kind of ultra-recyclo vegetarian carries around human blood in her purse?"
"The kind who's been practicing blood-letting for the benefit of her vampire friend," she said. "And can we please let the ultra-recyclo vegetarian thing go! Just say vegan. It's way faster and way less cringe."
Danny snickered a little at that, but Tucker barely noticed. In his mind there were just three words looping infinitely as he raised the vial to his lips and realized it was Sam's own blood he was drinking, sweet and rich.
"I love you."
He noticed his friends both looking at him, wide-eyed before he noticed that he'd voiced his thoughts out loud.
"Fuck!" he said emphatically. In an instant, he dropped the vial and with a speed only vampires were capable of, he disappeared into the dark, twisted jungles of Undergrowth's realm.
He stopped when he reached a copse of trees that formed something like a natural lean-to, and he curled up under it wondering how realistic it would be to wish for death when he was already undead.
He didn't know how long he laid there in the fetal position before he heard approaching footsteps crunching on the ground, and say up in alarm, unsure whether it was his friends, or some of Undergrowth's underlings, and even less sure which he would prefer.
It was a minute or so before they were close enough to smell who it was, even with his heightened senses, and the deep-seated sense of relief and joy at realizing it was Sam and Danny was not at all indicative of wanting to actually see and speak to them.
"Tucker? You there?" Danny's voice called out.
If Tucker's heart was still beating, it would have stopped. "How did you find me?"
"I'm not sure, really," Danny replied as his white boots came into view, Sam's platform combat boots joining them a moment later. Tucker didn't lift his gaze, not wanting to see their faces. "I could just kind of sense where you were. Maybe it's a ghost king thing. One with the Infinite Realms and all that. Can we talk about how you told my girlfriend you loved her and then sprinted into the wilderness?"
Well... it wasn't like things could get any worse, so fuck it, Tucker decided. "Not that it makes any difference, but I love you too, Danny," he said. It might not be too late to pass it off as a platonic 'I love you', but he found that he didn't really want to do that. "Didn't realize until you guys got together, though. Too little too late, I guess."
He didn't see the way Sam and Danny looked at each other, the silent conversation they had only with their eyes.
"Who said it's too late?" asked Sam.
He blinked in shock and tilted his head up to look at their faces for the first time since his accidental confession. They were smiling. Their expressions kind and full of fondness. Danny reached out a hand to help him up, and Tucker hesitantly accepted it.
"Everyone knows the three of us are a trio," Danny said lightly. "Practically joined at the hip. Wouldn't feel right to exclude you from anything you wanted to be a part of with the two of us."
"Not that we'd ever want to," Sam added.
For a moment, Tucker just stood there, frozen with overwhelming emotion. Then, he lurched forward and wrapped the pair of them up in a crushingly tight hug until Sam tapped his back, indicating that she couldn't breathe, and he loosened his grip on her slightly, but didn't release either of them. Sam was still human, but Danny didn't need to breathe.
"A you for real?" he couldn't help asking. "This isn't some kind of fucked up prank, or a dream?"
"Absolutely for real," Danny answered. "Sam's still catching her breath, but if she could speak right now, I'm sure she'd agree. We love you too."
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nobodyknowsimalesbian777 · 3 months ago
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Fuck You - Ellie (Tlou 2)
NSFW tags - sub!ellie, lowkey hate sex, eatting out (e!receiving), one pussy slap (e!receiving), mentions of cat and dina, Jackson (after Santa Barbara) setting
authors note : guess who's back 😛 everybody say thank you to my girlfriend for requesting ellie smut
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you and Ellie had been sent on patrol together, again. Maria refused to acknowledge Ellies obvious internal quarrel with you
her sideways glances and unimpressed scoffs had been getting under your skin for months now, and you were determined to figure out what her problem was,
unfortunately, the infected had other plans, 20+ runners surrounded you while you were checking the abandoned pharmacy, leading you here
stuck in a stock room alone with the girl who had been pissing you off all day
"I could have fought them." she muttered, dropping herself into a dusty office chair
you couldn't help but feel your eyes roll, choosing to fidget with your gun rather then give her the satisfaction of an argument right now
Ellies dissatisfied huffs were incredibly hard to ignore, you glanced over to see her bent forward in the chair, manspreading with her elbows rested on her knees
green eyes met yours "what?" she barked at you
you felt your irritation grow with her as you perched your rifle against the wall, and turned to her "what the fuck is your problem?"
her eyes shot open, clearly surprised to be questioned so directly. Incoherent stuttering was all you heard as she tried to formulate an acceptable answer
she leaned back, pushing back her hair as she huffed again
"is it because of cat? or dina?" she rolled her eyes at your probing "because I didn't do that on purpose, if you haven't noticed, the lesbian population in Jackson is pretty fucking limited!" you nearly shouted
"it's not about them! I-.. It's-..fuck." Ellie clamored, her cheeks flushing as you looked down at her
a wave of realization hit you, blushing your cheeks to match hers
your gaze fell on each other as you internally weighed the pro's and con's
you discovered the need to get laid heavily out weighed the possible repercussions, and within seconds you were on your knees in front of her
Ellies fingers fell on her zipper, her tattoo flexing as she slowly pulled it down, lifting her hips
you slid off her beat-up jeans, and were met with a wet patch that proved she was thinking about you longer then you thought
green eyes met yours as you grabbed the waistband of her briefs, sliding them off while keeping your eyes on hers
your eyes wandered down, and you immediately got to work licking a thick stripe up her pussy
slick leaked out of her aching core while you swirled your tounge around her sensitive clit
her fingers weaved into your hair as she firmly pulled you in
within minutes you had ellie bucking her hips up into your face, desperately riding you in search of release
slick covered the bottom half of your face before you shoved your tounge into her, watching as her back arched off her chair
Ellies moans and whines filled the room as she fucked herself on your face, so clearly close for you
right when you considered pulling away slightly to ask, you heard a long, high-pitched moan
her thighs tensed next to you as her orgasm took over, coating your tounge in her cum
Ellie shook as you pulled away from her, wiping your mouth on the back of your hand
"figured out what your problem was" you teased, lightly slapping her overstimulated clit
her green eyes rolled back "yeah, yeah, fuck you"
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h0efor2ho · 1 year ago
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Quantum Shift : From Friction To Fusion
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Yunho X Reader
WC : 3.1k
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TW : Enemies to ???, Brothers best friend Yuhno, Teasing, nickname (Sunshine) masterbation, fingering, mind games,
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You could pin point the exact moment, you decided you hated Jeong Yunho. It wasn't when you were 4 and he stole your butterfly net, or when you were 7 and and he used all the slides for your microscope without asking. It wasn't when he copied your science fair project or when he removed all the labels from the bottles in your micro-chem kit. No the moment you felt pure, unbridled hatred for Jeong Yunho was when you were 13 years old and he announced that he would be going to MIT for physics when he graduated high school. That wouldn't have been a problem if that wasn't your exact plan as well. And how did Yunho know your plans, well you could thank your big mouth twin brother, and Yunho's best friend, Mingi, for telling him every aspect of your life. 
You learned from an early age you would be stuck with Yunho in some compacity of life with how close him and Mingi were. But you thought it would end after high school. You thought college was going to be a fresh start for you. No longer competing with him, no longer trying to be one step ahead of him. All through high school you pushed yourself. You didn't party, you studied like it was your life force. In the end it was all for not. Sure you graduate with a 4.0 but Yunho beat you by 1 point for valedictorian. When acceptance letters go out, Yunho gets his first and of course he got into MIT. Your's comes three days later, along with Mingi's. All three of you getting accepted. 
Sure MIT wasn't huge but you thought you could at least avoid Yunho durning the day. It didn't help that you knew he would be at the apartment you shared with your brother 90% of the time. So your anger was justified when Yunho's dumb face showed up in more than half your classes that first day. His face breaking into a smug smile as he sat behind you, leaning forward as he did to say "Its just like old times" knowing it would get to you.
That was two months ago, and you haven't said one word to him since. Not a single word spoken in class, not one hello muttered when you leave your bedroom and find his lengthy frame on your couch with Mingi. Not even a look back at him now as you'r sitting in a stuffy lecture hall in a Modern Astrophysics class with Yunho's foot tapping the back of your chair. You refuse to acknowledge that the action is getting under your skin, doing so would give him the satisfaction he is looking for and you will not give that to him. He has been doing these little things over the last two months to try and get you to break, to talk to him.  
When your professor is done explaining a new paper you have to write and ends class you quickly make your way to the library, checking out the books you need and finding yourself a table to spread out on with your laptop. It's a Friday evening after 6pm, it's practically empty so it's noticeable when Yunho's 6 foot frame makes its way across the rows of book shelves and to a table two rows across from you. You try your best to ignore him, even thought you can feel his eyes on you. Finally looking up and meeting his gaze you watch as he holds your stare, eye brow hitching up and a small smirk playing on his lips. The site of him infuriating you to your core. 
You throw yourself into your paper, determined to finish it tonight. You had but in your headphones, allowing Franz Gordon's piano melodies to take over your subconscious and focus. Before long you have finished typing the last sentence of your paper. Looking at your watch you realize it's past 1am. You groan as you start to gather the books you were using to put them back. You allow your eyes to shift up for half a second to notice Yunho is no longer there. The table he was occupying now sits empty. You don't spend to much time thinking about when he left or where he went. If he finished his paper or not. 
After putting all the books back you quickly gather your things and make your way to the apartment you share with your brother. Quietly making your way inside as it's almost 2am now and you know how cranky Mingi gets if he's woken up. You quickly wash up and get yourself ready for bed. You can feel the exhaustion deep in your bones as you crawl into bed. Setting your alarm for 7am and turning on your white noise machine to help drown out any snoring that is garunteed to come from Mingi's room at some point in the night, your sound asleep before a minute even passes. 
You'r first thought when you jerk awake in the morning is that someone in your apartment is working with machinery. The loud whine-grinding noice coming from down the hall is obnoxiously loud. The second think you notice is the sun isn't even all the way in the sky yet. You reach for your phone to check the time and notice 1) it's only 5:15am on a Saturday morning. 2) You have about 5 missed calls from Mingi and 2 from a number you dont have saved in your phone around 2-2:30am. You think how that's odd since Mingi was home in bed with you. The whining grinding noise cuts through your thoughts again. You'r going to kill your brother for waking you up this early on a weekend.
You kick off your covers and stomp your way out of your room. It was too early for your brother to be making all this kind of noise. Rounding the corner, rubbing the sleep from your eyes you start your beratement of him "Mingi, its Saturday at 5am, its way t-" the words die in on your tongue when you take in the site before you. It in fact is not your twin brother, but his best friend, all 6'1" of him. Your mouth gape's open like a fish out of water before you snap it shut. He's shirtless, grey sweatpants hung low on his hips, his hair tussled from sleep. 'Why are his arms so big' you silently question as your eyes take him in. You would never admit it out loud, but Yunho had your ideal body type. You knew Mingi dragged him to the gym with him every so often and it showed. His biceps corded in muscle as he leans on the counter, his chest defined and leading down to his stomach that you know if you rested your head on would not be to hard or to soft. 
"Oh hey" he says to you as he opens the coffee grinder, your realize that is the source of the noise that woke you. "What are you doing here?" you blurt out "And where is my brother?" you tear your eyes from his long delicate fingers and the veins that run along his hands and back up to his eyes. Those big chocolate brown eyes that are now studying you carefully. "Oh she speaks" he says with a lazy half smile. "I was starting to worry you may have gone mute there sunshine" You hate the way your eyes track his stupid mouth and the way it quirks up. "I can speak just fine. I just chose to not speak to you. Now where is Mingi?" You watch as Yunho fills the french press with the fresh coffee grinds before adding the hot water from the kettle next to him before turning back to you. 
You suddenly are very aware that you are only in an oversized t-shirt and underwear. You had rushed out to the kitchen to yell at who you thought was your brother, you didn't bother with pants. Now you wish you kinda did with the way his gaze falls to the hem of your shirt that hits mid thigh. "Your brother sunshine, decided it would be a great idea for him and his math buddies to go to one of those uni parties" he lets the words hang between you as he pushed the pump down on the press. "Okay so that means he's where?" you question back. 
"He is currently passed out in his bed, and will be nursing a hang over today since they all got shit faced last night and he called me at 2am to come pick him up after he couldn't get a hold of you" You watch as his large hand reaches up and loops his finger through the handle of two mugs, pulling them from the cabinet. "Thanks for answering my call too by the way" He glances over at you "It was fun trying to figure out where his keys were while he was drunk at 2:30 in the morning" he turns and opens the fridge looking before his brows furrow. He looks over at you "Where is the 'sugar free sweet and creamy' creamer" he asks. "In the back, in the black glass bottle. Mingi will use it all if I don't switch the container" he bends down again and looks harder. "Ugh Y/N there are like 5 of those bottles back here." 
You roll your eyes, and stomp over to the fridge, lightly pushing his shoulder out of the way so you can look. "Yunho those are grey bottles, there is only one black frosted bottle back here" you say as you reach in and grab the bottle. "Seriously, for someone who is sooooo smart you sure ar-" the words die in your throat and your breath hitches as you feel a hand land on your hip. The back's of your thighs brush against the warm fabric that you realize is Yunhos sweat pants. You quickly turn and your face is inline with Yunhos bare chest. Only about 3 inches separate the two of you. You try and take a step back, but your back meets the cold surface of the refrigerator. He has you pinned, hand still on your waist.
You tilt your head back to look up at him, finding him already looking down at you. You hold your breath as he leans down, his breath fanning across your face as his hand wraps around the bottle of creamer in your's "Thanks sunshine" leaning in closer, he drops his voice. "By the way, the blue suites you" Your face must morph into the horrific embarrassment you felt on the inside because when he pulls back to look at you he lets out a small laugh while tracking your face. You can feel the blush sweeping across your face as he takes you in. Gaze sweeping from your eyes to your mouth, your neck. He watches the rapid rise and fall of your chest as your heart speeds up. 
"Ughhh my head" you nearly jump out of your skin when you hear your brothers voice come from behind Yunho. You automatically shrink back against the refrigerator as Yunho studies you. "Yea you're gonna feel like shit all day buddy" he says to your brother without taking his eyes, or his hand, off of you. "Why don't you go shower and I'll make you a cup of coffee" Your brother lets out a groan as he enters the kitchen, stopping in his tracks when you see's Yunho looming over you. "Ugh am I interrupting something?" his eyes shift from Yunho to you and back. Thankfully the way you are angled he cant see Yunhos hand gripping your hip like his life depends on it.
"Nope" Yunho says still without looking at you "Y/N here was just showing me where the coffee creamer was as she was telling me how blind and stupid I am. Isn't that right sunshine?" Neither of you look away as you shake your head yes. Mingi just looks at you for another minute "Well I'm happy you two can be in close proximity without trying to kill each other now" he smiles at you as you look at him "I'm going to take that shower. Maybe we can have breakfast after" you watch as he turns and walks out of the kitchen. You and Yunho stay where you are. Eyes locked, his large hand still gripping your hip, your shirt bunching up higher on your thigh from it. 
Neither of you move, not as Mingi pads down the hall way. Not when you hear the door to the bathroom click close. Not when you hear the shower turn on. Neither of you move until you hear Mingi let out a loud sigh and the sound of water splashing on the shower floor. Signaling he is indeed in the shower now. Two things happen, they happen so fast it takes a moment for your mind to wrap around them. Yunho pries the bottle of creamer out of your hand, placing it on the counter next to you. His hand then comes back to you, gripping your other hip. He steps into you, pushing you back up against the refrigerator more. His large, thick thigh sloping between yours. 
"Why do you insist on doing this to me?" he whispers. "Why do you keep putting me though this?" His eyes searching yours. You don't know what he is referring to. Your breath hitches as his thigh connects with your body. "I...I don't..." your mind cant form words. You can't think. You hate Yunho.. but you can't deny the feeling growing low in your stomach. You have to get away from him you think. 'He's trying to get me to embarrass myself' your mind is racing now. You slowly bring your hands to his chest. Your palms burn as they connect with his bare skin. "Let me go" you say, voice not as strong as you want it to be. His grip on you falters for a second. "I..  I dont know what game you're playing at Yunho, but leave me alone." You push slightly, he allows you to remove himself from you as you make your way around him. "Y/n im not-"
"Enough Yunho. I know we hate each other and are always trying to out do each other but please don't try and lie and tell me your not trying to get in my head and mess me up" You quickly flee back to your room, your blood rushing in your ears you barley hear him calling your name as he follows you. You quickly shut your door behind you, blocking him out his voice dies in the hallway. Your heart is racing, breathing coming in small pants. 'What the fuck was that' you think to yourself. You never thought in a million years Yunho would use those kind of tactics on you to try and mess with your head. 
He must have heard how flustered you get when it comes to anything intimate. You weren't a prude but your list of experiences were quite small. You had, had sex before with a ex boyfriend but it was nothing extravagant. In fact it was a little disappointing, and then when he broke up with you after stating that it wasn't exciting enough for him well you just went back to focusing on your education. You knew he told people you weren't that great in bed, mean while it was him that didn't seem to know what he was doing. You knew Yunho had been friends with him before that, he must have told him how flustered you got and decided to use that against you. You should be mad, furious even.. But you cant deny the feeling pooling low in your stomach. 
A feeling you haven't felt in a long time. You shake your head. It's Yunho, Jeong Yunho for god sakes. Your academic rival. You hate each other! So why are you so turned on by the memory of him pinning you to the refrigerator? You quickly strip out of your underwear and crawl into bed. You know you have to take care of this or it will consume you. Slowly you allow your hand to travel down your body till you reach your core. You were wet.. 'god I hope he didn't notice' you think. It wasn't because of him per-say you tell yourself, it was just the action its self. Your fingers quickly glide through your wet folds, finding your entrance with ease. You quickly insert two of your fingers in and work yourself up.It doesn't take long. Thoughts of Yunhos long fingers replacing yours. You think of the veins that run along the back of his hand and up his forearm. You're punching your fingers in and out of you at a fast pace, the heel of your hand coming down to put pressure against your clit.
 You quickly slap your other hand over your mouth as you approach the edge. Your pants turning into uncontrollable moans, the squashing sound of how wet you are filling the room. All while thinking about your brothers best friend and the man who is the cause of 90% of your troubles. It doesn't take long  before your back is arching off the bed and your core is clenching around your fingers. You come down in a hazy realization your just fingered yourself to Yunho. If he knew he would make fun of you to no end. Getting off to someone who hate you and you hate.You quickly clean yourself up before opening your text book and dive into studying, determined to never thing about what you just did ever again. Shame burns you from the inside out... How are you ever going to look at him again...
You successfully avoided Yunho over the next three week. You don't leave your room when he's over, you get to class right before it starts and run out as soon as it's over. You haven't gone to the library in three weeks for fear of seeing him. It was all going great till your advanced physics teacher announced you would be doing a partnered research paper. You hated group or partnered work but you saw how working with others is crucial in the science world so you always sucked it up. You were mentally preparing yourself to have to work with a stranger when you opened the roster he had e-mailed out along with the topic you had to cover. You found your name, next to it the subject "The Law Of Attraction and how it can be applied to science" but your stomach dropped when you saw who you were partnered with. Because next to your name was none other then...
...Jeong Yuhno...
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Dividers by @saradika-graphics
Tag list ; @tunaasan
If you'd like to be tagged in pt 2 please let me know :)
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rizzmura · 5 months ago
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under your skin; kisses
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enemy!niki x fem!reader
warnings: strong language, mild sexual tension, suggestive themes, enemies-to-lovers dynamic, light teasing/flirting, angst, heated banter, emotionally charged moments
w.c.: 2.7k
chapter three synopsis: after an especially heated argument, emotions run high. before you know it, the insults turn into a kiss that neither of you were expecting. it’s raw and intense, and for a moment, all the anger fades into something deeper. but when it’s over, you both pull away, unsure what this means for the two of you.
the air between you and niki crackled with tension. you could feel it. the words you exchanged, each more biting than the last, had been building up to this. you were standing in the middle of the hallway, your fists clenched by your sides as you glared at him. his smirk was as infuriating as ever, and you were barely holding it together. every fiber of your being wanted to scream at him, to shove him out of your life once and for all.
but there was something different now, something that hadn’t been there the first time you met him. something you refused to acknowledge.
"you're so damn annoying," you spat, your voice strained with barely contained anger.
niki took a step closer, his cocky grin not faltering. "you say that every time. maybe it’s not me who’s the problem."
"don’t flatter yourself," you retorted, stepping back but not quite enough to escape the heat of his presence. "you're just... the worst."
he was dangerously close now. you could feel his breath on your face, warm and steady. his eyes, that always seemed to hold a challenge, softened for just a moment. and that moment… that brief second when the world seemed to pause, it made everything feel surreal.
your heart was hammering in your chest, betraying the anger you so desperately clung to.
"you talk a lot of shit for someone who can’t even look me in the eye without getting worked up," he said, voice low. it wasn’t the usual mockery; it was something deeper. something you weren’t prepared to face.
and then, before you could even process it, his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist in a grip that was firm but not unkind. it was the only warning you got before he leaned in, his lips crashing into yours with a force that stole the air from your lungs.
for a moment, everything stopped.
the world, the hatred, the anger, all of it disappeared. you had no idea how to react—no idea if you should pull away or give in. the kiss was raw, fueled by every bit of frustration and confusion that had been building between you. it was more than just the clash of lips, more than just a moment of heated passion. there was something else to it. something unspoken.
you should have pulled away. you should have slapped him across the face, told him to fuck off, but you didn’t.
you kissed him back.
it was a kiss that shook you to your core, pulling you into a world where the lines between hate and desire blurred. his hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and you let him. you couldn’t stop it. you couldn’t fight the attraction that was suddenly overwhelming you.
and then, just as quickly as it had begun, the kiss ended. you both pulled back, breaths ragged, your hearts racing in a way that terrified you. neither of you spoke at first. the hallway felt suffocating now, the silence louder than any words could have been.
niki’s eyes searched yours, his expression unreadable. "well," he said, his voice a little hoarse, "that wasn’t what i expected."
you shook your head, trying to steady your racing thoughts. "what the hell was that?" you asked, though you already knew the answer. you were just too scared to admit it.
"exactly what it seemed like," niki replied, his smirk back in full force, but there was something else in his eyes. something softer. "you tell me. you seemed to be into it too."
you didn’t respond, too stunned by the shift that had just occurred. everything felt too intense, too much to process in a single moment. what did it mean? was this the start of something else? or had you both just crossed a line that couldn’t be uncrossed?
before you could gather your thoughts, niki was already stepping away, hands shoved into his pockets, and his cocky demeanor returned as if nothing had happened. "don’t go getting all emotional on me now," he teased, his voice casual, but you could hear the undercurrent of uncertainty.
"fuck you, niki," you muttered, trying to mask the confusion with anger.
"yeah," he smirked, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. "you really hate me, huh?"
the words hung between you two, thick with something unspoken. something neither of you were ready to address. but it was there, undeniable and undeniable.
you walked away, your mind spinning. you didn’t know what to make of what had just happened. you didn’t know how to make sense of the fact that you wanted more, despite every instinct telling you to stay away.
as much as you hated to admit it, things were changing.
and you weren’t sure you could stop them.
the days after that kiss were… strange, to say the least. everything felt heightened. every glance, every word exchanged between you and niki carried an undercurrent of tension that neither of you dared to address. you tried to act like nothing had changed, like the kiss had meant nothing, but the way he looked at you now was different. you caught him staring at you more often, his gaze lingering a little too long, his smirk less mocking and more thoughtful.
it was infuriating. and you hated that it made your heart race every time he was near.
the anger, the rivalry, the constant bickering—it was all still there, but now there was a strange charge between you that neither of you could escape. and every time you thought you could forget about it, it found its way back into your thoughts.
one afternoon, as you sat in the library, trying to focus on your work, you felt the familiar presence of niki hover nearby. you didn’t even need to look up to know he was there. his energy was undeniable. and, much to your annoyance, it had a pull on you, making it harder to concentrate.
you ignored him, kept your head down, and pretended that you didn’t feel the weight of his eyes on you. but then, just as you were starting to get lost in the pages of your book, his voice sliced through the quiet.
“still pretending it didn’t happen?”
you froze, your fingers gripping the edge of the book tighter. "shut up, niki," you muttered, doing your best to keep your voice steady.
his chuckle was low, almost playful. “you can’t really expect me to just forget, can you?”
you finally looked up, meeting his eyes. he was leaning against the table, his arms crossed, his usual smirk playing at the corner of his lips. but his eyes… they were different. there was an intensity to them now, something that hadn’t been there before.
"you’re not going to let this go, are you?" you asked, trying to hide the annoyance, but it was hard with the way your heart was racing.
“why would i?” he shot back. “you kissed me. you wanted it. you can’t tell me you’re not thinking about it too.”
the bluntness of his words hit you like a punch to the gut. you quickly looked away, unable to hold his gaze any longer. “it was a mistake,” you muttered under your breath, even though you knew it wasn’t true.
“is that so?” he didn’t sound convinced. “then why can’t you stop thinking about it?”
“i’m not thinking about it,” you lied, your voice shaky despite your best efforts.
niki stepped closer, his presence overwhelming. you could feel the heat radiating from his body as he leaned down, just inches from your ear. “you are,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “i can see it in your eyes.”
your breath hitched, and for a moment, you felt vulnerable in a way you weren’t used to. you hated how much he seemed to know about you, hated how he could break through your defenses with just a few words. but there was something else, something you couldn’t deny: the pull, the undeniable attraction that was only growing stronger.
“get away from me,” you said, but it lacked the conviction it once had. you didn’t mean it, not really.
his smirk grew, and for a second, you thought he might ignore you, push your boundaries further. but instead, he straightened up, a flicker of something else—something you couldn’t quite place—passing across his features.
“fine,” he said, but his tone was softer now, a little more serious. “but we’re not done, you know. i’m not letting this go.”
you didn’t know what to say to that, so you stayed silent. your heart thudded painfully in your chest as he walked away, leaving you to stew in the mess of your emotions.
he was right. you couldn’t just forget. you couldn’t pretend that kiss hadn’t changed everything. and no matter how hard you tried to deny it, the more you pushed him away, the more he pulled you in.
you couldn’t stop thinking about him. not now. not ever.
and for the first time, you were starting to wonder if you even wanted to.
the next encounter between you and niki happened late one night. you were heading to your car after a long day, the cool night air nipping at your skin. you hadn’t expected to see him again, but when you rounded the corner, you stopped short. there he was, leaning against the side of his own car, waiting for you.
“are you stalking me now?” you said, trying to sound annoyed, but there was a nervous edge to your voice that you couldn’t hide.
he chuckled, pushing himself off the car and walking toward you. “hardly,” he said, his voice smooth as ever. “just wanted to make sure we’re on the same page.”
you raised an eyebrow. “what’s that supposed to mean?”
he stopped just a few feet away, his eyes intense as they met yours. “you know damn well what it means.”
before you could react, his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist and pulling you closer. the sudden contact made your breath hitch in your throat, and you were about to protest when he silenced you with another kiss.
this one was different. slower. deeper. there was no rush, no angry energy between you now. just the undeniable pull of chemistry. his lips were gentle but insistent as he coaxed you into returning the kiss, and this time, you didn’t hesitate. you gave in.
for a moment, everything else faded away—the rivalry, the anger, the confusion—it was just the two of you, tangled in a kiss that spoke volumes more than words ever could.
when you finally pulled away, breathless and dazed, niki rested his forehead against yours, his hand still gently holding your wrist. “so,” he said softly, “i’m guessing this means we’re not enemies anymore?”
you swallowed, unsure of what to say. but as you looked into his eyes, you realized that you weren’t sure of much anymore. what you did know was that this… this was far from over.
"maybe," you said, your voice barely a whisper.
but the way he smiled at you told you everything you needed to know. the battle lines between you were starting to blur, and you were no longer sure if you were still fighting or if you had already crossed into something else entirely.
something you couldn’t escape.
and maybe, just maybe, you didn’t want to.
《》
tag list
@ramenoil @strawberrynull @si3rren @rikidaze @yangjungwonnie @hehabi @ijustreallylike2read
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ironunderstands · 10 months ago
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My reaction (or rather rebuttal) to this amazing theory by Lalody’s lore; and how I think it exposes a problem with theory making in general
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Now disclaimer, I would like to start off by saying that this is not an attack on the creator of this video in the slightest. This is a very well researched and thought out theory and I 100% understand why she came to the conclusions she did, even if admittedly I believe they are a bit of a stretch. I also am not here to debunk anything, lore is not my speciality or something I really care about in general, and admittedly I’m not very well versed in it even if I know the basics.
Rather, this post is going to be discussing this theory from a thematic/charaterization perspective, and why I think it’s wrong because of that- as well as how it exposes problems with theory making in general.
This is going to be mostly a stream of consciousness-style rant, and although I recommend you watch that video before reading this (both because it’s a) very good, and b) obviously relevant to the conversation), I’m going to be speaking very generally about the content in it, so you don’t necessarily have to watch it.
Alright, on with my major problem with this theory: ie, never in a million goddamn years would it make THEMATICALLY make for our dear Veritas Ratio to willingly become an aeon
His whole character is about being human and humanity man
Ratio, in essence, is the most human character in Honkai Star Rail, and I don’t mean that literally, as there’s reason to believe he isn’t.
Rather, him (as well as Aventurine and Acheron) are characters that embody the human spirit/what it means to be human.
I could talk about them at length later, but in Ratio’s case, the story makes a point that despite how remarkable his life and achievements are, he is still at his core, human, mundane, and not unique in the face of the universe- that is what makes him INTERESTING.
He objectively has amazing accomplishments- ones which by far qualify him to be a member of the Genius Society- Lalody mentions it herself (and thank god for that).
However, every step Ratio takes, he reaffirms his humanity and mundanity- LITERALLY
He calls himself a Mundanite constantly- hell he made a whole secret society of them, he believes that any person, fool or genius is capable of living their life to the fullest, and he dedicates his time trying to help them rather than chasing the stars himself. Ratio is very self aware, admitting he’s not good with people and can be rather abrasive, admitting he knows how he comes off to others, but refusing to change despite that because that’s who he is. His opening a chest voiceline has him saying that he accepts the material offer it values- like any man would. Never in Ratio’s life has he distanced himself or put himself above others, and the quest introducing him is called the MUNDANE and the Divine for a reason.
At his core, Ratio is no different from any other person and that’s what makes his objective exceptionality meaningful. He’s a character that smacks you in the face with how even the average person can achieve great things in live- that creativity and intelligence aren’t limited to Geniuses- aren’t limited to those acknowledged by Nous, by the divine.
Hell, that’s something I ripped straight out of his first character story because at his core this is who Ratio IS
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He is a rejection of the divine- not an embrace of it
To make Ratio an Aeon would take everything he stands for away, and be a direct spit in the face to how inspiring he is both in universe and for the players.
Making a character whose whole thing is saying “you do not need to be extraordinary to do great things,” and then going “hah psych he’s a god actually and this is unachiveable for normal people, just like every other genius- you know, the people he stands against!” would just suck. It would suck. I don’t have more intelligent words for this other than saying that doing THAT would suck ass.
It’s not that Ratio couldn’t become an Aeon, it’s that he would never WANT to be one. It would be the most tragic thing ever to do to him, and would hurt him in every way possible to do so. Tearing him away from the thing he cares about the most, from what defines him as a person would be worse than killing him off in my opinion, and in universe he would hate that more too.
There’s several reasons why he doesn’t like the Genius Society, and their disconnect from humanity is one of them. Hell, when Screwllum invited him to work together, Ratio instead of centering the project in aeons, chooses to focus on people instead. Screwllum likens them to both ends of the spectrum- with himself and the rest of the Genius’s exploring Divinity, and Ratio Humanity- or rather Mediocrity.
That’s also why me and my Screwllum loving friend believe that in “The Mundane and the Divine,” Ratio is the Mundane and Screwllum the Divine, so to make both of them divine would ruin that dichotomy, and the whole opposites thing he currently has going on with Screwllum, Ruan Mei, and the Genius Society in general.
If he’s an aeon- if he’s divine too, then who is left to be the mundane?
2) Why is he stealing Ruan Mei’s and Acheron’s nachos
If any of our playable characters are going to become an Aeon, it’s her for obvious reasons. From a meta perspective, pulling that same shit twice or robbing Ruan Mei of the plot line she deserves and slapping it onto Ratio is cheap and stupid, especially considering he’s her narrative foil which only again goes to prove that it wouldn’t make sense for him.
As for Acheron, the reason I mention her is because the only Aeon I can actually see Ratio becoming is the Existence- who a) probably already exists b) finding them is her storyline anyways, and if anyone is going to become them, it will be her c) although I absolutely believe Ratio’s personal philosophy is incredibly similar to Acherons, they’d actually have to interact on screen once before it would make sense for that to happen.
Either way, the theory itself is an interesting premise, but there are far better characters to ascribe it to, which leads into my final point.
3) Why the hell would the writers do this?
Just because they can doesn’t mean they should, and from a thematic and character perspective, I have already gone over why if they care to actually do his character justice, they would never ever consider making Ratio an aeon, unless it’s against his will or something.
Which is why I think this video is actually an exemplar of the problem with theory making in all fandoms now a days- ie; people don’t actually stop to consider whether their theories make sense in the story.
And I don’t mean logically. Honestly I’m going to call this the Game Theory Effect because they do it better than anyone- just because something can happen in a story doesn’t mean it should.
The writers could make Ratio an Aeon, they could go “oops it was all a dream” again in Penacony and local astrophysicists could theorize on how I managed to throw a brick at my computer at light speed. They could do literally anything and justify it in the process because HSR is a work of fiction, but that does not mean the story itself would be good.
This is more of a criticism of how people approach storytelling in general, seeing media only for their plots and not for their themes, which is frustrating beyond words, because at least in my opinion, the most interesting parts of stories are their themes. Also, I feel that when debunking theories, people should focus less about the logic behind them, and more about whether they would actually make sense or not to be involved.
Moreover, Lalody’s video raises some very interesting ideas, and it’s caused me to think of a storyline involving similar elements- but in an opposite direction.
What if Ratio was initially Divine- but willingly became Mundane. Maybe it wasn’t willing and he was forced to be this way, but either way, it would make far more sense- and be far more interesting- if we see him reject divinity rather than embracing it.
It’s no secret Ratio’s lore is sort of a black hole at the moment, which is half the reason why so many crazy theories about him exist- we barely know anything about the guy personally. However, I’d liked to see it filled in a way that doesn’t completely demolish his current character, or who he literally is currently, as I rather like Ratio in his present form, and a bait and switch might actually drive me a bit nuts, just saying.
There’s plenty of speculation to be had, especially considering that one Cosmodyssey occurrence that haunts my every waking hour game please explain, but I’d like the hsr community to move away from the “Ratio is super special and extraordinary” direction, because what makes him interesting is the fact that he ISN’T
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lilu787788 · 4 months ago
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Ever since I watched Shadow and Bone, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. The narrative was telling me one thing, but what I was actually seeing - the choices the characters made, the consequences of their actions lacked logic. I had hoped that Season 2 would correct this, but instead, it only deepened the problem. It took me a while to realize that Alina’s and Aleksander’s actions fit perfectly into ludonarrative dissonance. The story insists that Alina is the hero, the one destined to bring balance, while Aleksander is framed as the villain, the force that must be stopped. But when I step back and actually analyze their decisions, the truth is far more complicated than the show allows. Alina’s journey is presented as noble and necessary. She struggles, she learns, and ultimately, she destroys the Fold, a moment meant to symbolize her triumph over darkness. But the world doesn’t work in such simple terms. The Fold, though dangerous, was also a shield, an unintentional barrier that kept Ravka’s enemies at bay. Removing it did not bring peace; it removed a layer of protection for the very people Aleksander had fought for. The consequences of her choice are massive, but the story never truly forces her to reckon with them. As for Aleksander the narrative insists that he is the villain, that his power is something to be feared, that he must be stopped. But everything he does has a purpose. He does not destroy for the sake of destruction. He is not a tyrant seeking power for power’s sake. He has spent centuries ensuring the survival of a people who, without him, would be hunted, persecuted, and erased. At its core, his fight is against the extermination of Grisha. He does not act out of blind ambition, but out of a clear and painful understanding of what happens when Grisha are left vulnerable. He builds, he leads, he prepares for a future that others refuse to see. This is where the dissonance becomes impossible to ignore. The story portrays Aleksander’s strength as dangerous, while Alina’s is righteous, even though she wields the exact same kind of power. His methods are condemned, while hers are forgiven, even when her choices lead to instability. The story insists on reducing Aleksander to a villain, but when I look at him, I see a man carrying the weight of centuries, a man who has loved and lost, a man who understands that survival is not guaranteed butit has to be fought for. Alina does what she believes is right, and her heart is in the right place. But the story refuses to acknowledge that Aleksander, too, acts out of necessity, out of love for his people, out of a relentless drive to build a future where Grisha are no longer at the mercy of kings and armies. What frustrates me is how the story insists on simplifying something that is not simple. It tells me that Alina is light and Aleksander is darkness, when in reality, they are both so much more. They are two people carrying impossible burdens, two people who could have stood together but were torn apart by forces greater than themselves. And that is the real tragedy—not that Aleksander needed to be stopped, but that no one truly listened to him.
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marxistlesbianist · 9 months ago
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Genuinely logging onto international social media and discovering that the majority of people in the world view USAmericans as ignorant, arrogant pricks and the US itself as responsible for most (if not all) human suffering to-day has done wonders for my mental health. There is so much cognitive dissonance living in this shithole super-villain of a country, where everyone is miserable but also expresses constant gratitude toward their immiserators, refuses to acknowledge the obvious effects of their society on the wider world, and gets wildly aggressive and condescending every time you bring up the actual solutions to actual problems. Going online and reading what people outside the Imperial core have to say about me and my neighbors is such a relieving reality check that I might have gone insane without winding up here.
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wisteriasymphony · 2 months ago
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You answered my last ask better and more thoroughly than I could have imagined, so thank you for that. I have differing opinions on some things and seeing you whack Adrien with a stick still shocks me and makes me sad for him (and can occasionally be tough for me to digest), but I do keep coming back to see what you create.
I wasn’t sure if your treatment came from a place or hating him, but spite makes a lot of sense. Helps me understand your art much better so again thanks for answering my ask
No, I fucking love the guy. I absolutely adore that fool. Part of why I have written so much about him and refuse to let him go is because I'm hopelessly obsessed with his core concept.
In fact, a lot of the more whump-y stuff is built around satirizing Season 4 and my love-hate relationship with it? A lot of people have problems with what that season did to Ladynoir, myself included, and there were some lingering nitpicky things bugging me about the lovesquare and its canon and fanon treatment.
So, how do you satirize the concept of Chat Noir not being allowed to have an equal playing field to Ladybug and not being given the same information others are? Well, you write something where you can't argue that's not what's happening. You write Chat Noir as the team's Aquaman, always on the sidelines or cannon fodder for reasons he is not allowed to know.
How do you satirize the trash can scene and what it says about Ladynoir? You crank it up to eleven. Chat becomes victim to ridiculously violent slapstick comedy that nobody else bats an eye at.
How do you reconcile the undercurrent of Kuro Neko*, with Ladybug's reactions to Chat Noir adopting the people-pleasing persona he's developed as a survival mechanism for his abusive household implying that her core infatuation with Adrien is this very persona, with all of his flaws airbrushed in order to serve the whims of those around him?
You say yes. That's exactly it. You make every act of Adrien's (as Chat Noir) where he breaks from the rules imposed upon Adrien persona in attempts to make friends with his peers into something people despise him for. You make it inarguable, unmistakable that every action of Adrien's that isn't in service of him as a product or a paper-thin idea is one that people will hold against him. You take the conceit that nobody would like him as he is when he often falls so short of his advertised, perfect self, and you validate it, and validate it, and validate it.
...Of course, the story only starts for real when he finally quits. That's the whole point. The stick-whacking is to finally force him into situations where he'll have to show teeth.
Granted, I will concede that I did not take this line of thought to everything I could have, Chat's supposed harassment of Ladybug primarily. Is it entirely possible and fair game to do so? Yeah, I think so. But, at the time of starting to satirize all this I didn't really build out enough space within the narrative to tackle that, so acknowledging his own issues in that regard has been a lot more subtle and treated more as a general trait of "feeding into one's own idealistic fantasies of romance even at the behest of others to not do so". My treatment of parodying plot points has not been wielded equally, but frankly I think it'd be near impossible to do so within the confines of one narrative—I'm not even going to begin to tackle the ridiculousness of the Bourgeois family.
...Back to the main point: The emotional ouch of the stick-whacking is intentional and purposeful! There's a lot of wonderfully fucked up shit that I can't honestly say I think the writers thought through to its logical conclusion (or, are otherwise unwilling to). There's a lot of plot holes or questionable writing choices to turn into craters for the sake of spectacle. I don't know, I've been enjoying myself so far.
*NO HATE TO KURO NEKO I KNOW MANY OF MY MUTUALS ADORE IT AND ADORE CATWALKER AS WELL
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