#nor the teachers (in my case because i know their teacher and she's a good math teacher)

[error404vnotfound]

why is there such a big gap in teens' math knowledge man

im trying not to lose my mind as i tutor kids but still

i suffer

[charmedbystars]

Hey darling! Do you think you could write about e-42 miles realising his girlfriend needs glasses and having to force her to the opticians,please?

pairing: e-42 miles x stubborn reader

summary: miles realizes you need glasses, but you're adamant of not needing them.

content: no warnings!

a/n: i absolutely loved this request and i FEEL this because i hate glasses and live off of contacts only. i hope this is close to what you wanted:))))

miles and y/n had been dating for a couple of months now. it wasn’t a recent relationship where they both needed to be hesitant around each other, you guys were wayyy past that stage as shown by each other’s constant teasing and messing around. of course, miles was a bit closed off and reserved, but you were breaking down his walls surely and you were positive you guys had no boundaries at this point. 

everyone at brooklyn visions academy was shocked when they found out you two were dating. you were pretty known around school and were nice to everyone, being the opposite of miles, who had a small group of guys that he didn’t even hang with outside of school.

now, you guys didn’t announce it and it was more of a “private but not secret” relationship, so you nor miles paid attention to the chatter. 

which brings everything to you sitting in math class, the only class you have with your boyfriend. thankfully there was no assigned seating in that class so you sat next to miles. as much fun as it was sitting with miles, there was a problem… being that all you wanted to do was talk to him all class period. 

“i was thinking we go to that new bakery that opened and drop some off at your mom’s wor-”

“y/n l/n, would you please tell me what’s the answer to the equation on the board?” the teacher cut you off, obviously annoyed by your chatter.

standing up, you walked to the board and looked at the equation before telling her the answer, there was no way you got into visions and didn’t know how to answer this question. “mmm teacher think she slick trying to embarrass me,” you thought. the teacher raised an eyebrow, confused as to why you stood up and walked all the way to the board when you could’ve told her the answer from your desk. honestly, you didn’t even notice what you did. you just walked back to your desk peacefully and sat down again. 

“ma, you know you could’ve just told her, no need for all that walking up and down like this is a fashion show.” rolling your eyes at miles, “the school is my runway,” you responded.

the rest of that class zoomed by and it was time for lunch. you and miles had your own little schedule for lunch, some days you guys would sit together and other days you would sit with your respective friends. today was one of those days that you guys would sit together though. walking together to the lunch line, there was a menu posted up on a board. usually, you just look at the board and go tell the lunch ladies what you wanted. looking at the menu, you squinted and looked at the menu for a couple of seconds before rubbing your eyes and going to the lunch ladies. normally, anyone would’ve ignored that small gesture, but miles being very observant of everything, noticed your action. 

getting your lunches and walking over to a bench to eat lunch outside, miles gave you a nudge, “you good, ma? no headache or somethin’?” 

“huh? no, i’ve been good all day, how come?” you asked. 

“nuthin’ just askin’ amor.”

and that was the end of that. the rest of the school day went by pretty quick too, which then came up your idea of going to the bakery that you were talking about in math class. walking to the bakery was pretty peaceful and it wasn’t far from the school, only a couple blocks down. the bakery was cute and it’s design being very minimalistic, other than the glass case full of different pastries. 

immediately walking up to the glass case to take in all of its beauty, miles walked up behind you, “get whatever you want, mama. let’s pick up something for my mom too, just like you said,” you looked over your shoulder and grinned. there was so much to choose from that you didn’t even know what you wanted. deciding to get something to eat there and getting a box to go, you ordered a strawberry cupcake, miles just went with a classic cheesecake. 

“they have milkshakes and smoothies. do you want something to drink with your cupcake?” 

glancing over at the overhead menu, you squinted and squinted, but nothing helped. “uhm, do you mind reading out the flavors for me please?” you asked miles politely.

“can you not see the board?”

“i can, i just want to hear your voice,” you tried defending yourself, but miles already seemed suspicious of you. deciding not to point it out in that moment, miles read out the menu and you made your choice. 

wrapping everything up and going back to miles’ place, walking in you both greeted rio. miles let her know about the pastries you guys brought back before heading to his room (door has to be cracked open, according to rio). in miles’ slightly tidy room, you sat yourself on the ground and proceeded to pull out all notebooks to work on all the homework you were assigned. while looking over your notes to get started on your homework, miles suddenly interrupted your train of thoughts. 

“hey ma, i was thinking you should get your eyes checked,” he said. 

“miles what did you just say?” 

“not in that way, but like go to those doctors and get glasses. i’ve been noticing you squinting or not being able to read boards and stuff.”

you glanced over at him and shook your head, “i think i’m fine, i don’t need no doctors or anything.”

miles just shrugged, deciding not to argue with you at that moment. it definitely wasn’t the end there especially when miles cares about your well-being dearly, but he just put it on the back of his head for now. 

skipping to the next day, you were in class with miles when the teacher decided to do powerpoint notes. you groaned in your mind at the fact. you didn’t want to admit you needed glasses, plus it’s completely normal for people not being able to see far away. there’s literally nothing wrong, is what you continued to tell yourself. trying to jot down the notes as best as you can, you snuck a look over at miles’ paper, deciding to copy his notes since you couldn’t really see the board. suddenly, miles shifted his position causing you to not be able to see his paper. 

“psst, miles can you please let me copy your notes?” you whispered. he shifted his paper back to you so you can copy his notes, before saying, “what did i tell you yesterday, y/n?” you chose not to reply, pretending that you didn’t hear him, continuing to copy his notes. “i know you hear me, babe,” he kept on trying to tell you until you asked the teacher if you could use the bathroom. your thought process being that leaving might get him to drop it. miles just huffed knowing that you wouldn’t listen to him, when an idea popped in his head. 

you returned from the bathroom around seven minutes later. knowing that you had even more notes to catch up on, you picked up your pencil and quickly dropped it when you looked down at your notebook. 

your notebook was flipped to random page and the words, “GET UR EYES CHECKED” was written across the page. you sent a glare over at the only person that could be the culprit. 

“if i make an appointment, will you get off my back?” you asked.

“of course, baby,” miles gave you the purest smile as if he has done no wrong. you rolled your eyes at him before bringing at hand to sit over your mouth, trying to hide the smile growing on your face. you knew your boyfriend meant well, so there was no way that you were actually mad or annoyed at him. 

the rest of the class went by fast now that you had miles cooperating with you and willing to share notes quickly. by the end of class, miles pulled you out of class quickly with a tug of your wrist to the cafeteria. getting your lunch and going to your bench, miles pulled out his phone, shuffling through apps and the internet looking for the nearest optometrist. finding one and pulling up their phone number, before he called them to book you an appointment, he told you, “sabes que lo hago porque te quiero mucho? i love you.” you simply looked away, hiding your face and mumbling the three precious words back. 

miles booked you an appointment about three days later from when he called. there was no doubt that miles was going to the appointment with you. you would've asked to come with you if he hadn't anyways.

you've never been to an optometrist before so naturally you were nervous. you thought you would be able to have miles with you the whole time, but your lifeline was broken when you were pulled into a room in the back and miles couldn't go with you. frowning when you had to let go of your boyfriend’s hand, miles gave you a reassuring squeeze.

the whole process was weird for you, the drying eye drops, looking into a little hole and seeing a hot air balloon, and the constant asking of "which is better? one to two?" but finally everything was over. you went back to sit in the waiting room with miles, telling him about the weird experience. a couple minutes of waiting around when the optometrist called you back and miles was allowed with you this time.

"well, you do need glasses and here's the prescription. we have a couple options of glasses out on display that you can try on or order some elsewhere simply with proof of your prescription."

you took the paper and thanked the doctor. leaving hand in hand in miles, you didn't even wanna look at his face knowing that he would have a smug "i told you so" look on his face. you walked in the direction of the display glasses, looking at each one by one. grabbing a simple one with your favorite color as the frames, you tried them on and looked in the mirror before looking over at miles.

"sooo, what do you think?"

"i think you look like a cute nerd."

"shut up because both of us know who the actual nerd is here," you crossed your arms.

"i'm just joking, mami. i like those on you."

you hummed before going to the front desk and asked for those frames. the lady at the counter put in an order for you and told you that it would take about a week and a half for them to be ready. you nodded and proceeded to pay when miles grabbed your hand and moved it so he could pay.

"i'm paying babe. you look cute in them so it's on me," he said and tapped his phone on the card reader before you could protest. you were thankful that the optometrist here didn't charge you a whole kidney for them because you knew glasses could be expensive.

walking out the optometrist, you wanted to hold your tongue but you knew miles had a point in it all, "thank you for taking care of me, amor," you mumbled. miles stopped on the sidewalk and pulled you into a hug.

"i would say i told you so after everything, but i'm always here to you, mama." giving you a peck, you both continued to stroll down the sidewalk, holding each other's hands on the way to the dorms.

"miles?" he gave a hum in response. "can we get ice cream before we go back to the dorms?" you asked.

[plussizefantasia]

Don't Call Me Kitty

Bucky Barnes x Black Cat! Reader

Word Count: 2k

Chapter 1/6

Next>

Warnings: Reader is plus size and it's talked about being somewhat of a negative thing (its not) , language, I think that's it

AN: This is part one of the BlackCat!Reader x Bucky work that I've been working on for a while. It was a request although I can't seem to find the original request anymore. This is part one of six, all fully written but I decided to split it up because this is by far the longest thing I've ever written and I wanted to publish it in chunks. Let me know if you like it, or if the rest of this should just stay hidden in my drafts for all of eternity.

If you had to spend one more fucking minute in the same car as James Buchanan Barnes, one of you would be dying. And you are pretty fucking confident that it won't be you.

 He won't get off your back. Every chance he has it seems like he launches himself at the opportunity to remind everyone that you weren’t always the goody two shoes he thinks you are pretending to be. But God forbid you call him out on the obvious hypocrisy he's spewing because then you’d have to face Rogers and the inevitable tirade he’d go off on about how his best friend was never a bad man, just deeply broken and how the actions he’d taken while under Hydra’s control were not his own.

You don’t take issue with Barnes bringing up your past, it's not a secret. Everyone on the team had at one point been the focus of your ire on one of your bad days and that more often than not led to some sort of discussion where you would disclose more and more about the things you were trying to forget. Your issue with Barnes was that he was trying to insinuate you were one of the good guys. And you’d rather die than admit you were an Avenger. 

You are not, nor will you ever be a good guy. You aren’t necessarily a bad guy, but you are not a goody two shoes. Barnes knows that, he also knows that it pisses you off to no end when he tries to tell everyone that you're acting like one.

“Shoulda seen the way she was sucking up to Fury Stevie, she’s trying to be teacher’s pet I’m tellin’ ya.” You were not sucking up to Fury you were stealing his wallet and trying to distract him so he wouldn’t notice the fifty bucks you lifted, but Barnes didn’t need to know that. 

The worst thing about this hate that you have for James Barnes was the fact that you know deep down you don’t hate him at all. Sure, he pushes your buttons and knows just what to say to get you to want to knock his pretty little teeth out. But he's also a genuinely good guy and most of the time isn't all that bad to be around. But god it's so much easier to hate him than it is to sift through all those feelings. 

There was also the fact that the two of you work well together. You can be bickering one second and covering each other’s sixes flawlessly the next. You have a theory on that though, you think that because both of you had been forced to work with people you didn’t trust very much at one point or another you got used to getting the job done no matter what other feelings were floating around in the background. That's what you try to convince yourself is the case. The idea that you and Barnes simply make a good team is nauseating. 

Barnes isn’t only good to have in the field though, he has proved his worth off the battlefield when he knocked around some poor recruit who had been running his mouth about you in the training gym. The kid couldn’t have been more than twenty and honesty you weren’t going to hold his ignorance against him. If he underestimated you because of your size, then that was on him and in a way, was only gonna help you in the long run.

That was something that you had noticed early on, that most people couldn’t fathom that someone who wasn't a size four could be as good at your job as you are. “Most People” also included people on your team, it had taken you saving Tony’s life in the field more than once for him to admit that he was wrong about you. You are still trying to convince Thor that just because you look soft does not mean you can’t still kick his ass. 

You have made people’s lack of faith in you into a good thing. Rich guys aren’t worried about their wallets or watches when a meek little thing bumps into them on the subway and who would suspect the overweight chick to be the one who scales the sides of buildings to get her hands on some unreleased tech from Hammer’s R&D department? Bucky Barnes.

Bucky has never regarded you with the same kind of hesitance as the others. He has never once made it seem like he thought you couldn’t get the job done because you were bigger. And you had to admit, it's refreshing. Not that you need his approval but it's still nice to not be looked at with some kind of doubt, or incredulity. That doesn’t mean that he doesn’t piss you off though.

“I swear to God Barnes, if you change the radio station one more time I’m gonna cover your whole arm in fucking extra strength magnets while you're asleep.” An interesting threat sure, but one you will one hundred percent follow through on. 

“The station keeps changing to static, kitty, you want to listen to static for the next three hours?” He asks. He's right, you are both on your way to some ball in Alabama and according to Tony, all the Quinjets are in use for this weekend (bullshit), which leaves you and Bucky to get there the old fashion way, a road trip. 

You're already eight hours in and are currently driving through the small towns and mountains that cover a good section of the south. Which means that the radio is cutting in and out. And yeah he's right, you don’t want to listen to static but you also don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

“I’d prefer the goddamn static over the song changing every five fucking seconds.”

“Well, it’s either that or silence, kitty.”

“First of all Barnes, I’ve told you not to call me kitty. It’s demeaning. Secondly, maybe some silence will do you good, you might be able to hear yourself think for once. If you’re capable of thinking.” You shoot back at him.

“Oh, kitty I have plenty of thoughts I’m pretty sure I think enough for the two of us.” He looks at you without turning his head away from the road, giving you a sidelong glance. 

“Oh yeah, about what? How to get more beefy? Whatever the next idiotic insult you’ll hurl at our resident birdbrain will be? Whether or not you'll get wrinkles from the perpetual furrow in your brow?” 

“I don’t think you want to know what goes on in my head, Mittens.” He pulls his bottom lip up in between his teeth to stop the smirk that is spreading across his face.

“You did not just call me fucking Mittens” Your jaw is practically on the floor. The audacity of this man. 

“You said I couldn’t call you kitty. What are my other options?” 

“Maybe my name? Asshole.” You also have to fight back a smile. Teasing Barnes is nice, it was the closest thing you have to a genuine relationship. Too bad you can’t stand him.

“You memorized your cover?” He asks you. You almost scoffed at him, you're not a goddamn amateur.

“Of, course. I’m Debrah Longborne, Georgian peach and heiress to my Daddy’s large fruit processing fortune.” This mission is a simple one. You're here to take down a corrupt governor and what better place to do than at the gala he and his wife organize every year? You had Tony donate to his wife’s foundation under your cover name. Large enough to draw attention but not too much attention that you can’t get your job done. “And you…?” 

“Brantley Moore, Law professor at Vanderbilt, and your arm candy for the night.” You like going undercover, and this assignment is a short one, just one weekend. It's almost like being another person, just with all your skills and an ulterior motive. 

“Who the hell picked the name Brantley?” You ask.

“I know right, I sound like some preppy douchebag” 

“Not too far off then.”

“Fuck off.” He laughs. You like his laugh. His eyes crinkle in the corners when he does it, a brief glimpse into the years he has lived through, not all sunshine and rainbows, but enough joy to have laugh lines. 

“So Debrah and Brantley met where?”

“Vanderbilt has society mixers every winter, where the professors and some select students get the chance to network with some donors and other important people. It’s a believable story plus there’s over a thousand attendees at these things which makes it easy to slip our names onto the list.”

“And whose idea was that?” you lift an eyebrow. “Mine.” 

“How do you know about the Vanderbilt mixers?” 

“I had a life before I met you, didn’t you know that.”

“I knew you had a life I guess I just didn’t assume it involved rubbing elbows with southern socialites at prestigious university parties.”

“I wasn’t rubbing elbows, it was for a deal made by Peirce with the university president, I was there as a bodyguard for Pierce and to cover our tracks when things inevitably got bloody.” Any hint of teasing falls from Bucky’s voice. He says shit like that sometimes. Shit that you think he says to scare you or to remind you how dangerous he was. All it does is make you sad. Nobody deserves to go through what he had, and you hate that those evil bastards had taken a great man and mangled him. 

The conversation peters out after his revelation. The two of you ride in silence for the next two hours. Thirty minutes in, you get closer to the city and the radio sputters back to life. Bucky reaches to turn it off. 

When you finally reach the hotel both of you are a bit on edge. You’ve been driving all day, switching back and forth every few hours but Bucky’s silence for the last little stretch seems to have affected both of you more than you’d thought.

Still, you have a job to do and you’ll be damned if you let the metal-armed nuisance ruin your reputation for perfect follow-throughs. You grab your small weekender bag out of the backseat and make your way to the front desk. You school your features and dust off the southern belle persona that has been stashed away in your metaphorical conman toolbelt.

You can feel Bucky trailing behind you, and an idea pops into your head. Swiftly turning on your heel you pass your bag into his unoccupied hand. Not giving him a chance to say no you rotate back around and march forward at a pace fitting to a very busy society woman. 

Bucky sputters behind you and you toss over your shoulder, “If I’m playing an heiress this weekend, I'm not lifting a goddamn finger if I don’t have to.” 

Marching the rest of the way to the desk you flash the young woman behind the counter a polite smile, “Room for Longborne”. She immediately matches your smile and begins typing away on her keyboard pulling up the reservation that was made for your cover.

“Of Course Ms. Longborne, I have you down for the Iris sweet for three nights is that correct?”

“Sounds correct to me, although if you could hold the room for one more day that would be just peachy of you, we don’t know how long our business here is going to take and it’s better to be safe than sorry. You understand of course.” You put every ounce of Southern charm into your words and pray to God that this interaction can be over sooner rather than later.

“Of course Ms., Here are your keys. Your room is on our twelfth floor and the number is embossed on the front of the card.” She hands you a package of three cards across the desk. “If you need anything at all don’t hesitate to call.”

You nod, taking the key cards from her hand, and motion for Bucky to follow you to the elevator. 

The ride up to the twelfth floor is silent, much like the last stretch of the car ride. What you aren’t expecting is Bucky’s exclamation when he walks into the room before you.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” The first words Barnes has uttered in nearly two hours. “There's only one fucking bed.”

[amoxicillin-tangent]

i am given birth to by my mother. i am brought home to a falling-apart trailer. i am fed and i am not fed enough. i am aged into a small being with opinions and some semblance of autonomy; my childhood is a video game and i am given three objectives: sit down, stay quiet, and cease to exist. i am made good at the last part; it is a god-like sort of art, and so i do. silence is suited for me as well as i am suited for silence. 

i am told, gently, by my third-grade teacher to stop writing in passive voice. the noun of the sentence should be the actor, the doer, the taker. i am not a taker. never the actor of my own consciousness, of my own unconsciousness, remember, now, i am ceasing to exist. 

i am uprooted like a wilting plant, no sunlight, chipped terracotta pot, placed, never planted. grow, says the sunlight seeping between the drawn shutters, and i deny its case. i am made a masochist at all of eight-years-old, i am made for withering away. i am made mother, made martyr, made clever, made more, made machine. 

i am placed in a foster home and told the new rules. i will sleep at 2130 and wake at 0600. i will eat blueberries and coconut yogurt and i will make good grades. i will behave. i will sit down, i will stay quiet, and i will cease to exist. 

i am told, gently, by my ninth-grade teacher to stop writing in passive voice. like this, you are the subject of the sentence. i am brought home; i am subjected to my sentence. i am taught, i am created, i am embittered, i am disillusioned, i am ceasing. it is all i know how to do.

blurring letters litter the pages before me. maya angelou, oh pray my wings are gonna fit me well. oh, tell the hell-child to return to her cell. mangled beast, worthless mongrel, ceasing. perfect child, perfect victim, passive. the sentences are diagrammed by my expert hand and i am diagrammed as well, pages in a folder, problem child, trouble-maker, mentally unstable. infinitive, preposition, page-break. 

my eleventh-grade teacher is asked why was it okay for maya angelou to write in passive voice? she responds, because to write in active voice would take the focus from the corpse to the crew. i like that. i understand it. the pages aren’t so blurry anymore. i trace them with my fingertips, letter-by-letter. her bones were found//round thirty years later//when they razed//her building to//put up a parking lot. 

i am no longer still, silent, ceasing. i am no longer wilting, and no longer made, i am maker. 

grow, says the sunlight seeping between the drawn shutters. i am neither the corpse nor the crew. i reach forward with trembling hands,

and i pull the cord, and the light floods through.

[777gojosgf]

REMEMBER ME?

777gojosgf is typing…

777gojosgf: ex!reader x satoru gojo.

IN WHERE :: reader comes back after a year to jujutsu high because of the break up with satoru and your mission that had found place far away.

THE FIRST YEAR STUDENTS were perplexed as they heard the second-year students’ footsteps echoing loudly through the hallways. maybe there was something going on that they were unaware of? like an event or an disturbance. it’s possible that maki pulled of a stunt that piqued the curiosity of the other students.

but it wasn’t any of that. no, instead there was a young woman—you—being crushed by all of the second years. everyone pulling you in for a hug as your personalized katana fell onto the ground, not being able to embrace everyone at once with a soft affectionate smile that made your eyes crinkle in that certain way that they did. this earned yuuji a confused frown as he looked at nobara.

“who is that?”

however, megumi was aware of who you were so he didn’t need to be surprised and had to maintain composure to avoid approaching you. you had a way of constantly making him feel small and safe, even though he wasn’t an affectionate person in the slightest. as a matter of fact, you were the one who looked after him with gojo when he was younger.

ah yes, gojo.

there was no need to tell gojo what was happening because he had sensed your presence the moment you stepped onto the grounds of jujutsu high. he would be able to recognize you at any time, anyplace. the need to instantly teleport to your side was hard to ignore but the memories of your soul crushing break up raced through head, which had been on repeat ever since it happened. it had destroyed him beyond recognition.

you could not be forgotten, and you could not be denied.

not right now, nor ever.

“i don’t know but she’s very pretty— is she a student?” nobara asked but megumi had rolled his eyes. “no, she is not. she’s a teacher too, here at jujutsu high but only taught the second years when they were first years,” he answered her.

“okay, makes sense.” she nodded in agreement, but popped in another question. “how come she left for so long?”

“that would be—“

“my fault.” gojo’s voice interrupted their conversation as the three students turned around to face him with widened eyes. but his gaze could not lift from you, his eyes hardening at the smile on your face he had missed so deeply.

your giggles were heard from all the way where the four of them were standing. “i missed you too guys. have you all been good?” you questioned the second years teasingly, eying all of them after giving every single one of them a hug. you hadn’t expected to be missed so much, especially because they were all aware that you had agreed to go on a mission that would take you away from them for months.

away from satoru for months.

you were foolish to believe that being away from him would stop you from thinking about him. but that definitely wasn’t the case. the white haired sorcerer had never been so much on your mind than when you were away from him, the memories of your argument in his apartment haunting you for days. if only you could retract your steps, take back your words and think of something else to say to resolve that stupid disagreement you two had.

if only.

though your accumulating thoughts had come to a stop when his voice rang through your ears and you had first thought it was all in your head. but the awkward looks on your students’ faced had proved your theory to be false. he was indeed right behind you.

sighing, you turned around to be met face to face with the one person you craved to touch for months. “hey to you too, gojo.”

gojo?

it was selfish of him to think you would still call him by his first name, and maybe even delusional to think your nickname for him would escape your lips, but alas, it was his last name. and he swore it felt like a dagger straight to his heart. a reality check, as if they were truly strangers again. but how could two people become strangers again if they bled for each other for years. if they were able to look past each other’s flaws and find each other in a time of sorrow.

“i haven’t seen you in a while, huh?” he commented not being able to stop his eyes from scanning you for any injuries just like he always did when you came back from a mission. he was grateful for his blindfold only this once.

“mhm, it would seem so.”

“no welcome back hug?” he asked and it earned a scoff from you, a grin threatening to display on your face. “aren’t i the one who is supposed to receive one from you? considering i’m the one coming back after all.” the old banter was something you two could never move on from, it was that one consistent thing that was always able to heat your face. “are you saying you want me to?” his eyebrow raised and he took one step forward.

if you didn’t know better you would have rushed to him in an instant and find yourself lost in his embrace. the one providing comfort and safety, the only thing to able to calm you down. but you taking one step back was a sign that you weren’t going to do this anymore.

“don’t. please.” it came out more like a whisper than anything, a sad expression on your face as it felt as if your heart would explode at any second. you couldn’t let him touch you again, because you knew that once you did that you would let him in again. and if that were true, you would forever find yourself lost in him.

you expected him to be hurt, but instead he simply nodded. you weren’t able to read his face but something about him told you that he was aching as much as you were.

“i’m sorry, i shouldn’t have.” he apologized, not being able to face you. “i just— it’s difficult. you know?”

“i know.”

just like you always knew.

you had always been so painfully understanding without him ever having to use his words. one shared look was all it took for you two to figure out what was going on, almost as if it were a secret language no one else but you spoke.

“i miss you, y/n.”

he shouldn’t have said that. it was unfair to say such things after a year of not having seen each other, of a year dreaming about him. wondering about how he was or what he was doing and with who. for blaming yourself on what happened in that argument, for the words you’ve exchanged. for what it had cost.

“you shouldn’t.”

and with that,

your chapter with him had officially closed.

a/n:: i definitely want to write about the argument they had that led to them not seeing each other for a year!!! and don’t worry…. maybe it didn’t exactly close. :p also this was super shit and i didnt proofread but i wanted to write something like this for a while

[ariestarfairy]

Did Mystra Groom Gale?

My answer to that is, it's complicated, or perhaps not in the conventional way that people tend to think grooming happens. When I see posts about Gale being groomed it's accompanied by the assertion that Mystra found Gale when he was a child and was his mentor first. From a timeline perspective this doesn't make sense, we would have to throw out so much lore. Mystra was murdered by Cyric in 1385 initiating the Spellplague, she didn't come back until the events of the Sundering, so around 1479. Baldur's Gate 3 takes place in 1492. The earliest she could have met Gale would have been 1479/1480 which gives us a time frame of their relationship possibly being around 11-12 years. If we conclude that Gale is ~30 years old then the youngest Gale could have been is 17. If we conclude that Gale is ~35 years old then the youngest Gale could have been is 22. This lines up with Gale referring to himself as a very young man, not a child, when the events of their relationship took place. Also Gale makes another comment that suggests that he likely wasn't a child during his relationship with Mystra. If you romance Gale, he remarks that he had lovers before Mystra, but not after. If we assume that Gale met Mystra as a child then Gale would have to be much younger than we think he is. Now onto the subject of Mystra and Gale's relationship, adult grooming is a thing and the power imbalance is very real. A teacher getting into a relationship with a student is also problematic in any relationship where there is a teacher and student dynamic. Mystra has a history of changing and removing abilities from her servants and chosen, often times without their consent. This clearly illustrates an exploitative relationship. Also Gale, in all of his naivety of youth, perceived his relationship with Mystra way differently than Mystra did. Mystra has many chosen and most of them do not know one another. He thought she loved him, but he was amusement for her for a time until he messed up and she denounced him. Not only that but in order to maybe, possibly, earn her "forgiveness" Gale has to kill himself and even then forgiveness isn't assured. That's a steep price to pay. If you think Mystra is a good soul and Gale is a horrible person who stomped all over her boundaries, then you you need to learn more about Mystra's gross meddling with mortals. She is by no means innocent and has not only stomped on boundaries, she has done things that cross way over into non-consensual. The Gods are gross, Mystra is not an exception because she's a Goddess and presents as a woman, she's not vulnerable nor is she helpless. She is in the position to exploit and demand and she does it frequently. What also really gets me is how Gale gets labeled as being manipulative and abusive and Astarion is a beacon of perfection. He's not, he targets your character just to manipulate them, and that is his MO for a huge chunk of the game. His tragedy and changing over the course of the game doesn't reverse that, but it's somehow overlooked? Of course you have to view a person in terms of a snapshot. Looking at Gale based on a snapshot within his relationship with Mystra does not make him toxic and it does not mean that he was the abuser. Of course because Astarion was abused by a man, it's a different story, but Gale is a male character stepping on a woman's (Goddess) boundary, so he's necessarily toxic. It doesn't occur to people who play BG3, who have very little knowledge when it comes to the Gods in Faerun that Mystra is truly toxic and that a man can be abused and manipulated by a woman (Goddess) . Don't misunderstand, I love Astarion just as much as I love Gale, but I think it's a double standard to vilify Gale (who WAS mistreated by Mystra) and lionize Astarion while ignoring his machinations towards you in the beginning. Astarion is a classic case of hurt people hurt people, it explains his behavior but it shouldn't be ignored in criticisms of other characters. He's not perfect, if he were he would be boring and not nearly as interesting.

[theyhavetakenovermylife]

just a thought, I feel like the song "surface pressure" is a perfect fit for Romeo

Just as Leo at some point felt the weight of everyone on his shoulders and felt useless if he were to fail, Romeo now feels the same burden of being the oldest of all his brothers and cousins even if his parents assure him that is not the case.

For sure he does! He is his father’s son, and that can be curse and a blessing.

Romeo is a skilled fighter, no doubt about it, but I could easily see him getting so caught up in being the perfect kid, that he at one point might accidentally alienate himself from the others.

We have to remember that Romeo’s pressure doesn’t just come from being the oldest - and the oldest som of the leader at that - but also that his birth was this thing that shouldn’t really have happened, but it did, making everybody realize, that it could in fact be possible for them to have children as well. Romeo’s conception was the start of the domino effect, that led to his cousins and siblings (also in real life. He was the first of the children I came up with. With the rest I always had in mind that Romeo was there, so they wouldn’t have to care too much about being the oldest).

Romeo is very much under a lot of pressure, and that is partly why he has so much tension with Marcello at times. Romeo gets a lot of praise from their father - praise which Marcello really wants as well - but I could also imagine that Romeo might be defensive of this praise. If he isn’t told he is the best, then who is he? Is he a failure? Is he not as good as he thought, nor “worthy” of being the oldest.

It’s a stark contrast to how Joan is with her siblings. She can be tough at times, but that is also because her father is tough as nails. She is skilled, but she doesn’t have the same pressure, nor does she feel a need for the same praise. Often times she will stay back and watch what her siblings does, but on the occasions that she steps in and takes leadership of them, she does it for a short time. She doesn’t feel the need to be a boss at all time, though she may come across as bossy at times.

While Romeo trains, Joan might use training as a way to teach her siblings a thing or two. Both Minerva and Ragnar struggles a bit with fear and self esteem, so she takes the time with them. In these times failure is okay, and at times even needed.

Romeo in the other hand doesn’t train his siblings in the same way, mainly because he doesn’t. Could it be because he views his father as the best teacher? Maybe. Is it because he fears that failing his brothers’ training could cost not just his own status as the oldest golden, but could led to them getting seriously hurt? Could be.

We are just now seeing Romeo’s first growing obsession outside of training and his role as the oldest - that unnamed girl broke his kneecap in. And already now we’re seeing to different reasons from Romeo. First time he met her, he was calmer. It was his first patrol. He didn’t know what to expect. Even while he was in pain and shock, he told what had happened and what he saw. Second time however, Romeo has a much stronger reaction to her. Anger, annoyance and a strong need for some form of revenge, leading him to swearing that one day he will get a hold of her and make her pay. A little bit of a strong reaction from Romeo’s side, even for Marcello’s standards.

One would think that hot tempered and easily emotionally bruised Marcello might have such a reaction to that girl, but he doesn’t. He gets mad when he realizes it’s the girl that caused his brother pain, but other than that, he just feels conflicted. He doesn’t like the way Romeo reacts to her, and he doesn’t like the way he himself feels about her. And for the first time, we see Romeo and Marcello almost switch places. While Marcello retreats and stays quiet, which is rare for situations like that, Romeo is openly angry. It was more than just his knee that got damaged that night.

Did I just do a character analysis of my own oc?…

[tarovrispy]

⌧ | TEXTS FROM THE DUMPSTER

02: AFAIK ( as far as I know ) ⌦

← previous | back to masterlist | next →

CW! | misunderstandings, slight brainrot terms used

as a small sigh collapsed out of your mouth, you can't help but wonder silently in your head if you seemed awkward and suspicious while walking down the hallways earlier.

Perhaps I did. I mean, I was trying so hard to hide my computer from any prying eyes, which I had to hold protectively in my arms without a computer bag, fearing that someone would point out that it wasn't mine.

the fearful thought continued to linger in your head, drowning out your lecturer's monotonous voice echoing in the background, travelling into your ear and out again. Well, not like he was talking about anything important. He was probably acting passive aggressive with the class again, complaining about how your cute tiny brains just can't seem to think of any better and more creative draft ideas for the most recent product design projects.

Slowly, you let your eyes roam from left to right, scanning around your surroundings before you drift your fingers back to your phone under the table to scroll through your social media page.

This might just be a good time to figure out who was the actual owner of the Macbook you currently have in possession. This mysterious person who thought it would be a good idea to scribble the words, 'bokuto' on their keypad to mark their Macbook. Maybe it was a smart decision for them, considering the amount of time you took yesterday night trying to scrub it off... but just not in your case.

As your eyes silently scanned your social media feed, once in a while glancing back up to see if anyone caught you slacking during lecture and decided to rat you out - or worse - the lecturer catches you instead. You gulp, shuddering at the thought as you tighten your grip around the frame of your phone.

Your eyes abruptly widen as you stumble upon a post that seemed to be writing about the Macbook that you had picked up from the dumpster yesterday. Comparing the details to your situation, uour mouth fell open in a silent gasp at how it matched up, leaving to no doubt due to the similarities.

But the shock you received does not stem from the owner posting about his lost Macbook, nor him asking people to be on a look out for it (because you would probably do that as well), but it's the owner's profile picture itself.

Your throat tightens. Oh no. A flush begins to creep steadily across your cheeks even as you try to suppress it, the effort futile. It’s like trying to capture the wind in your palms.

This is a big, problematic situation that you dread ever coming into contact with.

✎ a little fyi!

yn and yachi actually beef a lot with each other on chat, but they consider each other as their for lifers

lev doesn't get gen z / gen alpha slangs (because even if he has ever heard of its meaning before, he forgets it too easily)

yn's product design lecturer acting passive aggressive towards her is basically my personal experience (my design teachers are always passive aggressive its killing me)

yn lives in her own world half the time, she has zero knowledge on volleyball & people from other majors (no matter how popular they are) hence she rarely falls for guys in her school (and if she does, she falls hard like a hopeless romantic admiring their crush from a distance)

btw yn did manage to hack into bokuto's macbook and add her sign in to the computer (the password was IMBESTvolleybaler1234)

⌗ taglist | @tobiosluvr @wyrcan @giocriedpower @insanelycooljk

[superhero--imagines]

Part 1 Here! / Part 2 Here! /Part 3 Here! / Part 4 Here! / Part 5 Here! / Part 6 Here! /

 Part 7 Here! / Part 8 Here! / Part 9 Here! / Part 10 Here! / Part 11 Here! / Part 12 Here! /

Part 13 Here! / Part 14 Here! / Part 15 Here! / Part 16 Here ! / Part 17 Here! / 

Part 18 Here! / Part 19 Here! / Part 20 here! / Part 21 Here! / Part 22 Here! / 

Part 23 Here! / Part 24 Here! / Part 25 Here! / Part 26 Here! / Part 27 Here! / 

Part 28 Here!  / Part 29 Here! / Part 30 Here ! <This is Part 31!>

A/N: This one isn’t as good as normal but it’s the best I could do

* This is bad

* “Woah, how’d you do that Tyson?” Percy has stars in his eyes as he inspects Tyson’s unscarred hands after he caught flaming dodgeballs like it was nothing.

* Neither you nor Percy have a weapon, the only person here capable of taking on these flaming monsters is Tyson—but he’s like seven years old in Cyclops years so that’s not a good idea.

* ‘But I’ve been through worse.’ You remind yourself with a deep breath.

* These are monsters, not gods. You can always rely on your despair.

* You turn to Perfcy and Tyson, an apology on your lips when there’s a guttural groan on the other side of the gym.

* Invisible gashes form on the monsters one by one as they combust into flames, black scratch marks where they once stood.

* Annabeth materializes when her baseball is knocked of her head by a particularly violent gust of flames.

* But not before she strikes the last one down, shrieking in pain when a flame flickers against her arm.

* ‘Huh, I guess that works too.’

* “Annabeth!” Percy shouts. You both run over to her, your hands held over singed flesh.

* Her bottom lip trembles between her teeth until blue light emits from your hands.

* The wound drys into a scab, then tender pink flesh, before disappearing completely.

* “I’ll never get over this.” Annabeth whispers, fingers trailing the unblemished skin.

* “What do you think you’re doing!?” A voice booms from behind you, and when you turn to look sure enough — the former Olympic medalist for archery, now just a high-paid school gym teacher — is glowering at you.

* Percy immediately tenses with a sad look in his eyes. “It was nice staying here while it lasted,”

* The coach makes his way to you in heavy steps, Percy rises, his mouth trembling.

* “It was all—”

* He walks right past you three and to the red lever in the wall.

* “I know you kids care about each other, but in these cases, if there’s an electrical fire you really need to ring the fire alarm.”

* “An electrical fire?’ Percy mumbles to himself.

* “Come on kids! Let’s head out from the backway just like we practiced in the drills!”

* Percy, Annabeth, Tyson and you file into line with the other students.

* “He didn’t get mad,” Tyson whispers.

* Your first reaction is to tell him of course he wouldn’t get mad, it’s not like any of you asked for a fire.

* But when you see the look on Percy and Annabeth’s face, you swallow your words.

* You’ve always gone to St. Catherine’s, and with your divine father's consistent presence, you wouldn’t be surprised if the mist worked favorably here because the faculty had a good impression of you—and by extension your friends.

* But the same can’t be said for your friends.

* ‘They’re just children, they shouldn’t have to be so cunning that they can manipulate what a person thinks they saw.’

* Your lips tucks between your teeth and you swallow hard.

* “Of course, he didn’t.” you’re just a child. “You deserve to be trusted.”

* If they heard you they don’t make any indication as your group is jostled outside, cellphones held to ears as children call their parents.

* ‘Maybe I should call Dad and let him know. I should let them borrow my phone too, hopefully they know their parents number—‘

* “Annabeth, what are you doing here?”

* “I-I came here to get Percy, they’re asking for him at camp.” Then looking a bit bashful, she adds: “I didn’t know you guys went to the same school.”

* “I never mentioned it?” Percy says with a rather ingenuine shrug. Annabeth pouts.

* “Looks like it’s your lucky day, this is a three-for-one.”

* “Where did you find him?” She gestures to Tyson.

* “He’s my friend.” Percy answers, slightly miffed at her tone.

* Annabeth hails a taxi like you’ve never seen before, dark green in color with smoke creeping out of the windows.

* “Yeah, no offense but I’d rather cut of my left nut then get in that thing.” (this is said in a gender neutral way I promise—if you identify M it’s serious, if F or non-binary it’s being dramatic)

* You wave your hand and a portal opens before you.

* You’ve practiced enough with your father this year to manage making it to one location, it still takes a lot of focus.

* You watch one of the drivers amber at Tyson.

* “Do you want to come with me Tyson?”

* He hesitates for a moment before shaking his head with a sweet smile.

* “I’m going to go with Percy.”

* You return his smile with your own.

* ‘Brothers should stick together after all.’

* “See you guys at camp!”

* You keep the image of rolling hills and the scent of strawberries in your mind, walking into the inky black abyss until sunlight floods your view

* And just like that you’re here.

* “Squad five attack from the right!”

* “Watch out for the flames!”

* “Get it together!!”

* A mechanical Bull rampages through campers like they’re players in grand theft auto.

* And just like that it’s like you never left.

* From the mass you spot a golden mmmmm familiar bright yellow head of hair.

* “Clarisse!”

* Her attention is diverted from her opponent for a moment, just long enough for the bill to latch onto her as it’s next target.

* “Get out of the way!”

* The two of you tumble out of the way and down a hill.

* She seems more shocked than usual to see you.

* “You need to get out of here.”

* “Yeah, we all need to get out of here. How’d a monster even get inside—”

* “No,” she grabs onto your arm. “You specifically need to leave right now.”

* ‘That’s kind of a rude thing to say to someone who saved your life.’

* You hear a loud crash and look up to see Tyson going head to head with the mechanical Bull.

* “Come on.” She tugs you by the arm around the squirmish past a shrieking bull, a screaming Annabeth and an adrenaline filled Percy.

* “Clarisse, our friends are that way!”

* She pays you no mind almost making it all the way to Thalia’s tree when the world goes still.

* “Shit.” She whispers.

* You turn with your eyebrows threaded together, seeing a group of startled campers staring back, where the Bull once stood is a man—at least six feet tall with a head of perfectly gold curls.

* He looks at you with a wolfish grin, his bright red blush flanked over his nose and spilling onto his cheeks.

* “(Y/N)! I was wondering when you’d show up!” Ares shouts with an excited wave.

* “Shit.”

Tag list :

@holybatflapexpert @atomicsophia @fadingunknowncoffee @hopeworldsupremacy @padsfirewhisky @magical-dreamland @kookiedesi @kiritokunuwu @bleepmorp @flickeringlizard @luckyzipperscissorsbat @jessiegerl @undecided-as-always @officiallydarkgeek

@marsbars09 @yizhoutv @alicesolengg @luxaryllis-primaryacc @time-shardz @cryinghotmess @crow-with-a-hoodie @the-nerdy-fangirl @crackedpumpkin @geekyandgay98

@lazydreamers @agentsofblinks @justsomestuffiguessman  @mxacegrey @angelic-simp @astrial @babypink224221 @weaponb33 @redactedhimbo @heart-charming  @psychomanias-blog @aliinunderland

@karnellius @lunavixia @cerberus-the-cutie @bes2005 @girlcrafter408 @loser-keiji @shadowsmusical @hazeofeleven @evilsailorsenshi

[myfandomrealitea]

I always want to wholeheartedly agree with the "create what you want, just label it" argument. I really want to. Right up until people defend unexamined bigotry. For example, I once ran into a story where Martha Jones was actually about to fail out of medical school when she met The Doctor, because she was "incapable" of learning human anatomy and medicine, and despite "bribing her teachers". I wrote in my journal that I thought the story was racist, in a public post, and people scolded me for being censorious and not letting people "have fun". (This was back when LJ was viable.) I have a pile of other experiences like that. I would never agree with the antis that Someone (aka them) should prevent people from writing whatever, but I feel like to completely agree with "create what you want, no limits, nothing matters but creating," I have to agree that a fan of color has no right to be hurt by a story that turns an intelligent Black woman into a cheat and an idiot, even in that fan's own space. What do you think?

You have every right to feel offended or hurt by a story. But your hurt and offense does not negate someone else's ability to create. Nor does it dictate that you can tell them what they can and cannot create.

How do you know the author wasn't a person of color themselves? How do you know they weren't writing the story based on their own emotions, difficulties or experiences? Is painting a person of color as 'unintelligent' a common theme in their works or was it just the plot device of this specific story? If Martha Jones was Asian or Indian or Caucasian, would you have still been offended on her behalf that an intelligent woman/intelligent woman of color was being turned into 'an idiot'?

These are questions we have to ask ourselves when trying to determine if a work was genuinely created with the intent of being harmful. Because individually not liking or being hurt by the content's of a story is not a good enough reason to advocate against it.

The 911 fandom, for example, saw a lot of it with Eddie Diaz. People were so entrenched in fandom virtue signalling that pretty much any depiction of Eddie Diaz in fanfiction was getting bitched about as 'out of character' or 'racist' including works written by actual people of color. It got to the point where for quite a while fanfiction production within the 911 fandom dropped way down because people were too annoyed with or upset by the constant accusations no matter what was being written.

And I know it probably sounds like I'm just smokescreening for racism or excusing it. but I can promise you, I've blocked and reported authors and fandom creators before for being blatantly racist in their content. But fanfiction and literature become trickier because the purpose of stories is not to be palatable or feel-good. Stories do not have to be pleasant. Fanfiction does not have to conform to the source material.

Describing someone as "incapable" is typically a turn of phrase and has nothing to do with trying to allocate unintelligence to a specific type of person. Plenty of people would be classed as "incapable" of learning medicine because its a hard fucking thing to learn. You need to dedicate more or less five-ten years of your life to studying it before you even really get anywhere with actually practising it.

If you're someone who's easily distracted or has trouble remembering things and vice versa, you're unlikely to go into a career field that especially demands these things of you.

I imagine in any case her failing out of medical school was likely the plot point that leads her to going off with The Doctor. Which is a simple narrative and not a case of "unexamined bigotry." Its just as likely that if the author had had Martha Jones simply give up her aspirations and career to follow The Doctor, someone else would've been offended by the trope of a (black) woman giving up everything for a (white) man and deemed the story sexist or racist. Possibly both.

When analysing literature you have to be critical of if something is offending you personally or if it was intended to offend people of color as a whole. If the answer is only the former, then its a situation where you just have to recognise the work is not for you and move along.

[thelampisaflashlight]

A Cup of Sugar

[Something, something, Copia and his neighbor have a friendly discussion.]

"When I was in school, studying French, our teacher made us read The Stranger by Albert Camus." Jarno says, the cigarette clasped between his fingers becoming a long line of ash, dropping off onto the stone beneath the railing, "...I was not a particularly good student, my pronunciation was always off, but I did okay with reading, understood grammar and that sort of thing... better on paper than in practice, you know?"

He smiles.

"The book, I couldn't tell you if it was an enjoyable read, but it was a short one, a hundred and twenty-three pages or something of the sort, just one, two, three... I never did bother with it. Reading the book, but the opening line always stuck with me." he continues, finally flicking the ash away, brushing his hand over the railing to clean up the bit that had fallen there, "<<Aujourd'hui Maman est morte.>>"

"Today," he says, "Mother has died."

Jarno snuffs out his cigarette and drops the butt into his empty soda can.

"...I think part of the reason I'm so invested in Lillian Hess' case, is because she was like me." he explains, "A poor student, from a working class family... Going nowhere fast."

He leans against the railing, arms folded.

"We were in the same French class, acquaintances at best, but we talked... And it's funny in the way things are also profoundly... unfunny, but I keep thinking of that line when I think of her."

Jarno inhales slow and deep.

"I did not have a crush or some deep connection to Lillian, she and I spoke maybe once in the entire time we were in school together, but since she disappeared, the casual frankness in which others have spoken of her death hits me so..."

He stands up straight rolling his shoulders.

"Back then, it could have been me, and a sick part of me wonders why it wasn't." he sighs, "We had the same routine, neither of us were particularly fit, easy to pick off, and we were the kind of kids that always seemed to just... run away... but Lillian didn't run away, she was taken. I ran... and wound up back here, in this town."

Copia looks out over the rolling fields beyond the abbey's main walls, at the lake and the forest, "To here."

"To here." he nods, facing the older man now, "They want to blame you -your... disciples- for Lillian's disappearance, for her death, even if they never found more than a finger, they still found it in your woods."

"And what do you think happened to Miss. Hess, Mister Sheers?" the father asks, mismatched eyes aglow, "Do you wish to make any claims of foul play?"

Jarno slides his hands into his pockets.

"I have no interest in any of that."

"Then why have you come?"

He withdraws an object wrapped in a tawny terrycloth, carefully, he unfolds it to reveal a wickedly sharp looking claw.

"I know that whatever killed Lillian was not human, nor a hungry bear." he holds the claw out for Copia to examine, "You and I both know what beast this came from."

Copia's face sours as he takes the claw into his gloved hand.

"One of them has tasted human flesh and blood, they've broken their oath... a feral ghoul, or a free one."

"And you know of the ghouls, how?"

Jarno chuckles.

"I grew up there." he points to the lake, passed the buoys that mark the end of the abbey's property, "...I'm your neighbor."

"Our neighbor..." Copia whispers, thoughtful, "Then you've seen quite a lot, haven't you?"

"Enough. I have seen enough." he says, "Enough to know it would be stupid for me to even dream of trying to extort more from you than a cup of sugar."

"But here you are."

He nods.

"As I said... I am your neighbor." Jarno offers his hand, "Consider this an olive branch; A chance to keep you and yours safe, and protect mine as well. The beast that killed Lillian is likely still among your flock... I wish to cull it before more die unnecessarily."

Copia scoffs, smiling slightly, "So you have no fears of the evil cult living behind your house? No concerns over babes stolen in the night for ritualistic sacrifice?"

"You've not bothered me in all the years I have lived here, and, yes, I considered the possibility that you might be dangerous, but I also know it does you no good to kill me here, on your doorstep, especially when the police are watching you all so closely now."

"Fair enough..." Copia hums, "And if we do hunt down this beast, what then? What do you hope to gain from its death?"

"...The other nine claws."

[thefictionalgirl]

The youngest daughter

You heard about me a lot,

She mentions me all the time,

They mention me all the time,

How she had to protect me

from the problems I've never caused.

You heard about me right?

But what do you know?

The lazy and unreliable one

in every story?

That's only natural for you to believe,

Because you know I believe that too.

The one who is admired,

The one who is loved.

And the one who doesn't care,

never try to be enough.

One who's "too much"

all the damn time.

And I know you heard about me,

And I know you heard,

How I spend a lot,

Someone your blood and flesh,

gets not as much as you thought.

Mom favours her,

Dad loves her the best,

She does whatever she wants,

a luxurious nest.

You practically heard this a lot, what I'm going to tell you,

Listen to me even though you know–

They sacrificed a lot, for building her life,

She did nothing, but she's the one at the edge of a knife.

Uncivilised, uncompromising and not so nice

No matter who becomes a virtue, she's always the vice.

The oldest's anger and dissatisfaction,

maybe not always it's the case,

But whenever the question is raised,

"They love you the most, they treat you the best"

Arrogant, rebellious and the unpleasant,

She gets that alot, that's how you describe the youngest.

And for whom, parents never cared about you,

And for whom, you had to refuse the last piece of cake.

For whom, you had to give up on your room,

For whom, you'll not be praised even for how much you make.

And you try, to go back on words, to change the fate,

because of the little girl, you want to, but you cannot hate.

And I guess y'all know about these,

The cat, the mouse and the piece of cheese.

And the cat leaves and moves out,

The mouse didn't know how to cope up,

So that's why she always shouts.

But then, how about reading some things unknown ?

What happens to the girl, why doesn't she smile anymore? Why does she always frown?

Did she have to take the responsibility of always being good?

She didn't need to be compared, she didn't need to be called rude.

You were busy complimenting the comparison,

An Individual, who was never known and given a reason.

Good or bad, she never wanted them,

You all made her the antagonist here who loves to complain.

And with the tag of being spoiled one,

she became the alter ego of yours,

The princess with a large mansion

And who never endures.

Someday you leave,

Making her all alone,

She never cries,

She has now grown.

It's the best, cause you never want to see

The teenage self in her eyes again,

Where everything is immature- love, happiness or pain.

She never had the idea of how the world works, right?

She said, "no I'm fine" whenever you charged her,

But the question in her eyes didn't surrender.

Hopeful- she wanted you to try a bit more,

"She never shares, she just knows how to close the door"

You wanted to be a teacher, punish for her mistakes.

She just wanted a sister to share her aches.

Hard or soft, whatever the feelings were,

She just never trusted you again,

And why would she do it?

You became a traitor

You never took the share of her pain.

And where were you, when she was on her knees,

Praying to make it all stop?

You were not there when she got home.

You were not there when she was trying to build her rome.

She never blamed you for choosing your happiness.

But why's that different when it comes to her?

Why can't you all see

That she too has a lot of scars?

To have nothing,

It must be hard, it must be bad,

But I had you,

Then why have I always felt sad?

I cannot describe the mixed feelings,

Maybe this all happened because of us.

I love you more than my life,

I cried a lot, weren't my eyes enough obvious?

I was not a criminal, nor you were,

We could have made it better, I swear.

But you never ever tried,

And I always denied.

You left the room, you left me alone,

Now you ask me about my feelings? Why have I never shown?

Was it so easy for you to abandon everything?

I know it's not bad, but why can't I do nothing?

TELL ME TELL ME I WANT TO KNOW,

don't you know that this crappy delinquent always feels so low?

After all this time,

After screaming for so long,

You hear the depth of my voice,

What about my continuous melancholic song?

Can't you see it falling from my eyes?

Can't you see I'm tired of tossing the dice?

Constantly hoping to earn a six,

I'll pick the pieces up in order to fix.

I refuse to believe in cracks,

I will try, I'll try to give what it lacks,

But you can never give me back, the years I spent yearning in vain,

Even if you try to have a conversation with stories from the memory lane.

Distanced soul,

Unattached roles

How do you think it happened?

How do you know it's not for the best?

Because that's way she became her,

That's way of the youngest.

✒mystica

[spnhunter4life]

Winchester's Girl

A Dean hockey AU. I went to a game with my coworkers last night and came up with this idea. However, since I have neither the motivation nor the knowledge of the sport to write out a full-fledged fic for this, have a bullet pointed summary of what I came up with. (What would this be called? An imagine maybe? I feel like I've seen posts similar to this called imagines.)

A/N: Ok, so this turned out to be longer than I anticipated (imagine that). This is a bit more actual story and less summary than I expected when I started this. I still think it fits better in this format though, because it's easier to skip around where I want and not put the effort into combining it all together somehow. Also, just a heads up, this is tagged friends to lovers because I think that's the best way to describe it. I also think the lovers part tends to imply that there will be smut, but that is not the case here.

Word Count: 3.5k

Masterlist

You and Dean have been friends for so long, you can barely even remember life without him. You met in eighth grade when your family moved to Kansas and immediately clicked. You had a lot in common, but you especially bonded over your shared love of hockey. You were there to be proud and support him as he transitioned from the local high school team to the college team, and then again when he made it to a professional team. Nothing made you more proud or excited than hearing that he had become center for the Kansas Hunters.

All the guys on the team knew you. You were even pretty good friends with a few of them. Since you attended more of his games than you might care to admit and had even been known to attend a practice or two if you and Dean had plans after, the rest of the guys jokingly referred to you as Winchester's girl.

"Hey, Winchester! Your girl is here!" They would call out to him when they spotted you entering the building on practice days. It was Benny who said it the first time, and it just sort of caught on from there.

"Who is that girl?" Cas's new girlfriend asked one night, spotting you at a party following a big win. "I think I've seen her at every single one of your games." Cas barely even needed to glance in your direction to know who she was talking about. "Who, Y/n? That's just Winchester's girl."

A couple years ago, during the off season, Dean decided it was time to take you skating. Despite being a lifelong hockey fan, you'd never actually learned to skate. You were a little nervous about falling over a lot and making a fool out of yourself, but mostly you were excited. You loved watching Dean on the ice, the speed and ease with which he moved. It was like he was flying. You wanted to be able to experience that freedom for yourself.

Despite his laughter and teasing -- "How can someone who spends so much time at a hockey rink be so terrible at skating?" -- he was a very good teacher. He had endless patience and was familiar with the way you learned which made it easy for him to pass on the secret knowledge of how to balance on two blades in a way you quickly understood.

By the end of the first lesson, you were a little bruised from falling so many times but had also figured out how to stay upright and move around. And if you were still moving at a snail's pace as you got used to things while Dean zoomed by you, at least you were on your feet.

You and Dean have this years-long running bet of sorts. It started in high school when the two of you were in chorus together, you because you enjoyed it and wanted to be and Dean because he had to in order to get his fine arts credit -- although you suspect that no matter how much he denies it, there was a small part of him that enjoyed it. Your teacher had a requirement that at the local band/chorus contest, everyone must participate in at least one small group piece on top of the pieces you sang as a full choir. Dean pestered you for days before you finally agreed to do a duet with him. "But," you told him, "only if you score a goal within the first three minutes of the game tonight." You weren't sure why you decided to make him work for it instead of just agreeing. After all, you knew he was a decent singer and would make a good duet partner. Not to mention you enjoyed spending time with him, so working on a song together wouldn't exactly be a hardship. But you'd already offered the deal and weren't about to take it back. Of course Dean's eyes lit up at the challenge and he immediately agreed. That night, just over two minutes into the game he scored a goal. He immediately looked up, finding you in the crowd quickly since you tended to sit in the same place, and winked at you. You knew it was his way of gloating in the couple seconds he had available to do so, and you rolled your eyes at him but couldn't contain your smile.

After that it became a thing. If there was something Dean wanted from you -- something he wanted help with or something he wanted to do that he knew you'd enjoy but you were a little hesitant about (like going to homecoming with him) -- he'd use the "if I score a goal in under three minutes" challenge as a way to get it.

After a while, it evolved into more of a silly game. It became an almost every game occurrence. He still brought up big things once in a while -- "if I score in under three minutes tonight, you have to go talk to that cute guy from the library you won't shut up about" -- but it was mostly little stuff. "If I score in under three minutes tonight, I get to pick the movie we watch this weekend; If I score in under three minutes tonight, you're buying me a pizza; If I score in under three minutes tonight, you have to come with me to the show my friend and his horrible band are putting on. If I have to suffer through it, so do you."

You suspected that he liked the challenge of it, that he wanted to give himself a reason to really work hard. While he definitely wasn't managing to score in time every night, he managed it enough to gain a reputation for himself as an early game scorer. "Watch out for Winchester in those first few minutes of the game," you'd heard people say. "If he gets anywhere near your goal, he will score."

Just like the first time, if he won the challenge, he would find you in the stands and wink at you. In the college years, this led to the more intense fans -- particularly the young women who knew what he looked like beneath the helmet -- to speculate who he might be winking at and why. In the last couple years with the Hunters, it led to even more teasing from the guys about you being Winchester's girl.

It has been a brutal game against the Hunters' biggest rival the Leviathans. More fights have broken out than you've seen in probably the last three or four games combined. One of the Leviathans' defenders broke his wrist in the first period. The score has been neck and neck, neither team able to gain a lasting advantage over the other. There is about a minute and a half left in the game when Dean scores a goal, putting the Hunters two points ahead, the biggest gap of the whole game. The crowd cheers, none of them louder than you, you're sure.

It happens in the middle of the next play. One second Dean is flying down the ice, all fire and determination. The next, there's a collision of bodies. You don't think anything of it. It happens all the time. Until three of the bodies pull back and the fourth is left lying on the ice. You can't do anything but stare as the big black 67 of Dean's jersey stares back. Fear holds you prisoner and you can't move, watching helplessly as the coach steps onto the ice, followed soon after by an EMT. He manages to find his feet and is escorted slowly off the ice. You're on your feet in an instant, heading for the locker room where you know he'll be looked at.

You pace back and forth outside the locker room, not daring to actually go in. You know you're not allowed. So you pace, biting your fingernails as you listen to the final moments of the game and wait for some sort of news on Dean. The buzzer sounds, signaling the end of the game, and you know it's only a matter of time before the rest of the team is here. Maybe then you'll get some answers.

"What are you doing back here?" A hard voice demands. You look over to see the Leviathans' coach staring you down. He must have been passing by on the way to the other locker room. "You shouldn't be here," he says, not giving you time to answer.

"I know, but-"

"Get out of here," he demands. You know he's doing the right thing. He's probably dealt with overzealous fans before that wait for players outside the locker rooms and is only defending the privacy of the opposing team. But you don't appreciate his tone, especially given the circumstances.

"She's fine," a second voice says before you can answer. You look over the coach's shoulder to see Cas standing there, the rest of the team behind him. None of them look happy.

"Novak," the coach says. "I was just trying to make sure you weren't bothered. Fans shouldn't be back here."

"You're right, they shouldn't," Benny agrees. "But that's Winchester's girl. If she wants to be here, she has every right." The nickname that at first made you blush and now makes you roll your eyes never sounded so good. It's like a badge of honor. In a way, the team sees you as family. They will defend you and let people know you belong here with them. With Dean. The coach backs off.

"Just tell me how he is," you ask, turning to Benny and Cas with pleading eyes. Of course they don't have any more idea than you do, but you just want them to go in, assess the situation, and come back to tell you what's going on.

"Why don't you go find out for yourself?" Benny answers. You look at him in surprise. "I can't go in there," you tell him.

"Sure you can," Kevin disagrees. "Nobody's undressed in there. You can be in and out before we've got our pads off." You wait for only a second to see if anyone will protest and when they don't, you rush inside. Your eyes zero in on Dean immediately, sitting on a bench and talking with the EMT, who turns his head at the sound of the door opening. A look of surprise crosses his face and he stands up. "Young lady, you can't-"

"Yes she can," Dean cuts him off. His eyes are looking slightly unfocused, but they are fixed on you. You hear the rest of the team file in behind you as you make your way over to Dean, slowly, like you're afraid he'll break if you move too fast. You look him over as you move. His helmet, gloves, and skates are off. He looks ok, except for the eyes. "What happened?" You ask, sitting carefully beside him. "Are you ok?"

"That depends," he responds. Fear fills you again. Is the injury that bad? "Depends on what?" You ask. On if he has surgery to fix it? On if he never plays hockey again? The horrible possibilities flood your mind.

"Did we win?" He asks. You're too stunned to answer. You replay his question in your head a few times, sure you must have misheard him. "Are you serious?" You finally ask.

"Yes, I'm serious," he responds. "Did we win?"

You let out a frustrated breath. "You were up by two with barely more than a minute left. Of course you won," you answer. "Then I'm fine," he says. You feel like you could smack him. Why must he be so difficult? Why couldn't he just answer your question.

"Dean. What happened?" You demand. You can hear the edge in your voice.

"It's just a minor concussion. It was nothing. I'll be fine," he says dismissively.

"It was not nothing," you argue.

"It's hockey," he answers, as if that is explanation enough. "People get hurt. You should be used to that by now."

Sure, you've seen lots of players injured throughout the years. You've even seen Dean injured. But it was always something minor. Bumps and bruises, a sprained wrist, a broken nose one time. It wasn't the same. "I should be used to seeing you laying flat out on the ice and not moving?" You demand. Something in your voice alerts him to the fact that you're done with the joking and avoiding.

He sighs. "What do you want from me here, sweetheart? It's over and I'm fine. There's nothing more to do about it."

His question catches you off guard. What do you want from him? For him to never play hockey again? No. That wouldn't ensure he was never hurt again, and he loves it too much. There are many reasons you could never ask that of him, not the least of which being you have no right to ask. Do you want him to assure you that he's alright? Because he's already done that. So, what then? If you're being honest with yourself, what you really want is to hold onto him for a while, and for him to hold you back while your brain works on accepting the fact that he really is ok. But you can't ask that.

Instead, you agree with him. "You're right. I'm sorry. You just really scared me out there."

"I'm sorry you were so scared," he says sincerely. "But I promise, I really am ok."

"I know," you say with a forced smile. You give his hand a squeeze before leaving the room, giving the rest of the guys the privacy they've been patiently waiting for.

It's a couple weeks after the concussion incident. Things between you and Dean have been the same as usual, except they haven't been. Not really. You can't pinpoint what it is that's different, but there's definitely something. It's New Year's Eve. You're at a party with Dean and a bunch of guys from the team. Dean has been at your side all night. You wouldn't go as far as calling it weird, but... it's definitely not usual. You've attended a lot of parties together and while you make a point of knowing where the other person is and even spending a fair amount of time together, you do usually hang out with other people too. Not that you're not hanging out with anyone else. It's just that apparently you're staying together while doing it. Not that you're complaining.

The midnight countdown is fast approaching. You're not currently dating anyone so you've resigned yourself to not having a midnight kiss this year. You don't mind. You don't really see it as the big deal a lot of people seem to. You think to yourself that Dean better find someone very quick if he plans on kissing someone though. For some reason, that thought doesn't sit quite right with you. You're not sure why. You've never cared before who Dean kissed.

The countdown starts. You watch the people around you as they scurry to be near their partners. The count reaches two and you turn to Dean, preparing to clink your beers together in celebration. The count reaches one and Dean's free hand goes to rest on your cheek as he leans in and presses his lips to yours. When he pulls away, it leaves you breathless. The room explodes into cheers and the clinking of bottles and glasses.

"Why'd you do that?" You ask, ignoring the celebration going on around you.

"Should I not have?" He asks. It's a mild question, but there's a challenge in it. As if he's daring you. But daring you to do what?

"No, it's not- I didn't say that." You're not sure what he was hoping you'd say, but this is clearly at the very least not the wrong response. He waits for you to continue. "It's just... we've both been single on New Year's Eve before. You've never kissed me."

"It's never been right before," he shrugs. He sees your confusion and explains. "You and me, I think we've been heading in this direction for a long time. And I think everyone but us could see it. It's why the guys tease us so much. It's why there's a bunch of hockey obsessed girls out there who are insanely jealous of you even though up until now there hasn't been anything to be jealous of. I think it's why all of my girlfriends haven't liked you very much and your boyfriends have hated me."

"I wouldn't say they hated you," you protest. You're not sure why. It's probably the nerves at the implications of what he's saying. It makes you feel better to say something, unhelpful as it may be. He just gives you a look before continuing.

"I don't know if we honestly didn't know we felt this way or were just lying to ourselves about it. But you can't tell me things haven't been different between us lately. I know it's not just me." Was he right? Was that the change you've been noticing? You're not sure if you would have come to this conclusion on your own. After all, this was Dean. Steady, reliable, Dean who you've never seen as more than a friend. But now that the possibility has been brought up, now that he's kissed you, you can't deny what you're feeling.

"Things have been different," you admit. "I just..." How to finish that sentence. You just what? Never saw Dean in that way? Not untrue, but what was the point in bringing it up? Objectively you've always been able to clearly see why other girls fought tooth and nail for his attention. And now that you are looking at him that way, it is a pointless statement. You weren't expecting it? Also true, but obvious enough without having to say it.

Dean is usually good about letting you sort through your thoughts at times like this, but today he doesn't have the patience. "You just what?" He prompts. "Didn't expect the night to go like this?"

"Well no, I didn't. But that's not what I was going to say."

"Then what?"

"I don't know," you sigh, frustrated at your inability to find the words you want. You start speaking without really thinking, and thankfully the right words come to you. "I guess I just didn't realize why things were different. I noticed it, but I couldn't figure out what it was."

"And now that you know?"

You give him a little mischievous smile, feeling more confident after having some time to process. "Being just friends was getting a little boring anyway. Too predictable. I think it's about time we change things up."

Dean grins back and it lights up his face. You nearly catch your breath at the sight. Having your eyes opened to your feelings is like peeling a film off your eyes that you've lived with your entire life without knowing it's there. It's like seeing him for the first time, and he is the most stunning man you've ever seen. "Alright," he says. "Let's change it up then. If I score in under three minutes at the next game, you have to go on a date with me. Maybe you even have to kiss me."

You stop your jaw from literally dropping open, but you know he can read the look of disbelief on your face. "Your next game isn't for four days." You point out. "You're really going to make me wait that long?"

He shrugs, but you can see the teasing glint in his eye. He's all talk. "We've waited for ten years. I don't see what another few days could hurt."

"Screw that," you say. You set your beer on the table next to you and throw your arms around his neck, pulling him down to you. His hands settle automatically on the small of your back, arms around your waist, and you can feel his smile as he kisses you. You can't help but to smile back.

You're soon interrupted by a shouted, "Hey, Winchester finally got his girl!" from a drunken Benny, followed by whistles and catcalls from the rest of his teammates. You can't fight the heat that rises to your cheeks, but you sit through the ensuing teasing and congratulations as patiently as you can. Thankfully it's short lived as there's more exciting things happening -- it is a party after all -- and Dean's arm around your waist certainly helps calm your nerves.

"Don't be embarrassed," Dean says, knowing you've never been one for PDA. "You know they don't care." You aren't so embarrassed that you won't get over it in a minute or two, but you appreciate his attempts to calm you nonetheless. "And look on the bright side," he adds, brightening at whatever he's thinking. "At least now we're all on the same page the next time they call you my girl."

You smile. He's right. 'Winchester's girl' has a whole new ring to it now. It might have taken us a while to catch up, but they were right. You are, and always were, Dean's girl.

Secondary note: I realize I switch tenses halfway through this. I don't really feel like fixing it though. Also, I've tried to at least keep the present tense section all present tense, but I wouldn't be surprised if I'm switching back and forth. I usually write in past tense and found myself reverting back to it without realizing multiple times. I've reread it to try and catch anything, but it's late and I'm tired, so I probably missed some. I'll probably read this over again sometime in the next day or two to find any errors, but I wanted to get it posted. Hope you enjoyed!

Tags:

@123passwort @buckybarnes-1917 @chicken-nuggs-and-cozy-hugs @globetrotter28

[theseasasleep]

Story of Kunning Palace, E05 (semi-live reaction)

Of all the ways I thought Ning would handle the proposed slander against her beloved Zhang Zhe, the way she actually handled it did not align with my imaginings in the slightest. Sometimes what plays out is really better than the fiction in your head, hee. I did not see her calling out, not the dumb fiancee but the You-daughter. Nor did I foresee her half-drowning her in a jar full of goldfish.

FIERCE

Judging by the all the clips I have gorged on, this particular love line will be quite strong and trend for a while. Sigh. A decade plus of drama watching has whittled my patience for second lead to first lead love lines to whisper-thin nub but everyone keeps commenting on how amazing Zhang Zhe is so.... I guess the wait and watch won't be too grating.

...

I'm not sure I understand.

Zhang Zhe broke or bent his principles to help her on the oath that she'd become a good person thereafter.

Sometime later, Zhang Zhe is condemned to death for this.

Did he naturally get caught? Or did she deliberately sell him out? Was it more similar to the Yan Lin situation in which her people made moves without her knowledge and when push came to shove, she didn't make the necessary moves to upend the conspiracy for the sake of remaining Empress?

Whatever the case, it's clear Ning did many terrible things - some in ignorance, some in knowledge - to accomplish everything she achieved. I think she squared most, if not all of it with herself when weighing it against the ultimate end result... until Zhang Zhe ended up on the chopping block. I don't think she would have been able to write this sin off and once one stone in her ambitious bedrock was overturned, the rest likely came apart. It's why when she knew she was going to die she wanted her death to mean something, to be a reparation of sort to the only person remaining who might accept it because he thought she was worth something, because he's that good.

...

Oh. Oh. Look at the expression on his face as he listens to the patronizing, sexist drivel:

My scrumptious proto-feminist

...

LOL, he did a dignified catwalk and every lady in the room forgot to think and breathe!

I understand, ladies, I understand.

Geez, Ning, Xie Wei had them open a window for you, and only you, so you would have fresh air and bright light, to improve your mood and chances! Not to silently accuse you of being a potential cheat!

Wow, this is all up hill climb, my guy. Get your shoes with the best tread on, Xie Wei.

I know not a drop of Chinese and even I can see that's atrocious. And what did she draw in the corner. A flower? A dancing sun? A really fat, disproportionate hand with a vestigial finger?

And she asks, did she put too much effort into [failing]? Girl. It's so obvious she'd bring out the contrarian impulses of a saint. But maybe it's worth it since we get this face:

Teacher does not approve.

What I am enjoying so much in this scene is the action and counteraction. The way they each boldly challenge the other. She sent up an exam paper so abominable as to be a mockery [of him]; he passes her. She tries to expose her "stupidity" to the rest of the class; he threatens to critique the entire class, turning everyone against her idea.

point:

Counterpoint:

Concession:

Me:

...

I'm not even touching the "dementia." Rolling my eyes and moving on.

But, but, but... How was he so spot on?! How did he guess at reincarnation?! I mean, yeah, he said he doesn't believe in the supernatural but it can't be a coincidence to the narrative that he's the first to come closest to the truth?

Xie Wei: Ning, what's your relationship with Yan Lin? I NEED TO KNOW... *whispers* for science.

Oh, your father asked me to take good care of you in the palace... Yan Lin asked me to help you... By the by, that study partner list? Yeah, another ministry generates it but ultimately it has to run by me. The moment I saw your name I marked you for the palace. After going to so much trouble, it would be stupid of me to release you from palace duties now!

Xie Wei, be like:

...

God. I Hate Ning's Mom.

[my-names-angel-but-im-not-one]

I DON'T LIKE YOU.....

Chapter-1

Pairing: Yandere gojo x Reader

Summary: You don't like gojo Satoru .....and you made it quite clear.

Warning ⚠️: Dark themes , Yandere theme, stalking.

You were Shoko's friend . You knew about gojo Satoru shoko told you about the man.

And you just decided that you don't like him. It's not unusual... you've always hated those Rich , good lookin' people who can get whatever they want from their birth . They do not have to suffer life problems, they do not have to cry for a toy , they do not have to ask for new clothes. They get anything they want just by touching it.

And you hated that because you couldn't.

But nevermind that it's not like you've actually met the guy or something .

Now a Little something about you. Well... you're not normal. You're neither a sorcerer nor a normal human. You can't see curses but you do see black smokey void instead . So you simply do not belong anywhere nor in the jujutsu world neither in the normal one .

But you've lived through it yet so that's not a problem.

Shoko is your best friend because she was the first person who believed you. Your mom thinks you're mental , your dad don't give a single shit , and other people who you've told ......they just want to send you to the mental hospital. You were tired of explaining people that you see black smokes sometimes but they don not believe. Shoko did . And here you were .

Standing infront of a cafe , you can make Shoko's figure but not the person she was sitting with . It was a man , sure. But his back was turned .

And like any best friend would think and do......you concluded that it was a date and decided to crash it.

Giggling evil you made your way in the cafe and stand behind the man's back and smirked at shoko.

"Well well i didn't thought my workaholic bestie would actually find a date~" you said giggling slightly but stopped at Shoko's unimpressed face .

Upon another one's appearance the man turned.....(and so was your life about too)

Snow white hairs, shiny lips , and oh those beautiful eyes that holds the ocean in them......you hate ocean.

The male smiled at you , a charming one . 'Fake'

You immediately thought. You know that fake, charming, and getting all the girls n boys smile . You have already mastered it. You smiled back. And did that eye thing to shoko.

"Well y/n i would've said it's nice to see you, but it's not -"

"ouch, my heart~"

"- this is gojo Satoru btw, gojo , this is y/n"

Shoko said um impressed.

Gojo turned to you and stand up , hold his hand out to shake hands with you . 'well damn that's tall' you yourself aren't short with the height of 5.6 you consider yourself tall and intimidating but this guy was a whole different case. "Hello y/n san~ it's very nice to meet you~".

You didn't took his hand . You'd not. You despise people like him .... everything's just so easy for them . " It's nice to meet you too, gojo-san, and i would prefer L/n San, if you would " you said with a cold tone.

Gojo seems shocked for a moment and retreated his hand back.

'hah , bitch really thought he had me swooning on the looks!'

You smirked victoriously in mind . "Y-yeah ofcourse,um I'm gojo Satoru and I'm a teacher!" He said recovering quick and smiled again.

"yeah i know you're a jujutsu teacher" he was shocked again. This girl was really putting him on time off. "I've heard a lot about you" you finished.

"All good i hope~" he said . "Hmm can't make any promises ~" you replied giving a smile of yours. You sure were giving gojo a hard time conversing .

"Ahem so...." Shoko started . "Oh yeah sorry I'll be going home i need to make dinner, bye shoko my love~" you said . "Ugh Don call me that" shoko said irritated but still smiled at your childish inact.

You got out the cafe and head for home walking with you groceries in hand.....well it was mostly instant noodles so....

"I'll head home too" gojo said and wore his jacked and cap.

You went your way walking and holding all you're things. Tap tap tap tap

'Huh' you thought and stopped right away . But you didn't dare look back. ' i heard footsteps and I'm sure of it . I'm not gonna neglect it thinking I'm paranoid ' you thought and continued to walk away planning to suddenly turn and found the stalker and you did turn away but there was no one there.

You huffed and locked your door not worrying anymore.

Though someone's else was worried, their heart was beating so loud in their chest because they were about to get caught following you.

' She's too smart, You intrigue me Y/N L/N' thought the sorcerer.

[theonekrafter]

Love the new chapter! I really love all the dynamics, especially Jiraiya walking in and accidentally ruining his own dynamic with them. I really get the feeling that it never occurred to him that his students could *not* trust him. Like, I don't think it even occurred to him that his students wouldn't already respect him and be vying for his attention like he did in his old team. You mentioned him seeing Seiko as like Orochimaru due to the genius thing, and im just. So curious. Was he doing the immature equivalent thing of trying to one up a kid as an f u to his childhood rival? Does he want Seiko to like/respect him to feel vindicated? That's going to end interestingly. I wonder what it looks like from the outside, that his team watch their backs around him and eye him like he'll do something, and he thinks it's normal. Do they they think it's funny that a Sanin can't get a bunch of kids to like him? Are they concerned that there is no teacher student bonds forming like is traditional and expected? What does it mean in konoha society for a genin student to fundamentally not trust their teacher? For the entire team to stand with them and close ranks with their Sensei on the outside? Idk I feel like people are going to form Opinions about it

LONG WINDED RESPONSE! warning you all now! will contain spoilers related to my characterization of jiraiya!

I really get the feeling that it never occurred to him that his students could not trust him.

jiraiya doesn't really understand what position these kids are coming from, nor does he understand on any deeper level What It Means to be a jonin teacher. or a teacher worthy of trust in general. this isn't me bashing him, i think that while he CAN be a fun and engaging teacher, he doesn't really respect the impact he has on these kids' lives.

with his sensei he already respected him simply because he was the hokage. and, on top of that, hiruzen was an agreeable affable person. he commanded respect easily and his students trusted him not to lead them astray (at least while they were genin). jiraiya has taken this dynamic for granted and believes that to be the default. it is not.

as for the ame orphans, he was ALL THEY HAD. his mercy in choosing to teach them ingratiated them significantly more to him from the get go. this isn't the case for his genin team. his genin team just got some random guy who everyone says is strong, and now they're having to feel him out for if he's a good person and good teacher.

Was he doing the immature equivalent thing of trying to one up a kid as an f u to his childhood rival? Does he want Seiko to like/respect him to feel vindicated? That's going to end interestingly.

for jiraiya, i think what he did was totally normal and fine. yeah she's just a pipsqueak genin, but she's advanced for her age. she can handle a little spar.

in my head, jonin and chunin do use spars as a private space to check on each other, to check each other's loyalties too. shinobi are always more honest with a weapon in hand, the saying goes. so jiraiya just sees this as a opprotunity to privately ask if seiko knows what he and the hokage thinks she knows.

spoiler:

the hokage did not ask jiraiya to figure it out in the way jiraiya did. the hokage just mentioned that he suspected she knew, and that he wanted to know if she did or not. that sort of thing is important to accommodate for considering no one else in kushina's age group is aware of what she is. ill go over this in a later chapter, but there's your answer to if the hokage is trying to scare poor seiko half to death.

What does it mean in konoha society for a genin student to fundamentally not trust their teacher? For the entire team to stand with them and close ranks with their Sensei on the outside? Idk I feel like people are going to form Opinions about it

:)

ty for your ask!!

i love getting asks its like i got a little letter from a friend who lives far away and who's asking after me and my children's health. very very fun. lmk if you have any other ideas or thoughts about the kids! or of the side characters like the ino-shika-cho trio. im excited to write more of them.