#still end up developing understanding and skill in the language)

[rigelmejo]

I'm saving this for later. He talks about reading around 10 minutes.

[satorena]

#INTRO2MUNCH101

summ. when suguru “eat it off the bone” geto actually turns out to be suguru “flaps the left lip until she calls it a night” geto, he finds himself questioning everything he thought he knew about his skills. . . talk about a rude awakening.

cw. explicit content. foul language. fem!reader. college!au. eventual smut (but not in the way you think. . .) mild modern lingo. allusions to music artists. cunningulūs. male masturbation. reader has a belly piercing. she’s also depicted mean by the boys. gojo cameos bc i can’t not mention him. tattoo artist!geto. substance consumption. lowkeyyy self-indulgent reader. 10k wc.

rena's note. this is a spin-off to p power, so i’d suggest reading that first to understand the correlation! & shoutout to @yung-notorious for the idea <3

suguru geto is a simple man.

your pleasure is his pleasure. he’s always prided himself on being a pro at the art of cunningulus. honest— he’s always left with swollen lips, a heavily sprayed face and a solid five star ratings at the end of his work. his jaw feels tired out, scalp burning from consistent hair tugs, and his breathing uneven from lack of oxygen. but at the feel of plush thighs squeezing his face and the repetition of his name flowing into the air before getting squirted on, he remembers it’s always worth it.

no pain no gain, right?

wrong.

because here he finds himself, a hefty hour in since he first dove in between your soft legs, and there’s been absolutely no development. sprawled on your back on his sheets, arm slung over your eyes, and your breathing even. you look fucking bored, and his heart is sinking to his ass.

geto will use every trick he has in the book. he’s noticed overtime that girls have different bodies, therefore he needs different tactics to stimulate those bodies. he nips at your puffy bud, sucking on your clit for external pleasure. no use. fine, then he’ll push your thighs up some more for a deeper penetration of his fingers in your cunt— still no use. the only sounds being produced are his mouth slipping against his own saliva at your pussy because he can’t even get you wet enough.

the pit in his stomach grows larger. he wonders if maybe you’re just the silent type? he’s come across those before.

he’s getting nervous out of his mind, so shaky and uncoordinated that his hand slips and meets your lips for the umpteenth time— and only then do you release a guttural groan, the very first sound you’ve made in a long ass time. wait—

“did. . . did you cum?” he pants, pulling his sticky lips away from yours. his face feels moist, blood rushing all in his head and he’s lightheaded. but still, he has to know.

you push yourself up to your elbows, annoyance clear as day. he’s yet to seen this look on a girl after pulling every card known on the table, “yeah. . . to the wrong fucking house.”

oh fuck.

☆ ☆ ☆

he first spotted you chatting it up with your friends on the school’s soccer field, on a random tuesday afternoon, and he’s been hooked on you ever since.

the universe played a funny game, and he realized university truly is a small ass world. amongst your friends, he noticed a familiar face. one he’s been hearing and seeing of one too many times lately, on multiple separate and traumatic occasions— gojo’s girlfriend. suguru found himself bonding with her due to their familiar point of interest— that being gojo— and believes he can now make of her a friend.

geto watches his best friend’s eyes shimmer and he flashes his infamous million dollar smile. he really is obsessed with his girlfriend and she doesn’t even know— and geto finds himself wishing he had somebody he’d be this ecstatic over. must be nice.

“i’m gonna go say hi to my girl real quick,” gojo taps at his shoulder, and geto nods. he’s cool on it, he’ll wait back here until he’s done, or can make his way to his next class depending on whatever gojo and his girlfriend arrange. “you comin’?”

“i’m probably gonna head to our next lecture.” geto voices out, pulling his phone from his pocket to check the time. he feels gojo peeking over his shoulder, in which he assumes to verify if that would be necessary.

over forty-five minutes. damn it.

“that’s mad pointless, class doesn’t start till more than half an hour,” gojo says, and geto doesn’t see himself waiting around that long for a lecture. no way, “just come— her friends are chill.”

fuck it, he goes. naturally, gojo is all over his girl and her friends expect it. geto does give them a little wave when gojo introduces him. one of the girls mention having heard of him through a friend— something about a failed talking stage. mad federal, and the sheepish chuckle geto offers when you give him an unreadable look makes him want to crawl into a ditch.

so now you think he’s a whore. awesome.

and gojo’s smirk definitely doesn’t help him out. he doesn’t help out at all actually, so enamoured by his girlfriend that he leaves geto to fend for himself against a pack of wolves (read: nosy girls). he replies only when spoken to, nods when necessary and throws in a few “that’s crazy,” to which the girls fail to pick up he’s out of words to say.

well, everyone except you.

you’re quiet. in fact, the whole time, you haven’t said shit to him. you sit back and observe, occasionally typing on your macbook, or reapplying your lip combo. you didn’t have any words to say to him. even when your friends would talk to you, you gave them short answers and went back to listening to whatever was playing in your airpods. he could tell from that small interaction alone, you were the mean one out of your clique.

and fuck if that didn’t make him want you more. there was just something about mean women that made him want to break through their fake ass exteriors and watch them turn all soft and chummy for him.

blame it on his corruption kink.

gojo confirms his thoughts when they’re finally on their way to class. he kissed his girl goodbye and waved off her friends, to which they all (minus you) collectively cooed, “byeee gojooo!” which he found odd, but kept silent. he gave them a small nod before following his best friend.

they’re a few steps in the science building when the words slip before he can help it, ultimately cutting gojo’s rambling off, “yo, who was that girl?”

gojo glances at him before chuckling, “there was like seven of ‘em. which one?”

“the quiet one.”

it throws him off guard when gojo laughs hard. like, really hard. it attracts the attention of bystanders, who give him a crazy look but gojo ignores. as if they’d try to press him about his volume— the two were pretty adored around campus.

geto does find his reaction quite interesting, to which he cocks a brow and offers a chuckle of his own, “what?”

“oh, you definitely mean y/n,” when his laughter dies down, he finally answers. he lifts his shades to his hairline to swipe a tear. “she’s mean as fuck, bro.”

“right?!” geto laughs, tapping at gojo’s shoulder. it only charges gojo’s laughing fit back up, “i could tell from her vibe. she gives off those ‘men ain’t shit’ girlies on twitter. whole time, she’s probably laid up in bed with one.”

“you don’t even knowww,” gojo holds his shoulder and shakes him a bit. geto does in fact know, because he’s dealt with girls like her before. they’re always a good ass time. “she does men dirty. like, absolutely dogs them. heard one phone call too many.”

oh? even better than he expected. she’s probably the type that used to love hard before getting her heart trampled on and decided to seek revenge on all men. like, on some jennifer’s body shit. geto can’t help but smirk, “lemme see for myself. put me on.”

gojo falters in his step. his grip on geto’s shoulders loosen and his expression changes— not by much, but the once lighthearted smile switches to a skeptical one, “you serious?”

geto lets out a soft sigh, shrugging gojo’s hands off his shoulders. “don’t start asking too much. i did a favour for you and your girl, didn’t i?,” well, technically speaking it wasn’t like his comment had been the deciding factor for the two, but it did open gojo’s eyes. “you owe me one.”

“i don’t owe you shit,” gojo laughs, throwing his arm around geto anyways, “buuut you’re my boy and i’m not stingy. i’ll see what i can do, i know you’ve been getting a lil jealous of wifey and i.”

“shut the fuck up.” geto’s chuckles contradict his statement.

from that point on, it’s smooth sailing. gojo texts his girl asking if she’s seeing anybody. they have a little back and forth because his girlfriend assumes he’s asking for himself— which gojo gets all dramatic and throws geto under the bus for free. welp! it all worked out anyway since after he and gojo parted, you’d thought he was fine shyt. judging from your character, he doesn’t exactly take gojo’s words for what they are.

but he’ll take the opening, it’s as good as any.

time to plot.

☆ ☆ ☆

the second encounter was purely coincidental. and simultaneously embarrassing.

see, geto prides himself on his mysterious act— granted he was anything but. people see all that is gojo and automatically assume that geto has to be the cool one. it creates a perfect balance, no?

haven’t people heard of birds of a feather flock together?

so yes, he’s also a nerd. he typically enjoys spending his wednesday afternoons at dice board cafes because why not. it’s a chill, lowkey joint right off campus and not a lot of people gravitate towards, therefore the perfect spot to camp out before his evening lecture.

besides, his buddy choso works there and it gets him discounts. it isn’t the only reason he shows up, but it does help a lot on his pockets. being a student is awful, financially.

geto sips on his choco latte through a straw, browsing through the board games pamphlet as he decides what he’s going to play today. most of these games are pretty pointless if he doesn’t have an opponent, but he likes to think it helps develop his iq. he hears avenoir playing through the cafe and knows choso’s on aux.

who else could be playing this toxic ass shit?

he’s torn choosing between snakes and ladders or chess when he hears chimes at the front door, signalling somebody’s entered the establishment. he doesn’t think much of it, going on about minding his business when he hears choso say your name.

the latte enters the wrong tube and he chokes.

geto collects himself quickly, wiping any stray liquid past his mouth as his head snaps up. you’re propped up against the counter, and though he can’t see your face, he definitely recognizes your build. . . okay, yeah that sounds fucking pervy but if he stalked your page a few times, who’s business is it but his own? it’s not like you’d know. granted, he had got caught up liking one of your older photos but he took the like right back!

he debates on walking up to you. how would that even work without seeming desperate? you’ve been checking out all of his boxes so far— your face, body and attitude (question mark) are all tens. he does want to get to know you— at least be somebody in your life. but damn, why is he overthinking this? all he has to get up there and sweet talk you. he’s done this shit before.

“yo, suguru!”

shit.

purple orbs shift towards where his name was called, and lo and behold, there stands choso. and naturally, you look back to who was summoned, but god— social media does not do your face justice. he last seen you about a week ago, and had nothing but your instagram and his memory to rely on.

he makes his way to the counter and ignores you. doesn’t spare you a glance once— though he stands right at your side and watches you watching him through his peripheral. he nods at choso, “what’s up?”

choso, ever the genius, flicks his eyes between geto and you, before clearing his throat, “shoko just texted— somethin’ about a new client. how’s the studio looking?”

“booked all week,” geto answers truthfully, and he notices you’ve shifted your gaze, “little to no openings. why though?”

choso hums, jolting down online orders into a little notebook, “not even for a special friend?”

geto squints his eyes at that. there isn’t anybody he’d call a special friend that hasn’t already been booked or wouldn’t have his number to squeeze in an appointment. granted, he is a dnd warrior but even his friends know of that quirk of his, “depends. who’s the special friend?”

“me.” and he feels his heart skip a beat. fuck. he tilts his head over to the side, and good lord, your face card gave every girl on campus runs for their money. seriously, your facial features complimented you in a way that told aphrodite— the textbook definition of beauty— to go fuck herself, and hard.

“oh?” geto cocks a brow, and lets his eyes roam up and down your frame. shameless, yes, but he has a reputation to uphold. your rest in face makes his own look like child’s play, “didn’t realize we were on special friends basis.”

you click your tongue, “didn’t realize we were on lurking spam accounts but pretend we don’t exist the next day basis either,” you quip right back, picking at the white bow glued to your acrylics.

sassy. geto chuckles, now fully turning his body around to face you. you match his movements, and he toys with a ring on his middle finger, “guess you got me all figured out,” he pauses, shifting his gaze to choso, who’s already eyeing him. “sounds like you wanted me to reach out.”

“boy please,” you scoff, pausing your nail inspection. you let your hand hang, “you choked earlier because you heard my name. that corny nonchalant act isn’t the flex you’re thinking it is,” a huff escapes your lips, and geto feels blood rushing to his face. “your lurking ass was months deep into my page just a week ago— did you find any men ain’t shit vibes from the photo dump?”

choso stifles a laugh, and when geto looks at him, it dies into a cough. well damn, you really didn’t hold anything back. read him like a book actually— and it doesn’t help that gojo can’t keep his mouth shut for shit. it widens the grin on his face. he thinks he likes you.

“well,” geto smirks, “can’t say i have— means there’s still an opening.”

you furrow your brows, “oh? an opening to what exactly?”

“an appointment, of course,” he shrugs, running a hand through his hair. his locks are getting in his face, but the messy look always gets him compliments. might as well shoot his shot, “you know. . .” leaning his chin into the palm of his hand, “for a special friend.”

his double entendre definitely doesn’t go unnoticed by you. he watches how, despite the mean mugging, there’s a glint of mischief in your eyes. you’re squinting just slightly, almost as if you were weighing out the pros and cons. geto won’t break the eye contact first— he’s on a mission. he hopes the tired eyes look will be on his side this time.

tattoo or dick appointment— he would one hundred percent make an opening for you. anything to get his hands on your body.

“are we still talking about the tattoo parlour or . . .”

both you and he turn to choso, who’s watching the situation unfold. just count on him to ruin the mood, whether the obliviousness was feigned or not. choso tightens his brows at the look geto shoots him, “what?”

“i’m gonna head out,” you grab at your handbag, hopping of the seat. nicely played choso. you gather your items and slip them in your purse, sliding a few bucks across the counter. choso grabs the bills and stick them in the tip jar, nodding at her. “catch you in poly sci?”

“if you don’t skip again.” choso snorts and you flip him off, slinging your bag over your shoulder. you turn on your heel and make your way towards the exit, ultimately dismissing geto. that doesn’t feel too nice, he should probably stop that bad habit.

he rises to his feet before he can help it. his hand grabs at your wrist and notices how much smaller it seems in comparaison to his, and he hates the next words that leave his mouth, “what about me?”

you glance down at his hold on you, before looking back up at him, “what about you?” your face says everything your lips haven’t— you’re getting the ick.

he wants to wince. okay, yeah that was corny, “when do i get to see you?”

you drag out a mini hum, your gaze dancing over his silver chain around his collarbone, “dunno. you have my socials so i assume in the next hour.”

he tilts his head to the side, and the pad of his thumb grazes over your smooth skin. he doesn’t fail to notice the way your hand stiffens under his touch, “so if i slide in your dms in the next hour, i can expect an answer?”

a snort leaves your chest, and he can’t tell if it’s a condescending one or an amused one. what he does know, however, is that he’s going to be seeing you sometime soon. you take your hand back into your possession before laying it in the dead centre of his chest, pushing him back just slightly, “i’ll see you around, geto.”

his eyes trail over your figure, every step you take out of the establishment, slightly starstruck by the entirety of you— your boldness. the thrill he was beginning to feel felt like a high. he hasn’t met anybody this entertaining in a while.

“you’re so fucking corny.” he thinks he hears choso insult him from behind. he doesn’t pay him any mind, despite the middle finger that tips towards the ceiling. partynextdoor blasts in the cafe, specifically freak in you, and he hates how he finds himself relating to the lyrics,

room full of beautiful women but he only wants one.

☆ ☆ ☆

“you stalking me, pretty?”

“sure,” you nod your head, raking through the items on the clothing rack. you don’t spare him a single glance, picking a top off the rack and inspecting it, “if stalking means visiting the busiest thrift store on the busiest hour in the busiest city.”

geto lets out a small laugh, shoving his hands in the pockets of his cargos. you make him feel like a nuisance, like he’s a pest wasting your time. ironic, seeing as he wasn’t that much of a bother just last night, when you’d been indulging him in your inbox, “of course you’re the thrifting type.”

you pause your actions, price tag in your fingers as you side eye him through locks of your hair, “and you’re not?”

“didn’t mean it in a bad way, sweetheart.” geto shrugs, pulling off a cropped baby tee and bringing towards you. it has sequins sewn in the material, the gems writing out juicy couture. “this would suit you— belly piercing and whatnot.”

the top is cute, there was no denying so. a pretty shade of pink that suited your complexion, but letting his ego inflate bigger than it already was out of the question. he could tell your thought process from the judgmental look you offered, “oh god—you’re one of those fake ass, streetwearing fashionistas, aren’t you?”

geto blinks a few times, before letting out a sincere laugh. he’s been called a multitude of things before, but that one was new, “you got all that from me suggesting you buy this juicy couture tee? don’t all girls fiend over this vintage shit?”

“it’s that corny ass personality of yours,” you grab the shirt, throwing it in your cart. he wants to make a comment on that, but you beat him to the chase, “the phoney nonchalant act, the streetwear, your insta aesthetic— you’re so scripted.”

“my insta aesthetic?” he repeats, and doesn’t miss a step to catch up to you. your hands are back on the handle of your shopping cart, and if the way his elbows bump into your shoulders bothers you, you don’t make point in commenting on it. “who’s the lurker now, hm?”

you roll your eyes, pushing the strolley ahead, “don’t let it get to your big ass head. your feed screams you’re those toxic ass brent faiyaz wannabes,” he watches your fingertips rake through more clothings that pass your way, before you shoot him a glance, “let me guess— he showed on your spotify wrapped.”

his silence speaks volumes, and you click your tongue, “see? scripted.”

“and what about you?” geto counters when you make a pit stop. you pull away from your cart when a denim skirt catches your eye. you lift the skirt up to your eyes, before looking over your shoulder, cocking a brow.

“what about me?”

“the tweet reposts, the song choices for your highlights, the whole spiritual baddie persona,” he presses behind you, his chest meeting your back. he rests his chin atop your head, purple eyes landing on the clothing article that’s lowering in your hold, “if my page gives brent then yours definitely gives jhene.”

you’re mute for a second, and you chuck the skirt into the cart. you pull away from beneath him, spinning on your feet to face him, and you’ve got a scowl on your lips, “what’s wrong with jhene?”

“and you call me the toxic one.” geto pokes at your cheek. you swipe his hand away, and he laughs, “don’t get me wrong though— she makes good music. but let’s not act like she’s all innocent either,” his gaze lowers to your glossy lips, the fullness of the pair hypnotic, “a real freak. should i call you my pussy fairy?”

“do not,” you reply, weaving around him to make your way back to your cart. geto laughs, snatching a few things of the racks before dumping them in your stuff. you give him a deadpanned look and he whistles it off, feigning ignorance. “jhene’s a lovergirl. thought i was part of the men ain’t shit community.”

“you’re not gonna let that go, are you?” geto sighs. he owes gojo another thump in the head.

you roll your eyes, “thank your homeboy for that.”

“two things can be true at once,” geto fiddles with the hem of his jacket. he’s back at walking step by step with you, and you haven’t told him to fuck off yet, so he’s going to milk the opportunity out. “you’re mean but a lovergirl. you hate men but a real freak with them. right or wrong?”

you halter in your steps, and geto’s now a few steps ahead of you, so he looks over his shoulder to meet your bored expression, “i know you’re not trying to read me in the middle of value village.”

“no better time than the present,” he smiles, one that creases a dimple in his cheeks. “come on up— what are you waiting for?”

you stare at him some more, inhaling sharply, “mind you, i never invited you to join me,” you shake your head but comply regardless. cute, looks like you’re enjoying his company more than you’re letting on.

so he graces you his presence some more. he shops along with you, sneaks clothes into your cart when you’re distracted and asks you stupid questions. it’s a good time— to him at least, being able to get to know you some more without interruptions. naturally, you feign that his company is the bane of your existence, but he doesn’t miss the twitch of your lips when he taps his card into the reader at the check out.

hell yeah he’s got money to spend and is willing to show off if it means getting on your good side.

it’s only after he helps you bag your shit into your car, that he realizes this is where the both of you part ways. it annoys him slightly, but he doesn’t need to overstep his boundaries. he closes your trunk and makes his way to the driver’s side, where you’re already buckled up.

he taps at your window and the glass rolls down all the way, to which he leans forward. he’s in your line of sight now and you sigh, tilting your head sideways, “what?”

“do i get a goodbye kiss?” geto teases, honest, the boyish smirk he offers accentuating the playful undertone. the last thing he expects is you shifting in your seat, pushing yourself up and peaking your head out the window.

his smirk drops, brows jumping to his hairline. you’re really fucking close now, and for a split second he thinks you’re actually going to do it. he can see the flecks of colours swimming in your orbs, the tip of your nose bumps into his and your breath fans his cupid’s bow.

fuck, you smell really good. he bets you taste even better. his mouth is running dry, mindlessly darting his tongue out to wet his own lips. he doesn’t realize he’s let himself lean into your space, eyes narrowing on your mouth parting over his.

he’s pulled out of his trance when two fingers press at his forehead and push. he blinks his lashes, snapping back to reality as you sit back into your seat. you look amused— as if you’d played the funniest game right in his face and he’d been the star player.

“i’ll see you around, geto.”

and you drive off.

☆ ☆ ☆

“come back in a few weeks for a checkup. we’ll make sure the healing process is running smoothly. i’ll catch you soon.”

he lets out a tired sigh when the door finally closes, slumping into his seat and shuts his eyes. he’s exhausted— having woken up early for lectures and labs to back to back appointments with clients. this time around, the parlour is always booked and busy. students find it the perfect timing to get tatted to let it heal before showing it off in the summer.

it’s smart for them but idiotic for him. midterms are up, and the only time he has to study is in between appointments. he slides off his gloves and drags his seat towards his desk, redirecting his attention focus towards the blinding screen.

he feels a headache building at his temple, sipping at his iced coffee to keep him energized. contradicting, sure, but you didn’t have the luxury to be a beggar and a chooser when you were a full time student. the parlour he ran resided in his loft apartment, on the second floor. he enjoyed the comfort of his own home, spacious room and wide windows compared to outside stores.

his cat, nanako, purrs at his feet and he feels his heart swell. if there was one weakness he had in this world, it’d be her. he picks her up from the floor, presses her at his rib cage and nuzzles his nose in her fur.

“hi baby,” geto coos, and nanako lets out a sound. he continues to coddle her, fluffing her fur and rubbing at her ears, “it’s been pretty lively in here, hasn’t it? i knowww,” he coos, and as if nanako understands his words, she makes a pitiful sound that slightly shatters his heart.

geto decides to place her on his lap, her company serving plenty of motivation as he rolls back to his desk. he grabs the remote to his built-in speakers, turning the volume higher, before locking back in. exams are full of crap, and words are starting to jumble on his screen— he’s beginning to contemplate if this education shit is even worth the stress.

he’s an hour deep in jolting notes down on his ipad when he hears a knock at his front door. he scrunches his brows and glances at his agenda— he isn’t due for an appointment until another few hours. he sits it out, starting to believe he’d maybe imagined the sound. he knows it isn’t gojo since he’s celebrating an anniversary with his girl, and any other friend would’ve called to let him know they’re outside.

probably some jehovah witness shit, he thinks to himself, fingers hovering over his speaker remote to crank the volume back up. he turns back to his laptop screen, petting nanako mindlessly when his ipad flashes an instagram notification.

yourstruly.yn: open up

he jumps to his feet, chair rolling back. nanako flies to his desk, landing on all fours as she hisses at him for his suddenness. geto grabs her and kisses her ear, “sorry baby,” before sitting her on the floor. she walks off to her mini bean bag right at the foot of his desk, and he senses an attitude coming from her.

damn, he’d forgotten he squeezed you in last night in the midst of his sweet talking. that was truly a stupid move, he was already behind on studying, and because he likes to think with his head instead of his actual head, he’d fall even further behind.

he checks around the flat— picks up stray wrappers and fixes throw pillows, arranges his sheets. he was a clean man for the most part— he had been so distracted with his studies that there wasn’t much to dirty in the first place. his candles had already been lit so he knew the place smelled fine. he’s pretty positive his loft is clean enough to leave a good first impression.

he fixes loose hairs and straightens out his hoodie and sweats. thank fuck he’d showered not too long ago— he’s beginning to understand why his mother was always so insistent on being clean in case of random pop ups.

when he does finally open the door, there you stood. it was pretty chilly outside this time around, so he wasn’t surprised by the harsh wind flowing in and the clutch of your coat in your hold. your nose began reddening, and you sniffled, scowling from the cold.

you’re so cute, he sends you a smile, “hey.”

“hi,” you replied, sniffling again. “you ever planning on letting me in?”

“dunno,” he crosses his arms over his chest. he leans against the doorframe, ignoring the way he was starting to feel the frosty wind setting in his bones, “maybe if you ask nicely.”

you shoot him a deadpanned look, “move.”

“no.” geto smiles, “try again.”

“move, now.” a small pout is starting to form on your lips. he really liked testing your patience, since it always seemed to run low. you must’ve met your match— because geto always had time to fuck around.

“close, but not quite.”

“oh my goddd,” you groan, and that’s when he decides to let up. it really is colder than a bitch outside and he’d already kept you waiting while tidying up. he lets out a chuckle when you turn to the side, “i’m leaving— too damn cold for this.”

“alright, i’m playing,” geto widens the door. you stop your movements and glare at him. he aims an arm towards the inside of his loft, “don’t go, come in.”

you grumble something beneath your breath but comply, walking right past him. he follows behind you, shutting the door close and is immediately greeted back with warmth. you slip your shoes off and place them on the rack, before stepping in further into his apartment.

he slides his hands into his sweatpants’ pockets, catching up to you in the living room. your head is tilted upwards as you inspect the place though you remain in place. he stands beside you, bumping his shoulder into your arm, “so? up to your standards?”

you’re quiet for a while, letting your eyes roam around as the words build in your mind, “it’s typical,” you shrug but don’t elaborate. you’ve been staring at an art piece he’d done first year when he was fried out of his mind. you shift your gaze back to him, “where do i put my shit?”

“you can leave it in my bedroom, if that’s fine.” geto suggests and you nod wordlessly, to which he leads you to the second floor. he’s walking up the stairs and prays he doesn’t fall flat on his face— his socks can be a real bitch sometimes.

you both make it to his bedroom, with you trailing a little behind. he grabs a hanger from his mobile clothing rack, stretching an arm out to you, “i’ll hang your jacket here.”

you slide off the coat from your frame and hand it to him, to which he hangs on the rack. you circle around his bedroom with your tote on your shoulder, while he makes his way back to next to his desk. it’s pretty quiet for the most part, besides the music playing gently in the background.

your gaze lands on the cluttered items on his desk, noticing the half empty cup of coffee, notebooks and ipad on display, “did i catch you at a bad time?”

“honestly? yeah,” geto shrugs, before motioning at your tote bag. you slip it off and hand it to him, to which he sits at his nightstand, “but it’s my fault anyway, i squeezed you in a busy time. you know how exam season gets.”

“i can always reschedule,” you offer, checking your phone screen for the date, “it’s not that deep.”

“i don’t want you to leave,” geto slumps back into his seat and heaves out a sigh. he spins the chair around to catch you giving him a flat look. he leans back in his seat and spreads his thighs, smirking, “would you stay?”

“depends. are you going to be studying?” you quip, crossing your arms back to your chest.

geto ponders on what to say next. it’s not like he doesn’t want to tatt you up, but he really is caught in a bind. he also doesn’t want you to leave— not when he’s been wanting to see you since the last time he’d seen you. does he prioritize his wants or his needs?

he hums, “i’ll do whatever you want me to.”

you roll your eyes, scoffing as you make your way to his nightstand. for a second, he thinks you’re getting ready to leave and a weird feeling of disappointment settles in his gut. instead, you grab the bag and sit on the edge of his bed, pulling out your macbook and crossing your legs.

he smiles at that, “attagirl.”

“corny.” you mumble, chewing on your bottom lip as you begin typing away.

there’s a comfortable silence that fills the room. he’s back to browsing through his lecture notes, noting down valuable information and memorizing terminology. you don’t say anything either, but the sound of your nails typing at your keyboard blends well with his r&b playlist playing. sounds like you’re writing down an essay or report, depending on whatever your major is.

about half an hour into the silence, does he decide to break it. he looks over his shoulder to where you’re settled on his bed, “you good?” he checks up on you, and you let out a burnt out sigh. he knows exactly how you’re feeling.

“i guess,” you huff, twirling your necklace. your eyes are stuck on your screen, brows creasing into a scowl, “this shit is frying my brain though.”

“what are you writing?” he indulges, dropping his apple pen back onto his desk and spins in his seat to face you. maybe he’s also in due of a break— he’d rather be talking to you anyway.

“this crim report,” you answer, picking at your nail, “it’s not exactly hard but mad lengthy. i have to write a ten page report based on this article and how it contradicts societal norms.”

“ten pages?” geto whistles, rubbing at his chin. he’s settled deeper in his seat, naturally manspreading. you’re much better than him, he would’ve given up before even starting— reports were not his thing, “how far are you in?”

“i started this morning,” you hum, “so i’m four pages in.”

geto nods, “and when is it due?”

“tomorrow night.” you push your laptop off your lap. you close the screen shut and stretch out your legs, releasing a breathy moan as you relax your thighs. “i’ll do this shit later— my head’s starting to hurt.”

geto swears he’s never been so in sync in thought. he dismisses the idea of studying the second you had closed your macbook. probably a bad idea but at the moment, he couldn’t care any less, “want some entertainment?”

you cock a brow, “don’t say no stupid shit.”

“twenty one questions,” geto speaks nonetheless and finds himself beaming brightly when you scoff, “can’t a guy want to get to know you better?”

you ease yourself on his bed, slumping into his sheets as you exhale. you shift onto your side— a sinful curve at your side— tucking your knees and lean your head into your palm, “oh fuck off,” a breathless laugh and nanako makes her presence known, hopping right by you in the space between your body and the edge of the bed, “didn’t know you had a cat. she’s cute.”

“how’d you know she was a she?” geto wonders, surprised just slightly by how welcoming nanako was around you. she purred when you stroke at her fur, nuzzling further into your chest. nanako hated everyone— especially gojo, who unironically visited the most.

“instinct,” you shrugged but there’s a faint smile on your lips. not directed towards him, but his baby, “i also have a cat— he’s a fucking menace though.”

that’s one thing in common already, “like mother like son,” geto grins lazily when you flip him off mindlessly, and when you raise nanako in both your hands, he’s ready to warn you she isn’t a big fan of sudden movements— but when she mewls, the same sound she makes when geto brings home a new toy, the words die down in his throat.

he observes you both silently. you cradle nana as if she were a newborn infant, adoring and loving yet simultaneously careful and steadily. you’re cooing, calling her a sweet girl and rubbing at her ear, and nanako accepts you rather easily— too easily.

“woah.” was this those non-sexual turn ons people spoke about? for somebody so mean, you were oddly gentle with pets. he liked that— really liked that, so much that he pulls his phone out and snaps a photo of you two. but of course, because the universe loves to see him fumble, the flash goes off.

your head snaps to the side and he freezes. you narrow your eyes at him, slowly lowering nanako, “did you just—”

“so!” geto cuts you off, chucking his phone back onto his desk. it makes a loud cluttering sound, damn near knocks his drink all over, but ignores it, “my turn. what’s your cat’s name?”

“milo. and don’t cut me off—”

“milo the menace,” he cuts you off regardless, not wanting to have to decipher just what exactly possessed him to do that. he’s never done so, and he wasn’t about to explain why he’d done it just now. deflecting king! “i need to see the little guy. got any pics?”

you huff, extending a hand behind you to find your phone. when you clutch onto the device, you swing your legs off the bedside, always careful with nanako clinging to your lap. you lay her down on the floor, much to her dismay, before making your way towards him.

his eyes are stuck on your body before his mind can tell him to stop. not like it mattered much, your own eyes glued to your phone screen as you searched for the pictures he’d asked. you’ve got a matching tracksuit on— though the hoodie is cropped, thus exposing your navel piercing. he’d always had a thing for those, the pretty good jewel dangling below the button.

it didn’t help that your thong straps sat atop your waist.

he spreads his legs further open, and you stop right in between. for a moment, you’re stuck on your phone, and geto really wants to get those thighs straddling him. you look delectable— he’d pin your knees to your damn ears, sprawled on your back, and eat you out until you pleaded him to stop.

your hair was pulled back into a bun, and from this angle, he spotted scripture at the column of your neck. there was wording inked in arabic, and he made a mental note to ask you what it meant later.

geto leans back into his seat when you fold forwards, and he gets a good whiff of your vanilla scented perfume, tingling his senses in the best way, “found it?”

you nod your head, swiping through your gallery, “yeah, my bad,” you have a folder named ‘mimi’ and as expected, was filled off candid photos of your cat. he pays attention as you slide your finger on your screen, selfies of you both in the morning passing by.

“cute,” he isn’t talking about the cat, and his gaze flicks from the screen to your face. there’s still a considerate amount of space between you both, but he can see your eye colour much clearer this close up. you blink your lashes at him and he smirks, “anything else you wanna show me?”

you sniff, “don’t be gross.”

“i meant of milo,” geto definitely didn’t mean of milo. you cock a brow skeptically, and he mirrors the look, though the smile on his face grows, “what a cute lil thing,” his voice lowers and his words trail off. there’s a beat of a pause for a while, and his gaze falls on the plumpness of your lips, “you gonna let me pet your kitty?”

another beat of silence. you’re staring at his lips, and he wonders what you’re thinking. he can tell you’ve picked up on what he’s laying down (hopefully you in the next few minutes) but he can’t tell what your next move will be.

“depends. . .” a soft whisper, and he feels your breath fanning over his cupid’s bow. you flick your eyes back at him, and he finally understands the whole siren eyes shit. through lidded eyes, your stare is intense— simultaneously pulling him in closer while pushing him back. you’re toying with him, and the hand he slides up from your thigh to your ass is enough fuel. “you any good?”

he brings a second hand to the other ass cheek, and urges you onto his lap. you comply, looping your arms at the back of his neck. he feels your nails grazing at his scalp and he holds back a lethal shudder. your weight feels amazing against him— his hard on poking and making its presence well aware.

“i’d like to think i am,” he knows he is, but playing humble always goes a long way. he lets his hands run over the cup of your ass, trails back up to your hips, and slides a finger beneath the thong strap. when he snaps the material at your skin, your back arches and you press your chest against his own.

“well,” you exhale when he noses into the crook of your neck, right above your tattoo. he’s littering wet kisses at your hot skin, your taste ever so sweet against his tongue. god, you must taste divine. at your jugular, he’s able to imprint your perfume into his mind. “only one way to find out.”

geto hums at that, relishing in the way you moan at a particular suck, and focus on nibbling at that spot once more. you’re tilting your head for easier access, hips grinding against his own for better friction. your hands are soft and cautious— they trail from his nape down to his chest, and further down to his waistband.

he’s on go, ready for whatever timing you’re on. though, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out by the way your fingertip traces right above his pelvis, that you’re both on the same page. he drags his lips from the column of your neck up to your jaw, and stops right above your parted lips.

he has another cocky remark on the tip of his tongue, in typical suguru fashion, but you beat him to the chase, glossy lips pressing against his. the kiss is short and definitely leaves him wanting more when you pull back as soon as you’d leaned in— but you’re a mere centimetre away.

you whisper, not before another kiss, “don’t disappoint me, suguru.”

and he’s never ran into bed so fast.

☆ ☆ ☆

the door slams shut.

he’s left with a painfully hard reminder in his sweats that he fucked up bad. he thinks he dissociated a little between the labia flapping to the coat zipping. it’s only when he notices that instead of hearing lip smacking sounds, he hears bryson tiller’s lame ass (no shade, his ego is simply wounded), that you really left.

fuck.

geto rushes back to his bedroom, the walk of shame up the steps enough to make him want to jump off— as he takes out his phone, immediately goes through his contact list and presses on the name. it rings twice before the call gets picked up.

“yooo!”

“you still busy?” geto asks, voice hoarse as he flops down on the edge of the bed— his now empty bed. damn.

“nah, just dropped off wifey,” gojo replies. he hears music playing faintly in the back, as well as the sounds of honking. he must still be in the car, “why, what’s up?”

“i fucked up.” geto sighs, running a hand over his face.

“oh?” he isn’t surprised to find out gojo’s surprised. he’s still surprised by how the events turned out and it’s barely been ten minutes, let alone five. “say no more, i’m on my way.”

geto hangs up. he throws the phone away, before falling flat onto his bed. he picks up your scent on his sheets, your warmth slowly disappearing— another painful reminder he messed up. where he’s expecting a wet patch of anything on his duvets, he finds nothing. zip. nada.

his eyes fall shut, “shit.”

☆ ☆ ☆

“and that’s pretty much the gist of it all.”

he exhales a cloud of smoke. more silence. geto’s starting to get sick of all this silence. it was radio silence with you and now even more radio silence from gojo. his hand never stops to rub at nanako, who’s been serving as a cuddling partner in this grand moment of crisis. the only person to ever have his back.

so, geto knew that confiding in his best friend this secret of his would be risky for a multitude of reasons. for starters, geto never fucks up. this would be ultimate blackmail content for him, and geto honestly doesn’t blame him. for two, he was just giving gojo shit about never having eaten pussy. that’s just downright humiliating. and for three, he has a girlfriend who he doesn’t keep anything from. on top of that— his girlfriend is friends with the main culprit here.

overall a bad idea. he does it nonetheless, because satoru is his best friend despite it all. he isn’t too shocked when the silence is filled with bellyaching laughter, though.

“wait— i’m cryinggg,” more laughter. gojo’s now kicked his feet off the couch and is doubling forward. his shades bounce off his head and hit the leg of the coffee table. he doesn’t pause his laughing fit one bit, not even when geto throws a throw pillow his way.

it bounces off his big head and geto scoffs, bringing the joint back to his lips, “oh fuck off.”

“my fault man,” gojo apologizes though he doesn’t sound apologetic. he’s leaning forward to grab his shades back, and he’s back to swiping stray tears. “that was a good laugh— shit.”

geto hums at that, extending the blunt towards him,“glad to hear my misery has brought you entertainment.”

“see, you get it!” gojo jokes, welcoming the joint. seems like he got cocky, however, his laughing mood not quite over as he inhales. he quickly chokes on the smoke, which fades back into cackling, “oh shit—”

geto sneers, annoyance quickly rising, “quit fucking around or pass it back.” he was being pissy, yes, but his pride had been curb stomped. and it hadn’t even been an hour ago!

“nah, nah, i’m good,” gojo waves him off, despite his free hand tapping at his chest. he collects himself soon enough, and takes another hit. this time it’s successful. geto lowkey hoped it would get caught in his throat again.

“sooo,” gojo drags out, melting into the couch, “what now.”

“what now?” geto parrots.

“what’s the next move?” gojo elaborates, fingertip tapping at the blunt, and ashes fall into the tray. the end of the stick crumbles in the same way geto’s ego had earlier. “you’re gonna keep letting her think you suck at giving head?”

geto throws his head back and sighs tiredly, “what else is there to do?” he hears the sound of sizzling in the background, “i fumbled bad, bro. you don’t think she already posted about me in her girls’ private story?” more sizzling and exhaling, “i’m the storytime of the day!”

he feels gojo nudge his thigh with his foot. he looks back and the joint is presented to him. he gladly accepts it.

“what even happened?” gojo wonders. and oh boy, if that isn’t the question of the day. geto is still trying to find the answer to that. had it been out of nervousness? had he gotten too cocky? had it been her?

“i honestly wish i could answer that,” geto slips the roach into his mouth. “i didn’t feel nervous until after i realized she wasn’t fazed,” he drags out a hit and ghost inhales, “maybe it was a sign from above— to shut the fuck up sometimes.”

“maybe,” gojo snorts, throwing his legs over geto’s lap. nanako hisses at the intrusion, but the white haired man ignores her, “don’t let yourself go out sad like this. hit her back up— whatever happened to loving challenges?”

“what kind of fucked up ass challenge is this?” geto mumbles, mainly to himself.

“if i was in your shoes— which i’d never be,” because he’s gojo, he feels the need to add, “i’d put my pride aside and talk to her. like no homo shit, but you’re a great eater— yeah, no, i’m taking that back instantly.”

geto looks as horrified as he feels, “quickly, even.”

of course, gojo laughs but proceeds, “the point is, you know you’re good at it. everybody fucks up once in a while— don’t let it define you though. think of it as a minor setback for a major comeback— if you care enough, you’ll put your pride aside and do something about it. if you’re this down about it, then it must mean something to you.”

geto can’t tell anymore whether gojo’s talking about the failed pussy eating attempt or you. regardless, he knows there’s truth to his words. has to be the weed talking.

“and who made you the pussy connoisseur?” geto snorts, pressing the bud of his joint in the tray. it sizzles weakly as he kills it, starting to feel that high course through his veins.

gojo sighs dreamily, “why my lovely lady, of course.”

“looks like she taught you well,” geto relaxes himself into the tight space of the couch, settling nanako on his chest. it’s now his turn to nudge gojo with his foot, his sock-cladded toe digging at his jaw. “woulda never expected this from a rookie just a few months ago.”

“well duh,” gojo swipes his foot away, “i aced that course. got my phD in cunningulusophy and all. even won valedictorian.”

geto laughs, resting his lids. he was starting to feel sleepy, indica will do that to you, “enroll me in whatever class you took— i may need to slut myself out for extra credit. my prof’s a tough nut to bust.”

“intro to munch 101,” gojo nods his head, shutting his eyes close as well. there’s a comfortable silence that fills the air for a while. and despite the fact that his sight manipulated, he could hear the smirk dripping off his tone, “if you ever need a letter of recommendation, i got you— alumni’s honour.”

“oh fuck off,” a mixed harmony of laughter and vibrating chests.

☆ ☆ ☆

fun fact: suguru geto loves showers.

the aroma of cleanliness enhanced by thick fog. the scorching water droplets trickling down his skin, the vulnerability of his nakedness inside these four walls. he strangely feels most at ease, most raw in this moment of solitude.

he’s able to gather himself too. there isn’t much to accomplish in a shower once you’ve gotten rid of the day’s dirt. so, he likes to take the opportunity to think. to think deep and hard.

his mind’s all scrambled up. it’s been about three days since you were last in his apartment, two days since he’d thought about it, and a day since he last seen you (granted it’d been on your story, virtually, but still).

this has been the biggest feat he’s faced in a while. if he recaps it, this is what’s he gotten: he invited you over. you came the next day. he didn’t cater to you the sole reason you came. you didn’t mind. you both studied for a bit. he asked about your cat. you ended up on his lap. he ended up in bed with you. you ended up leaving with a chunk of his dignity.

that didn’t explain shit, but it did remind him of his failure. it reminded him that he’d finally met his match. it reminded him he needs to start backing his shit up. it reminded him of how good you smelled and tasted down there. it reminded him of how pretty you looked.

his cock twitches and he glances down. it also reminds him he never ended up cumming, too engrossed in his anxiety to jerk one out.

he feels as though the glass doors of his shower protect him from reality. he’s hard, though mortified, but still hard. he’d spent a long time (two days) suppressing the memory away, but there was no way to mistaken your taste on his tongue. how sweet you smelled. how soft you felt—

geto fists at his dick before he can help it. his free hand plants at the wall before him, and he works his wrist. he twists at his shaft slowly and closes his eyes— behind his lids are photographic memories of you on his lap. memories of you on his bed. memories of the scent of your panties. memories of your tits in his mouth.

sure, you’d made more sounds off the foreplay for the foreplay— but that didn’t take away how turned on he’d been. how his dick twitched in his boxers. how he’d humped the mattress. how he’d moan in your cunt.

“y/n,” geto moans your name, sinful yet hushed, his hand working faster. his thumb grazes his over slit and his gut drowns in heat. he wants a redo. he deserves a redo— you deserved a redo. “fuckkkk,”

next time, he’ll get it right. and if he doesn’t, then he’ll want to try again and again and again— until it ends with your cunt clenching around his tongue and his face sprayed vigorously in your essence. until your thighs tremble around his face, your hand clawing at his hair and your back arched off his bed. until his name bounces off his walls and echoes so loudly his neighbours complain.

he wants a redo.

he jerks back as he paints the tiles white. the joints in his hand ache, the water from the shower head getting colder. geto pants heavily, chest heaving as his load is released from him. his cum drips from the wall and into the drain at his feet— but his dick is far from well spent. if he spends another hour in the shower, it’s nobody’s business but his own.

suguru geto loves showers.

☆ ☆ ☆

“oh. you actually showed.”

“redo,” geto pants, having sprinted from his apartment. he’d spent the next three days after his shower incident wallowing some more— at some point, it just annoyed him. though slightly underwhelming, he was on his phone in bed a few minutes ago, going through his camera roll when he’d seen that picture he took of you and nanako. his feet guided him to his car before he could help it. choso helped him out with the address.

“redo?” you parrot his words, leaning against your doorframe. you crossed your arms over your chest, and it’s only then he noticed your appearance— flimsy camisole and pink lace panties. fuck, he wants a redo now.

“i want a redo.” geto repeats, but is quickly hit with a gust of wind. he hadn’t brought a jacket with him in the midst of his impulse, and goosebumps were beginning to form at his skin. he shoots his shot, “you ever planning on letting me in?” talk about deja vu.

“dunno,” you play along, eyes narrowing. “maybe if you ask nicely.”

swallow your pride, he hears gojo somewhere in the back of his mind. he shakes that thought off quickly. this desperation had to be bigger than a pride issue— he was ready to get on his knees and beg her to let him in. pride? that had been drained to the sewers the second he busted all over his shower days ago.

“lemme in and i’ll make it up to you,” geto tries instead, taking a step closer, “please?”

that seemed to be the correct answer as you push open the door to your apartment further. you turn your back and geto lets himself drink up your backside— he hadn’t seen it last time but you had dimples sitting right above your perky ass. he watches your hips sway left and right, and even tilt your head back, a smirk etched on your face, “you comin’?”

you will be, “cute.” his lips twitch into a small smile, and closes the door behind him.

☆ ☆ ☆

fool him once? shame on him.

geto doesn’t allow himself to make the same mistakes twice. if one fuck up is enough to tear him down for a week straight then why the hell would he do it again?

you’re sprawled on your back, legs spread with enough space to fit his body in between. his hands plant on either side of your face, his bulge pushed up against your core. he feels your warmth through these layers of clothes, and he rolls his hips greedily, feeling himself already grow addicted. your chin is raised high, lids blown open as you stare at him all doe-eyed.

his brows pinch in the centre of his forehead. that faux look of innocence you’re offering is doing wonders to his dick. your tits sit beautifully beneath your top, arms back on him as you pull him in closer, and he lets himself fall prey to you. for a moment, the tip of his nose bumps into yours, lips ghosting over the other, hips colliding to meet yours.

“mhm, that’s it.” you let out a sigh, throwing your head back into your pillows. there’s an opening to your neck calling his name, and geto wastes no time to latch his lips there. he slips a hand beneath your tank top, fingernails grazing over your skin to creep up to your mounds. he flicks a thumb over the bud and you sigh blissfully again— he then cups the flesh.

he loves the way you squirm when he kisses down your body, “i got you, pretty,” stripped from your cami, his lips leave open mouthed marks all over your skin. from the column of your neck, to your breasts, down your torso and past your navel, “let me take care of you.” the lower he gets, the more intense your rawness reeks— and it’s a damned good smell.

he lands right above your clothed pelvis, and he inhales sharply. he won’t make the same mistake this time, he can feel it. there’s something lingering in the air, something indescribable— but he’s confident he won’t. because when he skips your cunt in favour to pamper your inner thighs, dragging his wet tongue all over erogenous zones, he spots dampening right where your clit would be.

bingo.

your hand cradles his hair, and the other props your body up by the elbow. he glances up at you, cock throbbing against your mattress. your beauty still renders him speechless— runs his throat dry and makes his tongue feel heavy. he doesn’t want to decipher what this means either, and decides to conclude he’s simply thirsty for you.

“suguru,” you call at him. he blinks and the hand in his hair snakes down his neck, and pushes him deeper. his nose nudges at your throbbing clit, and his tongue peeks out of his mouth to lick at the damp material before he can help it. two fingers hook at your panties and push them to the side, revealing glistening folds. your slick drips between your crack and stains your sheets. he thinks he hears his stomach growl a little.

another swipe of his tongue, this time in contact with the raw you, and a breathless moan rips from you, “don’t disappoint me this time.”

and he feasts.

☆ ☆ ☆

gojo’s woken up to a notification from his phone.

it’s still pretty late— or maybe early, and his pretty girlfriend is miles away in lalaland. she snores softly, cuddling into his side, and gojo’s ready to cuss out whoever dares potentially meddle with his girl’s sleep. he’s starting to get grumpy.

when his phone undergoes face recognition, he lowers the brightness immediately. he swipes through his notification center and notices an attachment sent by geto.

now that peeks his interest. he presses on the message.

suguboo: [1 attachment]

suguboo: passed intro2munch101 with an A+ 🫡

gojo can’t help the laugh that leaves him, though is quickly quieted down when he feels stirring at his side.

“well i’ll be damned.”

yes, gojo is obsessed with his girlfriend. also 10k words on geto???

[alexiethymia]

mamao>jinshi

‘There’s nothing I can give him back in return.’

with LN vol 12 and vol 13 out in English, I can’t help but once again gush about these two. Because they are honestly one of the healthiest and most frustrating slow burn established relationship ships ever. I seriously love their development, how jinshi has come so far from his unhealthy tendencies towards maomao in the earlier volumes.

sure you can say that’s the least he could do, but it does matter a lot, for a person who’s restrained himself all his life, to get everything at his fingertips except for what he truly wanted, to still continue to restrain himself even when what he wants is already there for the taking if only he’d reach out. it’s an acknowledgment and full understanding of the unequal power dynamic between him and maomao, and giving power, at least as much as he is able, over himself to maomao in a way to make up for that unequal dynamic. it’s maomao who gets to decide now what will happen and how fast it will happen in their relationship moving forward.

which I think is brilliant from a story-telling pov because we can focus on the intriguing developments and politics while still getting small but perfect doses of the development of their relationship. not too much, but not too little either. it also makes for an absolutely hilarious dynamic because it seems like it’s maomao who’s getting frustrated this time around. because she’s also a person who restrains herself. she may be willful when it comes to medicine, but for something like this? I don’t think she learned to ask for what she wants either. she’s not used to it. so she teases instead. it’s fascinating to see that while jinshi has matured, maomao has retained that side of her, the one which unexpectedly likes teasing and triggering jinshi (oh but she better watch out once he snaps, but part of me thinks this is what she wants ultimately). like seriously, it may not be in-character, but the image of an increasingly frustrated maomao who has her attempts at flirtation constantly thwarted by jinshi’s monk-like almost masochistic self-control will never be not funny to me. I don’t discount the possibility that once she’s finally had it up to here, she’d be the one to just smack one on him and/or ravish him once and for all. I mean she was the one to steal a kiss first once she accepted Jinshi’s (and her own) feelings.

so linking it to the anime, there’s no doubt in my mind that maomao truly loves jinshi. like I don’t just mean logically how she could fall in love with him with how he respects her agency, and her knowledge, and her skill, while she respects what he stands for (and though she may not admit it), his kindness. I mean that it’s pretty clear to me that both jinshi and maomao’s love languages are acts of service. And with that thought of maomao’s, her worrying about being unable to give back to jinshi, shows to me that she’s worried about placing jinshi in the same position she was in as a baby. she may be ok now (or more like she repressed it), but maomao may have grown up feeling like never having enough (literally being left alone as a baby to cry for hours on end which isn’t anyone’s fault really but more of a matter of circumstance) until she made herself be ok with it.

and the fact that she sees nothing wrong about it when it comes to herself, but is worried about the same thing happening to jinshi, shows to me that her love isn’t as lukewarm as she thinks it is. bec inasmuch as jinshi goes above and beyond for her, maomao goes above and beyond for him as well, noticeably almost more than for anyone else. like maomao will perform acts of services for almost anyone, but for her to actually reopen the lid on her emotions, which she’s kept locked for a long time, shows to me considerable effort and care. because she recognizes the weakness in herself when it comes to emotions, but she doesn’t want to hurt jinshi by not giving him enough.

even when she prepared everything for what was supposed to be their first night, jinshi viewed it as her artisan’s spirit, but knowing maomao, it’s not something she would have done otherwise if she didn’t really want to do it. she refrained from food and drink, she prepared everything so jinshi wouldn’t have to worry. nothing about her preparations screamed transactional. bec again as much as jinshi wants her to rely on him, to burden him, maomao shows her love in how much she wants him to unburden himself. she wants him to be able to stop holding back without worries to the point that she’s willing to carry that burden for him. sure again you could see it as her being her perfectionist self, but again from what we know of maomao, she does indeed go all out, but only for the things she’s passionate about, for the things that matter to her. remember her failing the court lady exam? somehow, through everything they’ve went through, jinshi has become someone who matters so much to her that she’s willing to put in the work.

that interaction really showed how far the both of them have come, and through maomao becoming more proactive, and jinshi becoming more patient, showing the best way they show that they love the other. doing something difficult that’s not what they’re used to, sacrificing or bearing embarrassment, because despite everything, it’s worth it for the person they’re doing it for. if that’s not love, what is?

[mythicmanuscripts]

Had another Aegon thought that definitely falls under himbo!Aegon/sub!Aegon in which his wife runs everything and being sexy while doing it. Basically they'd been promised to betrothed when they were younger but reader being from a different house thought it best to try and learn High Valyrian to be better suited. But upon finding out Aegon doesn't speak it she keeps it hidden but uses it to defend Aegon whenever Aemond tries to offend him. Just imagine she's sat besides Aegon when Aemond has his whole speech in High Valyrian knowing Aegon can't understand or respond, to suddenly have the biting words of his queen come to his defense having never heard her speak it before.

Man would be looking at her believing she was secretly some goddess or smth!

God I love himbo!aegon so much!! I’m gonna make it a tag just so we can group it all together.

I started out fully intended to keep this SFW and well, I had to put a cut in by the end so we all know how that turned out….

So firstly, I’ve never thought of this before but now that I have I can’t stop: I think Aegon would absolutely have a competency kink? Any time he sees you just completely in your element and doing anything that he doesn’t know how to… he just goes full empty no thoughts only pretty wife.

It’s an interesting development because he’d hate it if it were anyone else. Normally people being so good at things he can’t even grasp leaves him feeling insecure, stupid and inadequate to be king. But with you it’s completely different? With you he just stares in awe and then promptly gets very very turned on cause pretty wife!!! Pretty wife is so smart and talented and he is merely her little gremlin that follows her around asking for attention. He loves it so so much.

(Picturing a scene where Allicent is telling him off and trying to say he lets his wife run everything and he’s no real king but instead of him getting insecure and ashamed and doing whatever Allicent says, he instead just goes “yeah! Yeah she does! It’s great!”)

He loses his little mind every time he sees just how smart and good at politics you are? He hears you saying the perfect things and controlling the situation perfectly and then the next time you’re alone you even tell him what to do next time and just… no more thoughts. None whatsoever his wife is too smart and pretty for him to have thoughts. She is a beautiful powerful queen and he is merely a horny little jester.

You don’t tell him about trying to learn Valyrian mostly because you know it’s a bit of a sore spot for him? He genuinely has tried to hard to learn it, but it’s like his brain just wasn’t made for it. So you keep your lessons to yourself, and decide to worry about how to tell him at a later date when you’re fluent.

The problem, however is that even after you become fluent you still don’t know how to tell aegon without upsetting him. Sure he’s happy to have you make pretty much all decisions, but language skills or lack there of will always be a sore spot for him.

So for the next few weeks you spend most of your time trying to come up the best way to tell him.

When you walk into that small council meeting later that week,’you had absolutely no intention to reveal it there but then Aemond decided to be Aemond. You can understand every insult he hurls at his brother and you know aegon doesn’t understand.

What really makes your resolve break was when you looked over at Aegon and he was just sitting at the head of the table staring down. You can tell just from his body language that he’s trying not to cry and you know it’s not because of the insults themselves but because he actually can’t understand them and he feels so stupid.

You can’t take seeing that and so you fire back at Aemond, speaking to him in Valyrian. The look on his face when he realised that you understood every word he just said was incredible.

Aegon, meanwhile, is utterly astonished and just staring at you with shock and happiness plastered on his face.

He obviously doesn’t understand what either of you are saying, but Aegon knows you so well and he can tell by the tone of your that you’re defending him.

The moment the council meeting is over Aegon runs to put out a pillow down on the floor and kneel there, asking you about how long you’ve been studying been studying it and why. When you tell him you learnt it because knew he struggles with it and you wanted him to have someone he can ask to translate and speak for him without worrying of being misrepresented or misled.

Needless to say, Aegon burst into tears after that because it is quite possibly the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for him. You end up having to pull him up and into your lap because he was literally just sobbing while kneeling on the floor and you won’t allow that for your good boy.

You end up giving handjob while he’s on your laps and you make sure to tell him he’s doing so well and you love him very much.

All of this is to say when you fired back at Aemond in Valyria Aegon has never been more turned on in his life and he is once again reminded how utterly incredible his wife is.

Also, now you can help him with it!! Aegon stopped his Valyrian lessons a long time ago because he just couldn’t get it quite right and all the teachers were just so patronising and made him feel horrible, but now you can teach him!! He doesn’t feel stupid at all when you tell him he’s gotten something wrong and correct him and he also feels so so good when he gets something right.

And honestly, even if he does get much better at Valyrian he’d still rather have you translate for him because then he gets to hear you speak Valyrian.

[fuckyeahisawthat]

I’ve had my share of [Crowley voice] you idiot thoughts at both of them over their terrible communication skills and severe chronic inability to say what they mean. But like. I get it.

For 6000 years, they had to talk in code. They had to express themselves in grand gestures and subtext and plausible deniability, out of fear of being found out. And they got really good at it! They developed a whole secret language of ways to say I love you because they couldn’t say it out loud.

But now that they can—and need to—talk about what they are to each other with actual words, they don’t know how.

Neither of them know how to say what they want, openly, and to ask what the other wants. And (I think this is a crucial component) they don’t know how to fight. They’ve had enough spats to have a 350+ year old apology dance, but they have repeatedly avoided talking about the really big differences in their worldviews and what they value, because those conversations would immediately bump up against the things they try hardest to avoid (doubt and guilt for Aziraphale; rejection for Crowley), and because that could lead to a real disagreement that they don’t know how to get around. And then where would either of them be? Alone.

So they bicker and they have drunken philosophical debates and they make up and do little dances all while not really talking about the big differences in how they see the world. And then when the pressure is on they have horrible miscommunication blowouts where they end up talking past each other and hurting each other deeply because they don’t even realize they’re not on the same page.

Upon rewatch I think this is part of why Crowley seems so unhappy in the early episodes. I think he did hope that once they weren’t working for Heaven and Hell, things would go in a more explicitly romantic direction. (But of course he won’t just come out and say that, until the absolute last ditch moment.) From his POV, he’s made his desires perfectly clear (he hasn’t) and I think he thought that working for Heaven was the last thing holding Aziraphale back. And then they cleared that hurdle and nothing changed. Or not enough. Because the problem goes deeper than that.

And bless(/damn) them, they’re still trying. The confession was clearly so hard for Crowley, and would have been even without the first half of the scene, because he’s working against his deepest insecurities. He can’t even finish his sentences, and yet he’s still trying. And I do think that Aziraphale was working up to his own version of it (he’s so openly physically affectionate with Crowley this season, much more than in the past) but he’s always moved a bit slower with these things, and then it was too late. (It’s always too late.)

But even if they’d both been able to openly say their I love yous, they still have this thing sitting between them, which is that Aziraphale doesn’t understand why Crowley would never go back to Heaven, and Crowley doesn’t understand why Aziraphale would want to. And having that conversation goes right to the heart of how they’ve both been damaged by the system of Heaven and Hell, which is why I suspect they’ve both instinctively avoided it before now. And at some point in s3, they are going to have to talk about that.

[igotanidea]

Batboys' love languages

Graphic is from pinterest and YES it has little to do with the story but YES I had to use it.

Dick.

Sweet, golden-boy, emotional Dick. His love language is definitely touch. Brushing hand over yours, by accident? Yes. Fixing your scarf for you? Absolutely. Putting strand of hair out of your forehead? Sure thing.

This one won’t miss a single opportunity to let you know he’s near and that he loves you by almost putting a warm blanket of affection all over you. (and that time when he tucked you into a giant burrito while movie nights just so you won’t get cold is definitely that).

His second, I believe would be acts of service.

I mean – he’s wanted and needed by literally everyone, starting from family through friends, all the way to the exes that may as well count as friends too. (totally not making you jealous). He cannot spend as much time with you as he’d wish to and acts of service is his way of trying to make up for it.

***

Jason.

Wonderful, misunderstood, resurrected Jason with issues. Acts of service is definitely his thing. What other way to show someone you like them if not by small (or grand) gestures, especially when you are so bad with words, right? So when you come home to clean dishes and fixed showerhead despite leaving it all on the to-do list you know he’s into you.

This one will just do everything without a single word and without the need to be appreciated for it, though those chocolate chip cookies you like to make are so delicious.

On the deeper stages of relationship his auxiliary would be touch. If he trusts you enough to snuggle into your side after a patrol or when his nightmares and anxiety are becoming too much – he is hooked. If he doesn’t care about you seeing his scars and bruises – you better make damn sure not to hurt him, cause I will come after you.

***

Tim.

Busy, sleep-deprived, running on caffeine Tim.

Did I mention busy?

Therefore, my conclusion – quality time.

In his language, the best way to show acceptance towards someone is letting him into his thing. Sitting in the batcave watching him crack codes and break cases? He’s your guy. Allowing you to throw some mellow hints on how something can be solved? Most people would end up with a pencil sticking out of their eyeball, but not you. He actually considers your opinion. (even if rarely using it but still – one day you’ll prove him).

His second would be acts of service, but reversed. He would accept you making him nutritious meals and dragging him to bed for a proper rest.  Scoffing, huffing and throwing comments about how he can take care of himself (spoiler alert – he can’t), but again – still doing it. One step at a time people, one step at a time.

***

Damian.

Raised an assassin, poor on social skills, vehement Damian.

He takes a lot after his father and with combined directiveness and awkwardness on understanding on humans he cannot have developed much of a love language.

But – flowers are nice. And it seems like girls like flowers, if he observed his mother’s secret garden properly. So even if his sense in botany might use a little work (like maybe try telling him that a predatory sundew is not the best gift choice) he’s trying.

Second, surprisingly, I see him as a words-of-affection guy. He may not be saying sweet nothings freely if at all, but after a moment of growing closer, he’ll definitely be your number one hyper. Just imagine, stressing about some shit and Damian, with his calm voice going all like I believe in you, even if that belief may be followed by katana use, but that’s a story for another day.

[chitty-chitty-bang-bang-bang]

Vlad, Viago and Deacon as parents headcanons [pt.2]

[Part 1] [Part 3] [Part 4]

Author’s note: I love writing this shit to a very unhealthy degree. I might make a oneshots out of this later. Also does anyone know Deacon’s nationality? Some say Polish, others say German. I’m still not sure.

Also, if some of you want pt. 3, please let me know what scenarios would you want me to explore specifically, because I am running out of ideas a bit…

When you first appeared in the house, Viago found some old suitcase in the attic and proposed that you’ll sleep in it, until they get you an actual casket.

You tried it, but couldn’t really slumber because of the constant nightmares and it was too scary to open the lid, because of the sun.

So you started sharing a coffin with Viago, at least until you felt calmer.

It resulted in him sacrificing a bit of his sleep to your rather constant tossing and turning, but he quickly got used to it.

He sang you German lullabies to put you to sleep or whispered some calming affirmations (you didn’t understand a word, but it was sweet).

He found these moments so precious, that he actually got upset, when you obtained your own coffin and started sleeping separately in the attic.

Since the attic was now technically your room, Vlad, Viago and Deacon decided to help you decorate it to your liking, so you went on the town basically robbing thrift stores and supermarkets by hypnotising the cashiers.

They helped you assemble the random ikea furniture you got, even though neither of you could understand the instructions on the box.

In your free time, you’ll often find yourself hanging around in Vladislav’s room, posing for his portraits. He likes your expressiveness, it really gives his paintings the right look. And so you won’t get bored sitting there for hours, he asks you about your life before you became a vampire.

You also speak a lot of Romanian together, because Vlad wanted you to know another language, so he only communicated to you in Romanian for a while and you unwillingly started to understand it with time.

If you miss your family, he will take you to your childhood home. Of course, you can’t really interact with them anymore, but you can at least watch and it might make you feel a bit better to know they are still living a good life and that they miss you just as much.

At one point all three of them realise, that you would benefit from some friends within your age group. So they take you out to an arcade pretty early in the evening.

Unfortunately, living with ancient vampires kind of killed any chance for your social skills to develop properly, so you ended up scaring a bunch of kids and getting very upset.

To compensate for it, Deacon called you along to watch videos on the laptop, that Stu set up. You accidentally stumbled upon Bill Nye reuploads and binged them together, because you thought he’s the smartest person to ever roam the earth.

All of them have some kind of a default nickname for you. Viago calls you “Mäuschen” (little mouse), Vlad calls you very simply “Child” and to Deacon you are “Rodent”.

Stu and Nick are kind of like uncles/siblings to you. When the three have to leave somewhere, they usually leave them to babysit you. You have a lot of fun together! Since all three of you still remember what it’s like to actually be a living and breathing human, you get to talk more about recent news and events, rather than reminisce about the past.

You are also the only person in the group, who can’t really steal your clothes from victims, since neither of the vampires is very keen on killing children. Mostly, they ask their newfound werewolf friends to pick something up for you during the day or steal it themselves during the night.

Considering you can’t go to a normal school, they decided to teach you at home. Vlad teaches you literacy and art, Viago teaches you sciences and history and Deacon teaches you actually important shit like hypnotising tax collectors, draining the blood of your victims into mason jars and looking cool as fuck.

If you call Viago “dad”, he will be over the goddamn moon. It’s like he accomplished a goal he didn’t even know he set.

If you call Vladislav your dad, for a moment he would almost feel this long forgotten warmth in his chest. It’s like his heart started to beat again.

If you refer to Deacon as “dad”, he will be very startled and confused at first. It’s a weird feeling for him to have someone trust him and depend on him so much. He won’t admit it, but he really loved that emotion.

The more you are around, the more they get into being parental figures.

Tagging people who asked for part two: @italakthoughts and @rthounasty (this is a fire username btw)

[oneshotnewbie]

Joining station 19 and immediately connecting with everyone. You and Andy fall for each other hard and right before you two are going to confess the station gets a bad call where you get badly injured. You need blood so everyone gets tested to see if they are a match. Jack Gibson is and the doctor figures out that you and Jack are twins. Everyone is shocked. Especially Andy. Falling for your ex's long-lost twin sister is crazy. She ends up distancing herself away from the reader who gets hurt and confused. Maya can tell she is hurting herself while doing this. So she tells Andy that if she really cares about the reader then she shouldn't care that her and Jack are twins. Andy goes to the reader and explains herself. Then the two get together. Fluffy and angsty please?

Authors note: Very long story for my standards, and not proofread. I apologize if there are any grammatical errors! ♥

ᕚ---ᕘ

You slowly walked through the open gates of Station 19, your gaze focused, but a friendly smile played on your lips. The fire station, which was full of hectic activity, seemed to pause for a heartbeat at that moment as the eyes of everyone present were focused on you, who walked in with a confident step.

The new members of the team had seen many new faces come and go, but there was something about you that caught everyone's attention. Captain Bishop stepped forward first, offering you her hand with a gentle smile. "Welcome to Station 19, y/l/n. We're glad to have you here."

You shook her hand firmly and nodded happily before pulling away from her and looked around your new workplace. "Thank you, Captain. I'm excited to be a part of this team."

Maya gave you a little tour and led you through the station, introducing you to the other firefighters. The welcome was immediately warm, but when you met Andy Herrera you felt a special connection. Andy, the experienced lieutenant, looked directly at you and for a moment the world seemed to stand still for both of you. "Y/n, right? Nice to meet you."

"Yeah, exactly. And you're Andy, right?" you asked and she nodded at you, taking the friendly route to your new locker. It didn't take long for you to get along with everyone. You showed the team respect for their experience and knowledge of firefighting and impressed your new colleagues with your skills.

Over the next few weeks you became an integral part of the team. During the exercises you showed the full extent of your abilities, but what impressed the others was your dedication and your ability to keep a clear head in stressful situations. Your positive attitude and the way you interacted with those affected by fires infected everyone, and it seemed as if you had been a part of the station for years.

A close bond developed especially between Andy and you. You understood each other on a deeper level than words could express. The looks you exchanged spoke volumes, and it was as if you had found a common language that only existed between you.

In the quieter moments, you often found yourself near the emergency vehicle, deep in conversation. About your past, about your dreams and the challenge of the fire service. But despite the obvious and ever-growing attraction between you, neither dared to speak the words that were hiding in your hearts.

One evening, after a long mission, you sat on the edge of the station and looked out at the city at night. The silence between you was comfortable but also tense while the atmosphere between you was charged. “Y/n, can I ask you something?” She asked into the quiet, catching your eyes as you looked down at her from the city lights, lost in thought. You both tried to understand your own burgeoning feelings and put them into words. "Of course. Ask me anything you want."

Andy struggled with her words, not knowing how she wanted to express her feelings, and just as she was about to say a word and break the silence, she was interrupted by a loud alarm that echoed through the station. Everyone immediately jumped up when the emergency call went out.

"There's a major fire downtown! All hands on deck!" Maya Bishop shouted, the words piercing the air as the station filled with frantic activity. The Latina's confession was suddenly shattered by the reality of fire service. Without another word, you grabbed your gear and ran to the emergency vehicle.

The journey to the fire site passed in hurried silence. The sirens wailed as the images of the burning building grew closer and closer. When the emergency vehicle arrived on the scene, smoke billowed into the air and flames leaped wildly into the darkness. "Y/l/n, Herrera! You are responsible for floors 8-12. Clear the apartments!"

You quickly rushed into the burning building, working hand in hand and coordinating your actions while handing over your stay and condition to the team. The intensive cooperation and trust that had developed between you at the station was now put to the test. But it was precisely in this extreme situation that you found a remarkable synchronicity.

In the middle of the mission, as you tried to save lives and control the fire, Andy and you briefly looked into each other's eyes. At that moment, the flames around you seemed to disappear and time slowed down. It was like your emotions were about to explode in that intense moment. "Andy, there's something I really need to tell you."

"Later, y/n. Let's finish this first." the Latina's words were drowned out by a sudden, loud crash as part of the 10th floor structure collapsed. The floor was flooded with a blinding wave of heat, while screams and the crackling of the ravines merged into a deafening carpet of sound.

You jumped towards Andy to save her from the burning column of rubble that was rushing towards her amidst the chaos. But the heat wave hit you and you were thrown to the ground. Andy saw the scene in horror and picked herself up from the ground before immediately rushing to you. "Y/n! Can you hear me?!"

You could only nod weakly as deep pain pulsed through your body. "Captain, y/n is injured! I need medical attention immediately!" she shouted through the intercom, waiting as other colleagues arrived to fight the fire and rescue you from the rubble.

Your thoughts were heavily clouded by the stabbing pain, but in the midst of the agony and struggle with unconsciousness, you felt Andy holding your hand. "You'll get through this, you hear me? Stay with me!"

While Hughes and Warren took care of you and got you out, the fire was gradually brought under control by Andy, Gibson and Travis. But the emotional flames between Andy and you were brought to a new level by this dramatic incident in which you tried to save her life. The fire in the Latina's heart now burned not only with desire, but also with worry and the desire to be by your side forever.

ᕚ---ᕘ

The bright lights in the hospital waiting room were tense. Your entire team waited with worried faces for news about your health. The quiet hum of the lights and the muffled murmur of other waiting patients filling the room. "What's taking so damn long?!" fumed Andy, who was driven crazy by the long gap in knowledge without any further information about you.

Unbeknownst to them, your situation worsened when you were now lying awake in the examination room and had found out about the need for a blood transfusion when Doctor Meredith Gray determined through all the tests that you urgently needed a blood transfusion.

It was only when Meredith approached the group with a thin smile and wanted to share the news with them that Andy was able to breathe a sigh of relief, but her eyes were still filled with worry. "What's wrong with her? Will she be okay?" Victoria asked immediately, even before the blonde had fully entered the waiting room. "She was lucky in misfortune. A few broken ribs, injuries to her leg, but nothing that she can't overcome. However, she lost a lot of blood and therefore needs a blood transfusion."

The doctor's words echoed through the room and an unpleasant tension settled over those present, but after a brief period of shock, each of the firefighters volunteered to be tested for you.

After a good three quarters of an hour and a thorough examination of the seven samples, the surprising news came that was to give everyone another shocking piece of news that evening. This information would stick with Andy in particular for a long time. "I'm sorry, Lieutenant Herrera, but your blood is not compatible."

The confusion on her face was palpable, as she fervently hoped that she could save your life like you had done for her. Disappointment was reflected in her eyes, the uncertainty about what would happen next hung heavily in the air. "What? That can't be right. I have to be compatible. Test it again!"

"We've already tested it and there's no match. It looks like Jack has the right blood type, though," a brief moment of silence followed as Meredith fiddled with her tablet to double-check. that she recited the correct bullet points that she had discovered. "A genetic hit, even. You can donate immediately."

Shocked looks passed between each team member and Jack as the realization of the family connection sank in and he nodded without hesitation and made himself available. Andy's gaze lingered on him longer than usual, her brow furrowed as she bit her lip and folded her arms under her chest. The doctor's words struck her like a thunderclap, shattering her reality. "Both of you...siblings? That's impossible!"

"It seems so, Andy. Genetic testing seems to have confirmed it. I didn't know myself." Gibson spoke cautiously, the only one knowing that the Latina had had feelings for you for weeks. The revelation left a bitter taste in the air between Andy and Jack. The confusion in her eyes betrayed not only the surprise at the unexpected family connection, but also the fact that Jack Gibson, a former ex of hers, was now identified as your brother. The silence was broken by a heavy sigh as Andy voiced her thoughts. "That can't be right. You and me, we were..."

Jack interrupted immediately, holding his hands to his chest in a calming gesture. "Andy, I didn't know. I swear. But now we're all here to help y/n. We can sort this out later."

You could feel the tension between them both, and the situation suddenly became much more complicated in Andy's eyes than ever before. Andy's thoughts about her feelings for you were overshadowed by the newfound sibling relationship. The feeling of uncertainty spread through her and she didn't know how to deal with this unexpected turn of events.

The dynamics within the team had changed, and the revelation of familial ties not only upset blood relationships, but also brought with it a flood of emotions that were difficult for Andy to handle as Jack was prepared for the blood transfusion and the other firefighters remained in the waiting room, their minds still dominated by the surprising information.

During the transfusion, Andy continued to sit in the waiting room, her eyes wandering between hope and worry. She couldn't ignore the sudden siblinghood and felt that something had fundamentally changed in her life. It set off a chain reaction of emotions that were difficult to process.

After the successful transfusion, Jack entered the waiting room again and the eyes of the others turned to him. "How did it go? Were you able to donate the blood she needed?"

The young man just nodded tiredly and sat down on one of the chairs next to Maya. She gave him a gentle tap on the shoulder, expressing her gratitude for the help and support. "Y/n is stable. The transfusion went well. She will be fine."

A sigh of relief filled the room, but the tension remained. Andy, still torn between emotions and uncertainty, didn't know how to deal with the new reality and you in general. Your hospital stay had revealed not only physical wounds, but also emotional ones that had developed between both of you.

ᕚ---ᕘ

In the days and weeks that followed this revelation, you felt a noticeable change in Andy's behavior towards you as you returned to duty. The usual closeness and familiarity between you seemed to have been broken by an invisible barrier and you didn't quite understand why. The Latina avoided long conversations and your gaze as if she was looking for distance.

You tried to understand the change, but every attempt to talk to Andy about it was met with a cool reserve. Even the small gestures of connection you had previously shared seemed to fade. You could see a look of confusion and uncertainty in Andy's eyes every time she looked at you.

One day you couldn't take it anymore and confronted her, blurting out your emotional distress. "Andy, can you finally fucking talk to me? I don't even know what your freaking problem is. You've been so incredibly distant to me since I was in the hospital and I don't understand why!"

Andy froze when she heard your vulgar pronunciation for the first time and hesitated in her answer for a moment before lowering her gaze. She had to find an excuse. Some excuse that didn't involve her feelings for you. "Everything is so messed up right now! And it has nothing to do with you, but with me."

"That's what they all always say, and basically it has something to do with you. You know what? If you don't want to talk, fine. Then leave it like that and drag our friendship through the mud!" You spat and Andy sighed as she took a step back, even though she just wanted to be close to you. "I'm sorry, y/n, but it's all just too much right now. I need time alone to process some things."

You could see the clear pain in her eyes. Your words left a painful chasm between you that you couldn't ignore. The situation crumbled the delicate structure of your relationship and your attempt to save your connection through another conversation had failed hopelessly.

With a heavy heart, you accepted her answer and disappeared from her surroundings, completely ignoring her from now on. In the time that followed, the distance between you both grew even greater, and the uncertainty put a strain on your work together as partners.

While the Latina tried to process the complexity of the situation, you were left alone with your physical and emotional injuries.

That same evening, after a tiring day on Station 19, where she saw you in every corner of her existence and her heart ached, the brunette looked for some distraction in a nearby bar. The dim lighting and quiet murmurs of the guests created a relaxed atmosphere that helped her sort out her inner turmoil. She sat at the bar all alone, her gaze absently fixated on the glass of whiskey in front of her.

The captain, Maya Bishop, also entered the bar with Carina, and immediately noticed the thoughtful expression on her best friend's face. The bad mood taking over her aura. They ran straight up to her and sat down next to her, the Italian woman already ordering their drinks for the two of them. "Hey, Andy. Are you okay? Where's y/n?"

Andy looked up, a shadow of uncertainty and sadness in her eyes, as the light of the bar began to glitter in her moist eyes. "Hey, Maya. It's... complicated."

The blonde nodded in understanding, sipped the beer she had just received and leaned on the bar before she revealed her observations of the last few days. "I've noticed you've been withdrawing from her lately. Are you still worried about the sibling thing?"

She hesitated for a moment before nodding slightly. Maya gently placing a hand on her upper arm. "Andy, I can see that you're both really upset about what's happening between you right now. But you can't just cut ties with y/n just because Jack is her brother."

She hummed, took a long sip from her glass, and looked thoughtfully at the wall. "I don't know how to deal with it. It's all so complicated.

"I understand that this is all complicated. But don't you think you're hurting yourself by distancing yourself from her? You both have something special and it would be a shame to give that up because of external circumstances."

"But Maya, they're siblings. That's just too much." Andy sighed again, her thoughts seeming to race before her eyes and mine seemed to see a hint of understanding in them. "Yes, it's unusual and complicated. But if you really want to fight for yourself and your connection, you shouldn't let something like this stop you. You love her, that's clearly out of the question. That's what matters ."

Andy's gaze shifted to her best friend as she took in her words. A moment of silence followed before the Latina finally realized the truth. "You're right, Maya. I shouldn't let these circumstances destroy what is between us."

Maya smiled encouragingly and picked up her bottle. A gentle smile also appeared on the brunette's lips and she also pulled out her glass before drinking it down. "I'll get her back. This evening!"

"Exactly, fight for what's important to you. And if you really love her, then don't let something as unimportant as this sister/brother thing destroy that."

The two women sat in silence with Carina for a while, Andy's thoughts swirling around as the bar around them filled with buzz and laughter. In that moment, she began to realize that perhaps it was time to overcome her own doubts and fight for what her heart truly desired.

ᕚ---ᕘ

Night had fallen over the city when Andy stood in front of your apartment building. The night enveloped the streets in an impenetrable darkness as a light rain began to bathe them in a shiny pattern. Maya's words had touched a chord within her, and the urge to find clarity in all the chaos drove her to take the step.

She stormed across the street with hasty steps, the rain lashing against her skin and the cold breeze emphasizing her fear of what she was about to say. Her heart pounded against her chest as she entered the building and climbed the stairs to your apartment. A nervous tingle ran through her limbs as she stood in front of the door. She took a deep breath before tapping her shaking hands vigorously against the wood.

After a moment of listening intently to the footsteps coming from the apartment, you opened the door, surprised to see Andy in this upset state. Your eyes met and the tension between you was palpable. "What are you doing here so late at night?"

"Can I come in?" She asked, completely ignoring your question. You nodded and opened the door wider, your forehead furrowed slightly. She entered the apartment, her soaking wet hair dripping all over the floor while the silence enveloped you like an invisible veil with unsaid words. "Y/n, I.. I can't carry this around any longer. I need to explain something to you."

You sensed the seriousness in her voice and nodded, leading her into your small but cozy apartment. "What's wrong? Did something happen to you on the way here?"

Andy hesitated for a moment before taking a deep breath and saying the words that were trapped inside her. "I've distanced myself from you and I know it hurt you a lot. I was afraid of the whole sibling thing and it confused me about Jack being your brother and our past. But Maya opened my eyes. I can't just let this ruin everything between us."

You listened intently, shifting your gaze from the floor to watching her. Her expression was a mix of confusion and hope. "I felt it and it hurt me deeply not knowing what was going on. The distance in particular was... intense."

"I'm sorry, I really am. But now I'm here to make it right." There was a moment of silence between you before she locked her gaze back into yours. Andy took a deep breath and walked towards you, placing her hand gently on your cheek. "Y/n, I can't hide this any longer. I love you. No matter what happened between us or who our relatives are, I can't deny how I feel for you."

You looked at her and in that moment the insecurities and fears seemed to fade away. Feeling a pang of surprise in your chest, a warm feeling of joy followed and a smile crossed your face. A glimmer of tears glistened in your eyes as her words hung in the air.

"Andy, I love you too. And no matter what life has in store for us, I want to try and share it with you."

The words barely had time to sink in before your lips met in a passionate kiss. A flood of emotions flowed through you as you finally found each other - the uncertainty gave way to the certainty that your love was stronger than any external influence or challenge. The tensions of the past few weeks melted away.

Your apartment seemed to fill with the intensity of your feelings and a hint of romance and warmth. The world around you melted into a blurry background. In that moment you had found what you were looking for. As the night progressed, you stepped hand in hand into a future together, ready to face any challenge and nurture the love that was stronger than any insecurities. You two had found something special in each other.

[mikotos-nape-nibbler]

I like your take, but I will say that while many fragmented personality states do not experiences discrete differences, some brains do. Yes it seems "performative" but sometimes brains do that becauae drastically different behavior/views are sometimes required for survival. It's as annoying for the person experiencing it as the person witnessing such a "switch" irl, because both parties are thinking "this seems totally fake."

The whole thing the brain is doing is convincing itself that the thing it is experiencing isn't actually real. Most people don't have distinct parts because the opposite is necessary. However, sometimes parts are extremely distinct because it is necessary.

How this manifests in 09 is completely up to the viewer so your interpretation is completely understandable and valid. However, do understand that overt symptoms don't make someone a sideshow freak. A lot of people carry that sentiment, but it's not true. It's not something that doesn't happen, it's hidden because it scares people.

The language we use to discuss these things is very valuable, and your input is deeply important and well-put. The language many communities use to discuss these things is unhelpful, and catering your discussion experience how you like is great. Still, no one who is truly expressing symptoms like "stereotypical" DID is enjoying their brain's performance. We hope more people can understand that, too.

What if 09 was free to be different day-to-day even when it's deemed weird? You're right that it's dumb to just focus on his self-states, but we can't toss aside their differences as entirely irrelevant. Yamanaka gave us ways to differentiate them because they are influenced by different life experiences.

I hope this doesn't come off as a rant! The way you explain things is very skillful; I understand what you're getting at. Still, it bothers us sometimes that these symptoma tend to be seen as a "circus performance."

nods nods. "discrete" is a different from "different" in the sense that a "discrete" thing means an individually separate entity with no overlap with anything- there is no possibility of continuity. whereas "different" can include some continuity despite a shift from an origin point. yeah, dissociated states can appear vastly different but, due to the fact that there's a continuity via co-existing within one body/brain, it doesn't qualify for the definition of "discrete". and "distinct" just means to appear different enough that it can be considered a haecceity, but not necessarily be inherently discrete. "different" ≠ "distinct" ≠ "discrete"

besides, to be "discrete" is to be static. isn't it kinda strange to call a person a static, non-changing, non-evolving entity? i don't quite see the point in caring if someone appears to be "performative" or not, nor do i care if someone appears "stereotypical" or not. and i especially do not give a shit if someone's being distinct or not; everything's a form of expression in the end and who's to dictate how one is to express their existence? besides, what really matters is how actions and subsequent responses impact an agent(s) or entity/entities. what matters more is how those expressions affect things and if a person is cognizant of why/how they express/phrase something as they do- the deliberation and understanding of one's acts of agency. it's better to know why you chant some slogan rather than to do it mindlessly, right? the same premise goes for what a person says or does or acts.

What if 09 was free to be different day-to-day even when it's deemed weird? You're right that it's dumb to just focus on his self-states, but we can't toss aside their differences as entirely irrelevant. Yamanaka gave us ways to differentiate them because they are influenced by different life experiences.

i think there's some misunderstanding here. analyzing the overarching systems in place that developed Mikoto Kayano in all his complexities isn't casting aside his differences, it's - instead - focusing on what caused X or Y etc. to manifest in Mikoto (which ofc includes whatever caused Z-difference to manifest); analyzing the macrofactors of the world that molds its inhabitants rather than analyzing the expressions of the microworld within a single human being. if you need an analogy, think of anthropology vs psychoanalysis: one is the study of a group of people/community and the other is the intimate study of a single person — patterns within many vs singular expression of individualism. once more, i really could not give a single modicum of fuck about how Mikoto expresses himself, freely or not. i care more about the Cause-Effect in the Cause-Effect-Response continuum when it comes to analyses. everyone's free to focus and approach analyses from whichever angle they choose to, i just happen to like thinking about the more overall structure of things - the panopticon of society itself and its effects en masse rather than the individuals. if you know the foundations of what causes something, it's more effective in changing more things - the structure of things - ergo affecting more people for better or for worse. genuinely if you want to analyze 09 and his psychology, by all means you've always been able to. all i'm yapping about on this account is wanting to see other topics of conversation about him- discussions that aren't just focused on MILGRAM's unethical abductive-reasoning diagnosis of the DID of Mikoto Kayano. i'm all for expanding discussion, not stopping or limiting them lol. and if prohibiting a few words makes it so people have to think and come up with their own ways to phrase things, it would expand the diversity of conceptualizations, understandings, and perspectives all because of phrasing things differently- all because you place yourself in the variety of lenses that gives meaning to the world that different words offer through its usage.

i can understand the frustration of the symptoms of a stigmatized disorder being seen as a "circus performance" and displaying overt symptoms being seen as "freaky" since that's just dehumanizing but there are ways to help destigmatize it. one of many ways is figuring out the language that stigmatizes or destigmatizes because meaning, thus image/stigma/preconceptions/nuance, is constructed in language. it's one of the basal instruments that is actively perpetuating or changing the current mores of thought, thus philosophies, thus people through its usage that is as essential as breathing. why do you think some people have a notion that a disorder like DID is "circus"-adjacent or "freak"-adjacent if not because of the language used to talk about it? words have nuances and if enough of those words-with-nuances surround a community enough, become embedded with it, it affects how its speech community members and outsiders/most of the population will understand it. now, how do you deconstruct stigma in language? (1) be critical of existing language; (2) educating and making speakers understand the meanings embedded in what they say; (3) once that's achieved, it's up to those persons to choose what to do with that further insight and if they'll be more deliberate in how they say things. this can apply to the individual or a/the community that's affected that deliberates what they will do with that language and how it's be approached and transformed to their will. language is a living, communal and mutual instrument that requires the effort of many individuals within the speech community to exist. language isn't static nor are thoughts nor people. things can change for the worst or better.

[edennill]

I'm actually a little fascinated by the languages of arda and the way the vocabulary would be structured depending on the users, what words would exist in which tongue et cetera. pure unadulterated headcanon incoming, but like.

the only true valarin word for "service" very strongly signifies something willing and freely chosen and is basically in the same 'conceptual bracket' as "love" or "father/child/sibling/etc". when they finally get around making a word for those of the ainur who followed morgoth, it's not really a connected concept. if anything, "servant" and "slave¹" are antonyms.

(¹by which I mean, yes, they chose it themselves and at least to start with were uncoerced in their actions. but there is no – reciprocity on morgoth's side, no true relationship, ergo travesty of allegiance, ergo basically the same bracket – to the valar)

and then, the noldor should have two words I think – I hope there's space to headcanon it so in the lexicon – one positive, directly influenced by these valarin concepts and the other derived from constructions such as "scissors serve to cut", neutral – and then the terms get politicised and either the second becomes thralldom, or a new word for fëanor to use is coined – but in either case I feel like they would still end up with at least three or even four – even if with quenya it is a progression within the bounds of what's seen as the same concept.

black speech obviously only has "slave", or probably "slave (lowest of the low)", "slave (average)" and "taking orders directly from the dark lord" (...most likely to be used in different configurations depending on where in the hierarchy the interlocutors stand). earlier angband slang is probably more varied depending on who uses it, but I doubt it could ever get 'higher' than a neutral term, and probably not even that. there is however a word that implies a decision to consistently aim for small acts of help towards another in the rare moments where it's possible that might be not unrelated.

---

actually, regarding valarin, I feel like a significant part of the difficulty elves have learning it has to do with the language being built around a very specific understanding of the universe? there's a dozen different future tenses for things 'seen in the music' (...and as the ainur have a complex relationship with time these end up being necessary to describe the present)... their understanding of the world is strictly hierarchical, except even that word isn't really a good translation of a concept – say rather that it's built on complex relationships of giving and receiving and you're still not entirely there, but nearer the mark. the true skill in speaking the language, the one that Fëanor picked up, is not just in the standard stuff, but also in navigating around this (forget 'through', I don't think any elf's managed 'through'), in picking the right constructions that allow the speaker to by-pass the unusable bits.

it's also tbh probably 50% mathematics/psychics/music theory but that's a different matter, as is the fact that it is basically a code developed by beings with perfect memory and no actual need for language, has no workable morphological structure and regular verbs are practically non existent.

[izicodes]

Sunday 21st January 2024

>> I made a post yesterday of me mini-ranting about how I don't have any proper career goals because the ones I made years ago I've achieved now, so I'm questioning myself "What now? 🙃".

Then I remembered I have a recruiter mate and I emailed him asking for help and he gave me a long list of what I could do now to get better from my position. And I like sharing help so here's what he said + my own notes of what I understood from them~!

Hope this helps you too~!

🩶 Assess Current Skills and Set Goals

Identify your strengths and weaknesses.

Set clear goals for technical and leadership skill development.

My notes: I am good at some languages/technologies whilst I am a complete noob in others. Yes, I use them but I am not confident in them and always have to Google what is going on. I need to make a list of all the languages I am good at and those I am not so good at. Maybe even list why I'm not good at them. The same goes for non-technical skills. Got to make plans/goals on how I will improve them and get out of my comfort bubble on my comfort technologies and expand! Leadership skills would probably improve when I get solo projects given/have to present at Team meetings on my own in front of everyone~!

🩶 Technical Skill Enhancement

Deepen your proficiency in current programming languages.

Explore new technologies and frameworks relevant to your field.

My notes: I already answered this in the top one, but I shouldn't neglect my current skills to be able to learn the new ones. With the languages I am good and confident in, I still feel as though I haven't reached the more advanced stuff of that language. OOP stuff skill scares me in any programming language so I need to face my fears and learn it. From time to time, check what's popular in the market in terms of technology used and see which one aligns with my dream tech stack to use in the future and make plans to learn and develop myself~!

🩶 Project Leadership and Collaboration

Volunteer to lead small projects or take on more responsibility in current projects.

Collaborate with cross-functional teams to understand different aspects of project development.

My notes: At work, I eventually (since I'm still new) should ask to be the lead on some projects just like my higher-up developer is to me. Lead my own projects, without having to report to someone unless in dire need or when the project is complete for testing, etc. The team is small so I should talk to the non-developers in the team and see from their POV how the project is. Understand different types of people in the team and communicate effectively. All of this can be transferred to non-work projects like an online group project on an Open-Source project on GitHub for example - lead projects and taking more responsibilities. Being able to talk to people with different skillsets as we work on a group project~!

🩶 Attend Workshops and Networking Events

Attend workshops, conferences, and networking events to expand your knowledge and connections.

Seek mentorship from experienced professionals, including CTOs.

My notes: My gosh, I dread this honestly. I'm still a relatively shy person so going to workshops and events still brings small anxiety but that's something I do want to break~! I will never know what I will learn, who I will meet etc if I don't go to one! I want to aim that this year I would like to go to one, preferably in or near my city. I always love the idea of having a mentor, honestly, I was going to pay someone to help mentor me on that part ( >> loads of cites offer mentorships for programming!!! ) but I feel like my manager right now is that person so I will keep working with him to develop more~!

In conclusion, self-improvement as a programmer is both challenging and super hard to get started BUT rewarding in the end~!

[lottiesnotebook]

Happy Fridayyy!

I of course come to you again with a sweetness and light agenda with the prompt D'you think I forgot about you?

I can never resist the Sweetness and Light Agenda! For newcomers, Sweetness and Light is a nickname for a universe in which my Surana, Melia, befriends Libri's brainwashed child Templar, Lux, while they both live in Kinloch Hold, and they develop a fascinating and tragic Thing that should be studied in a lab in order to improve Toxic Yuri for everyone. The love was real. So was the blood magic and mind control Melia used on Lux to escape the Circle. On that note, let's see what the girlies are up to during Inquisition!

Melia Surana/Lux, angst, yearning, embroidery as a love language, trauma, post-betrayal, pre-relationship

@librivore42 | @dadrunkwriting

come and take my hand (revenant)

“You remembered I like horses.” Lux had meant to start with a proper greeting, or possibly an accusation: How dare you, perhaps, or How could you. She’d thought both, when she found the tunic laid out on her narrow bed in the Skyhold Templar barracks. The softest wool, finer than anything she’d ever worn before, dyed a deep, verdant green, and stitched, of course, with a unicorn across the breast. It is a lovelier version of a tunic she wore a lifetime ago, when they were two girls in a tower, and Lux did not yet know she was Melia’s gaoler. She knows it now, for all that, even behind warded bars, Melia still sits like a fairytale princess, curled in the sill of her barred window, lap full of embroidery silk.

She turns her head, smiles (slight, sad) and the sense of slipping ten years back in time is gone. They are girls no longer. The years have transformed Melia’s grace to elegance, her prettiness to beauty, and Lux… the most she can say of herself for certain is that her edges are honed, her skills sharpened. She does not know if Melia sees her as she is or as she was — the hardened Templar, or the girl who’s will she overwrote, who’s body she puppeted for moments that have lingered in Lux’s bones with the weight of centuries. The girl who might, in another world, where they’d been permitted such words, called her ‘friend’.

“You don’t have to keep it,” she says, which does not answer the question Lux realises she did not manage to ask, which is why? “You can- burn it, or give it away, or- I don’t know. I know it isn’t enough, to make up for what I did, but- I see you in the training yard from the window, and you only have uniforms now, and- I said you deserved pretty things, once. You still do. That’s all I meant by it, I swear.”

Her fingers tighten on the fabric, and she does not know if she wants to rend it in two, or cradle it to her chest like a newborn kitten, like something infinitely, terribly precious.

“I did not need a new tunic.”

She shakes her head, her curls dancing like flowers nodding heavy on their stems. “You never ask for anything you don’t need, but- I liked to give you things anyway, before.”

“I remember.” She cannot forget. She wishes she could. “I don’t understand why you do, though.”

Melia Surana is a Grey Warden, a rebel leader, a King’s mistress, if rumours speak true. Melia Surana is a blood mage, and a hero, and a monster. She stole Lux’s will to gain her freedom, and she has made good use of it, in the slaying of archdemons and the ending of Blights, and perhaps, in that light, it was not so heavy a cost. The knowledge does not make the past weigh more lightly upon Lux’s shoulders.

But when Melia looks up, and her dark eyes meet Lux’s, she is not a blood mage, or a monster, or a hero. She is the girl who said You deserve pretty things, who leant her head against Lux’s shoulder, and learned to turn thread into unicorns because once, Lux said she liked horses.

“Do you think,” she says, softly, “that I could ever forget you?”

She has been told that, within the confines of the cell, Melia’s blood magic cannot reach her. That cannot be true, because there can be no other cause for why Lux feels her heart shatter in two.

[hplonesomeart]

Heya, HP!

I’m asking this anonymously because I don’t want reassurance if you find out it’s me, but I’m wondering if you have any tips for drawing/animating characters. I’ve seen how you draw and animate and it’s made me feel amazed by your work, but also ashamed that I can’t draw as good as you (DO NOT FEEL GUILTY ABOUT IT, PLEASE, YOU CAN’T HANDLE IT AND IT’S NOT JUST YOU!)

I’ve been drawing for about 5 years now and have had no progress in my art. Every time I try something different, it ends up looking like shit. I guess I’m also asking this ask because I’ve been lacking self confidence for about half a month

I’m sorry if this is selfish, I’m not trying to make it about myself

But yeah…do you have any tips?

OH GEE UH—first off there’s no shame in using anonymous and you shouldn’t feel pressured to justify it! It’s an accessible option precisely for moments like this; it’s far more important to feel safe when asking vulnerable questions then to have additional unneeded stress. I do appreciate having some background information for your thought processes behind it tho, thank you for being willing to share your feelings and experiences. Art is definitely something that can bring on insecurity—I also have artists I often envy/admire the skills of lol. All part of being human. Your not selfish at all for it :)

For the art tips uhh….bear with me because I’m not too good at formulating constructive tips? This is all coming from someone who started drawing solely because of a colorful 2000’s cartoon pony show LMFAO. I learned how to draw quadrupeds before ever drawing humans, so the development of my skills isn’t as easy for me to track linearly. I’m still learning to this day that there’s things I need to practice on (cough cough backgrounds & correct muscle anatomy/realism)

My tips will be listed below under the ‘keep reading’ point (because I don’t wanna directly flood peoples dashes with massive amounts of text)!

1) FIRST ADVICE: CONSUMING ART CONTENT & REFERENCING OTHERS!! >:D

Honestly I think that’s the best place to start. With the content you consume. People who watch a lot of anime tend to gravitate to drawing exaggerated detailed eyes, angular chins, more human features (of course this is a generalization and doesn’t always apply to everyone. It’s just my personal observation is all). Meanwhile those who watch something more like Looney Tunes may adapt to using stretchy flexible shapes, unrealistic proportions, maybe even more anthropomorphic character designs.

Point being: we get influenced by the environment around us without even realizing it. Even when we’re not consciously aware, our minds absorb information and try to apply it in our own lives. My advice is to become AWARE of this. Be able to think critically about shows you enjoy and pinpoint the choices the artist uses to make it moment feel meaningful (sorry this is gonna start focusing mostly on animation tips & visual storytelling lol). I watch a lot of video essays breaking down camera movements, writing character arcs, learning how the lighting or colors change the mood. You could play around with that in your art too! Does the character emotion come from the eyes, the body posture, or the colors? Figure out where the emphasis should be and keep practicing at it :)

For example (oh boy I’m gonna out myself here) an artist I admire on YouTube is SAD-IST! I think she’s got a very solid understanding of how to invest the viewer/audience’s attention into a story. So I look at some of the techniques she uses:

The usage of comic panels to focus in on a singular object/expression/action. Something that I wanted to try doing with my own stuff :))

Or using a subtle motion blur for objects moving quickly in the background. If it doesn’t need to be the focus of the story then make it out of focus lol!

I think it’s mostly about finding an artistic language you vibe with and can draw inspiration from. Analyze what made the artist you admire so successful—what do you love about it so much in the first place? (which hey I guess you’re kinda already doing that right now, so your on the right track lol!). This applies not only to artists but musicians as well! There’s been plenty of times when a musician remixed a pre-existing song, parodied or outright sampled the melody of another, or aligned lyrics to match messages! My favorite musicians (Vylet Pony, AJR, and a plethora of Broadway musicals that have reoccurring motifs/themes) often follow those types of patterns. I think there’s too much of a taboo on social media about what you can and can’t do with art. I don’t think it’s wrong to share similarities with artists you admire. It only helps strengthen your understanding of them

2) UHHH DRAW FOR YOURSELF!! (I’m making this shit up as I go I have no idea what I’m saying lmfao)

When I started out drawing, it was purely for self indulgent reasons. I would spend my time at recess making up fanmade My Little Pony comics. SO. MANY. COMICS. Did it matter that anyone besides me couldn’t read the dialogue? No! Did it matter that the characters looked weird? No! Did it matter that the story wasn’t even planned ahead of time? No because I didn’t care! I was a kid who wasn’t caught up on comparing myself with others. I did it for me and me alone because I loved cartoons and I had made up stories. As long as you take the initiative to create then you’re making something special regardless of the quality. If you deny yourself the ability to draw because you’re waiting for your skills to get better then you’ll waste so much time that could’ve been used making what you love. You’ll never improve if you don’t accept failure as part of it. If that makes any sense…?

I hope that doesn’t come across rude. I understand you’ve been trying to be happy with your art and simply can’t. I’m not trying to say you shouldn’t be upset about it. It’s okay to be upset when it doesn’t look like how you wanted. I’m just saying that mental perception is a huge factor of how we view ourselves, our art, and others around us. Be cautious about what internal voices you listen to. Sometimes we just need to be reminded of the child inside who didn’t care about impressing others as much. Do it for you—and if not for you then make it for your younger self <3

Here is a video where I try to reinforce this point by using examples of my own life experiences (yes it’s very disorganized and chaotic):

………uh…..UH….yea I’m sorry those are the only two main tips I can think of from the top of my mind right now. I wish I had more to offer 😭

It’s probably glaringly obvious by now that I’m a self-taught artist. Although I have taken Art of Film & video production classes in high school (actually my favorite ever I recommend those if you like movies/storytelling) along with scriptwriting, 2D animation, and those typical traditional art classes…a lot of it still boils down to self-taught behavior. I think it could still be beneficial to sit in a class and have the information taught in the educational way, but for me usually the key learning is done outside of school. Especially those traditionally structured art classes ohhhh those did not process well with my brain. Helped me understand graphite shading and that’s pretty much it <<

Anyways sorry for taking up so much of your time with chunks of writing—although you probably already knew that was coming haha. I appreciate being someone that you look up to!! Thanks for your question and I hope a few parts of this rambling helped. Take care and I wish you best with your art. You’ll be okay :)

[captaindibbzy]

I think the thing about Laois Vs Shiro is Shiro is expecting Laois to do the legwork without telling him.

By Shiro's cultural standards Laois is being very rude, and being someone of nobility it's very much a shock to come up against Laois's manners. But instead of adapting to this he keeps going forward with the same system he knows.

Laois is incapable of seeing it. He literally can not. Shiro can see that from Laois. He shouts about it, how he knows Laois is genuine and he hates that because he wants it to be deliberately rude cause then he can treat him with the contempt he deserves in return, but Laois isn't doing that. But instead of changing his strategy, or adapting himself to deal with this situation he keeps going on the same failing path thinking if he hints enough Laois will suddenly get it and stop. He wants Laois to learn his manners, but never tells him this, or communicates in any way that Laois can understand.

This could equally be read as autism just like Laois: these are the rules and I don't know how to function outside of them. Or it could be read as privilege, where he expects to be treated in a certain way and Laois is NOT doing that. It could just be cultural.

But Laois can't change to information he doesn't have. Shiro may as well be talking a different language, but Shiro still expects Laois to suddenly develop the skill to understand him and then "voices" his frustration in that same language that it's not happening.

Is Shiro wrong to do this? Depends on your interpretation. Maybe he can't change himself just like Laois can't. Or maybe he doesn't want too.

I don't think Shiro hates Laois, there is more of that later in the story. I think he was tired, hungry, and stressed when he said those things. They may have been true but not the whole picture. He holds great respect for him. The bell is a symbol of that.

For me I think it reads as a criticism of Japanese culture on autistics. It is a Japanese manga/anime after all, and Shiro's behaviour will be very familiar to that audience. So what happens if you need direct communication in a culture where saying No outright is considered incredibly rude? You end up like Laois, reaching out in the only way you know how, misreading everything, wearing you heart out on things you read as friendship only to discover that you are wrong, you are rude, and nobody wants you there (or even, like Shiro to Laois, maybe it is not hate but in frustration things have been voiced and you can't read between those lines either).

Walking in on people you thought were your friends to find they hate you is something I am very familiar with. It's not something that is easy to recover from. You just have to put your heart away and learn not to take it out.

[toujokaname]

Card shuffle / Episode 5

Author: Akira

Characters: Kohaku, Niki, HiMERU, Hiiro

"This 'Matrix' is just a waste of a project that boasts an impressive facade yet remains hollow at its core."

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Season: Winter

Location: Café Cinnamon

Kohaku: Uh-huh, guess callin' it an end-of-year special program hits the nail on the head. With all the talented people wrapped up in the new year's developments, they're so busy that the leftover folks get the scraps.

Niki: *Munch munch munch* End-of-year specials always get ripped apart... Come to think of it, doesn't Rinne-kun always get on edge around the end of each year, too?

Kohaku: He's a surprisingly passionate man. Can't stand half-baked efforts, maybe?

HiMERU: Well, not all specials are so ostentatious.

However, this "Matrix" is just a waste of a project that boasts an impressive facade yet remains hollow at its core.

Kohaku: What a way of puttin' it...

HiMERU: There is a reason for HiMERU to say so.

The producer leading this project isn't held in high regard at ES.

Not gonna lie, it's an individual notorious as a LandmineP.

Niki: Uwah, HiMERU-kun used youthful language like "not gonna lie"~♪

HiMERU: Rather than youthful, you could call it anachronistic. Anyway, if ES is labeling it as a major event, the producer in charge should have a solid track record and skill.

Niki: Like Anzu-nee-san, maybe? She looks like an ordinary girl, but it surprised me to hear she's a very reputable and talented producer!

Kohaku: There's no way you didn't know that...

Niki: I've got her food preferences down pat!

Kohaku: Why can't ya put that enthusiasm into idol work?

HiMERU: Fufu. Well, you're right about that. Seems like Shiina's unusually understanding today.

If it's being touted as a major event, someone like Anzu-san should have been put in charge.

But in reality, Matrix is a landmine project with a low budget, a useless producer, and numerous unfavorable conditions.

Hiiro: Fumu, is it really that bad? That Matrix thing?

HiMERU: Yes. It's a textbook example of a hopeless project.

Matrix will take place over a month, during which Crazy:B and ALKALOID are supposed to have a total of ten matches—so it's said.

Despite the unnecessarily long time commitment, there are no specific dates or instructions mentioned in the plan.

Niki: Ah~ That's a problem, even I can see that... If I dunno in advance when it'll be busy, I can't adjust my part-time shifts.

HiMERU: Do you even need to work part-time at a restaurant anymore? Compared to the summer, we've been earning a reasonable amount of money through our idol activities, haven't we?

Niki: Being a chef's my main profession!

Kohaku: He says, eyes all sparkly...

Hiiro: Hehe. Actually, what HiMERU-san mentioned was on my mind too.

We're supposed to have ten matches, but what exactly does that entail?

If it involves physical combat, I might be in a bind. If Nii-san's skills haven't dulled, he'd still be stronger than me, and I don't want to hurt Aira and the others.

HiMERU: It seems unlikely that it will escalate to physical violence...

Niki: Why keep the details secret? Such a hassle!

Kohaku: Maybe it ain't set in stone yet, rather than bein' kept secret?

HiMERU: Yes. HiMERU shares this suspicion, as it tends to be the case with hopeless projects.

On paper, the plan looks grandiose, but in reality, its purpose is only to gain approval, devoid of any substance.

There's no preparation, no specific plans, absolutely nothing.

Niki: Is it like starting to chop veggies without even knowing what dish you're making?

HiMERU: Right. So you understand it by comparing it to cooking, Shiina. You can't make a good dish with such a haphazard approach, can you?

Niki: Well, even with that, I could whip up something decent~

HiMERU: A skilled chef like you could. However, it seems that this producer lacks such an ability. Sadly.

Kohaku: Still, if we're called upon, we can't refuse. That's the tough part of bein' newbies... Even if we spot a landmine right in front of us, we've got no choice but to walk that path.

Unpleasant stuff like that always seems to find its way to the most vulnerable.

[ ☆ ]

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[bullet-prooflove]

Roses: Nero Padilla x Reader (NSFW)

Tagging:  @crazy4chickennuggets  @kmc1989 @oureternalbond  @lexondeck @redpoodlern @@littleone65 @mortal--soul @buddinglinguist @yourwinchesterbros @thanossexual @beccabarba @poppyrose33 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @keyweegirlie

The Cam Girl - Nero and you come to a mutual agreement.

Shibari (NSFW) - You ask Nero for a favour.

Anything But Decent (NSFW) - Nero helps you make another video.

“Your guy is really getting into this rope thing huh?” Nero remarks when you show him the next request.

The two of you are sitting in your room, perched on the edge of the bed. You’re already dressed in that pretty silk robe of yours and Nero tries to ignore the feel of the fabric as it brushes over his arm.

“He decided to switch it up a little.” You tell him wryly, gesturing at the wand vibrator residing amongst the sheets. “More powerful. He thinks I came too quickly last time, that I need to be punished for it.”

“Oh.” Nero says, his eyebrows furrowing into a frown. “I’m not sure I like this guy Mami. I understand the need for a little control sometimes but the language he uses, his demands…” He gestures with his hand as he searches for the word he’s looking for. “It’s possessive.”

“So long as he pays me, I don’t really care.” You tell him with a shrug of the shoulders. “This whole thing is just an illusion, I’m still in control and the moment I feel uncomfortable it’s over.”

“Sounds like you have some healthy boundaries.” Nero says as you remove the robe slowly. He averts his gaze because this time you aren’t wearing a bra as per the request. You are however wearing a blue silk panties, ones that your client has bought especially for today.

“I have to.” You tell him as place your wrists behind your back.

He picks up the rope and it feels like an old friend in his hands. He’s been practising his knots since the last time; it doesn’t hurt to develop a new skill and he suspected this client would want a little more from you. He’s methodical as he binds you in the requested double column formation, checking and then rechecking that the rope isn’t too harsh on your skin.

The thing about this position is, that it thrusts your chest forward, accentuating your breasts. He thinks your client knew exactly what he was doing when he selected the bind, exactly which features he wanted to focus on. Nero helps you shift into position before he places the wand vibrator between your legs.

“Safe word?” He asks, studying your features.

Any sign of uncertainty and he pulls the plug. You know that. He sees it in your eyes. There’s a trust between the two of you, that transcends everything else. You’re the only one he’s ever had this with. That’s how he knows that it’s real.

“Roses.” You say, your voice lowering an octave and it does something to him.

“Alright.” He says softly, his thumb hoovering over the button. “Ready?”

“Just turn it on Nero.” You tell him with that pretty little smile of yours. “It’ll be over in five minutes.”

There’s a sensuality in the way you move, your lips parted in ecstasy as you whine just a little. He watches from his chair as you chase your pleasure, the frantic motion of your hips as you get close, the pinnacle of pleasure just out of reach. You meet his eyes and that apricot flush creeps up your skin. It’s just like before, the desire in your gaze, the rawness. You make that filthy little noise and he’s hard as fuck, his cock rubbing against the seam of his trousers.

The alarm goes off signalling an end to the video.

It should break the spell, but it doesn’t, instead it heightens it somehow because now you’re not at the mercy of your client, you’re all his. Your breathing hitches as he approaches the bed. He kneels in front of you, the mattress dipping as he takes the vibrator in his hand, his thumb lingering over the button.

“Say ‘roses’.” He murmurs, his dark eyes burning into yours like as his thumb ghosts over the blush of your cheek. “Say ‘roses’ and I promise I’ll stop.”

That’s not what you want, you both know it, but he has to give you the option. He has to know what you’re both on board with what he’s about to do next. The scent of your arousal floods his senses, your eyes are bright, and your skin is flushed. You’re at the height of your pleasure, and it’s fucking beautiful.

“You need a little more Mami?” He asks you, his lips ghosting along your jaw. “Need me to get you off like this?”

“Please…”

There’s a hint of pleading in your voice and it kills him, because this thing, it goes both ways. You want him just as much as he wants you and fuck if that doesn’t ruin him.

“I could never deny you anything.” He tells you fiercely, his lips caressing that tiny little scar, the one that hides just underneath the hinge of your jaw. “I’d give you the whole damn world if you asked me for it.”

You’re suddenly immersed by him. The scratch of the wool from his cardigan across your skin, the firmness of his body. The scent of his aftershave flooding your senses, it’s warm and woody and it ignites something deep inside of you, something you thought was long gone. He presses the vibrator against your clit and the air rushes out of your chest as he turns up the setting.

You kiss him when you come, your lips brushing over his as you shatter. He kisses you back, his hand clasping your jaw, anchoring you as you moan into his mouth. His palm comes to rest upon the back of your neck, cradling your head as he looks into your eyes with a ghost of a smile upon his lips because this moment between the two of you its everything he’s wanted.

He unties you carefully in the aftermath, his fingertips trailing over your stimulated skin. It’s erotic in its own way, a slow seduction of your senses as you come down from the high. You sigh as the final knot comes undone and he unwinds the rope from your wrists. He picks up the robe and covers you with it, the silk draping across your skin almost lovingly before he squeezes your shoulders lightly. There’s such emotion in his gaze, it radiates from him before he draws away, retreating back towards the chair he’d previous inhibited. His hand comes to rest on the door handle of the bedroom before he gives you one last look.

“When you’re ready to talk Mami, come find me.” He says softly before he pulls the door shut behind him.

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