#he thinks they are rude and annoying but it's a deliberate choice to not be mean to them | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 8 months

Text

i’ll go see you again tomorrow (spring is coming to an end) ; sashisu

[ part i - spring ; satoru gojo ]

synopsis; a snippet of the spring you share with a certain satoru gojo, who seems intent on making your high school life as difficult as possible.

word count; 5.9k

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, enemies to friends but the ’enemy’ part is kinda one-sided, wholesome n sweet overall, no curses au, gojo doesn’t know how to make friends and thinks lighthearted bullying constitutes as a bonding activity, reader doesn’t like gojo at first but dw they see the light eventually

a/n; the shoujo manga vibes are v heavy w/ this part i think. high school gojo was born to shoujo but forced to shounen </3

satoru gojo is annoying.

blunt as it may seem, it’s a conclusion you reach fairly quickly. when you first met him, you weren’t sure what to think, what to feel — a deliberate choice, on his part. looking back on it now, that’s the conclusion you come to.

he wanted to appear unreadable. purposefully hiding his personality and mannerisms, to gain the upper hand. observing all of you, dissecting you inside his mind, while revealing nothing about himself apart from his name. it’s a kind of power, a safety measure.

not like it lasted very long, though.

evidently, holding back isn’t exactly gojo’s forte. after only a day or two, he began to show his true colours, having gotten more accustomed to the new environment and classmates — and with the revelation of his genuine personality, your unease around him festered even more.

where do you even begin to describe him? he’s childish, for one. and cocky. loud, arrogant. selfish and flamboyant. just generally an asshole. you could go on and on; none of the traits are particularly flattering, and you know he couldn’t care less.

gojo is annoying, plain and simple. almost constantly trying to pick a fight with someone, uninterested in manners or even common courtesy. he says what he feels, regardless of how other people take it.

to put it simply, he has no regard for the people around him. his self-interest is limitless.

gojo does have a certain presence, though. a kind of charisma, or what you think could become charisma, if he’d just get off that high horse already. he won’t, though — you know he won’t. he revels in it, in looking down on everything and everyone, annoyingly boisterous and irritatingly tall.

most frustrating of all, however, is that his unbridled confidence isn’t exactly unwarranted.

as much as it pains you to say it, gojo is maybe just a little bit incredible. a natural-born genius, even. he’s intelligent, and observant, and awfully pretty, with those blue eyes and that snowy hair.

and he has no issue in getting what he wants. none whatsoever.

there’s something admirable about it, in a twisted way — it’s almost like he doesn’t even need to try. he’s good at anything, if he just gives it a single chance. evidently, he’s never once given a chance to the prospect of being a decent guy, then.

effortlessly perfect, in the most imperfect of ways. that’s probably how you’d describe him.

annoying is still the most fitting word, though, undoubtedly. or maybe obnoxious. he’s got this spoiled rich kid vibe that irks you, gets under your skin. you doubt he’s ever had to empathize with anyone else in his entire life.

really, you don’t understand how geto can put up with him.

gojo said something to him, during your first week of school. what, you aren’t sure — probably some rude, untoward comment, something taunting. shoko told you about it, but you don’t know the details.

what you do know is that they fought about it, physically. and that ever since then, they’ve been on a first-name basis, attached at the hip. it’s not often you see one of the two without the other. evidently, the fight brought them closer. you think they must be at least a little bit insane, but maybe that’s to be expected of kids who’d choose some weird boarding school in the middle of nowhere over a more orthodox choice.

(not like you’re one to talk, though.)

geto is a little better than his best friend, at least. he’s polite, and relaxed, and easy to talk to, only ever annoying when gojo’s around. you don’t know how he manages to put up with him so well, but you get the sense that he’s the only one who really understands gojo. the only one who even tries to.

you haven’t even attempted to do so, yourself. fondness wasn’t something you held for him, from the very beginning, but every interaction between the two of you only serves to make him more and more insufferable in your eyes.

gojo is annoying to basically everyone, always teasing and taunting, looking down from that high horse of his. and you’re certainly no exception — if anything, he’s even worse with you.

you know he looks down on you, from behind those tacky sunglasses. you’re not as self-assured as your classmates, and you think he must have sensed it, the moment he laid eyes on you. that you’re a little meek, a bit of a doormat, easy to push around and get a rise out of. maybe he also noticed your apprehension towards him, your apparent unease.

you’re easy prey, to put it simply.

so as soon as introductions were over, gojo immediately began to push at your buttons. grinning in that cocky fashion, not bothering to hide what he thought of you in the slightest. the first words that came out of his mouth when he spoke to you were rude ones, but you can’t quite recall them, muddled together with every other unneeded comment that he’s thrown your way since.

his behavior hasn’t gotten better, even in the slightest. gojo is always teasing you, annoying you, trying to figure out what makes you tick. almost like he’s solving an equation — the equation being you, the limit of your patience.

evidently, he’s developed a fondness for getting under your skin; it’s your own fault, really, for giving him what he wants. a scoff, a roll of your eyes, an earnest fuck right off. if you were more like shoko or geto, then maybe he’d leave you alone — if you could just brush him off, ignore him, not give him the time of day. deny him one of those reactions he loves so much.

but you’re not shoko. and you’re not geto, either. you’re you, and you’ve always been particularly bad at hiding what you feel.

it’s not like you hate him, or anything. you really have tried to get along with him. but it’s impossible, at the end of the day. gojo is just too good at being annoying.

and, more than anything, he’s far too out of reach. you can state his negative traits without a hitch, as well as his begrudgingly positive ones, but all of them are surface level when you get down to it. in truth, you don’t understand satoru gojo at all.

and that suits you just fine.

you’re just gonna have to live with it. live with him, his presence in your life, disrupting what should have been your peaceful high school years. your new start.

it sucks, but you’ve already resigned yourself to it. having to deal with him every day is annoying, yes, but what can you do? at least you get along well enough with shoko and geto. at this point, you’ve decided to treat gojo like an annoying little toddler, or an irritating pest. someone to put up with, not take seriously.

for a pest, he’s awfully good at making you angry, though. you can never seem to maintain your composure, when he’s around. it’s not always a bad thing — the banter can be funny, sometimes. just a tiny bit. doesn’t make it any less infuriating, though.

and in the state you’re currently in, you doubt you could handle it without popping a blood vessel or two.

a heavy sigh flows from your parted lips, as you examine your blurry reflection in the mirror. fatigue clings to your skin like a layer of sweat, and your mind is muddled, stuffed with anxious thoughts you’d rather not be having.

you feel thoroughly exhausted, completely spent. and the day’s barely begun. you didn’t get a wink of sleep last night, unable to slip into sleep’s embrace without being awoken by an abrupt nightmare.

and it’s painfully evident. in your face, your posture. in the paleness of your skin, only making your vague eyebags more noticeable, and in the way you can’t help but drag your legs slightly as you walk. in your disheveled hair, in every sigh and grumble you let slip as you try to blink the exhaustion away. you just feel so tired, both physically and mentally.

it could be worse, though. you don’t have any classes today, at the very least. it would’ve been an actual nightmare, in the state you’re currently in; having to stay up, take notes and listen to yaga drone on and on. you like your teacher, you really do, but sometimes his lectures can be just a little bit tedious.

the only reason you even bother to leave your dorm at all, in such a restless state, is so you can grab some breakfast. if you’re lucky, maybe it’ll make you feel a little less like a walking train wreck.

with that thought in mind, you make your way to the dormitory’s shared kitchen, enjoying the sight of the cherry blossoms through the windows you pass.

you’ll manage, somehow. your morning couldn’t possibly get any worse, after all.

when you enter the space, you’re relieved to find it completely devoid of people. no shoko, no geto, or even gojo. running into the first two wouldn’t be the end of the world, but it still wouldn’t be ideal. you don’t really want anyone seeing you like this — tired, meek, somewhat vulnerable.

least of all gojo. you shiver at the bare thought.

with laboured, groggy movements, you move around the kitchen, getting cups and plates and turning on the coffee machine. the sizzling of the pan creates a soothing melody, pleasant to your ears, as you quickly make a lazy breakfast to wolf down.

when it’s finished, you waste no time in taking a seat by one of the tables; eager to enjoy the peace and quiet, at last.

but, as always, the world seems to have it out for you specifically.

”oh? well, look who it is. and here i thought you had left, too.”

you stiffen. ever so slightly, barely noticeable, but still enough that you physically feel the dread envelop every single cell of your body. the voice that echoes across the open space is a chipper one. one you recognize. one you were desperately hoping not to hear today.

inwardly wincing, all you can do is continue to idly sip from your cup of coffee, silently going through all five stages of grief before accepting your unfortunate predicament.

that’s just your luck, isn’t it?

resigned to the sight you know you’ll see when you raise your head, you do just that — and, lo and behold, there he is.

gojo looks the same as always. grinning brightly, wearing those ugly sunglasses, making his way across the room like he owns it. a trait you can’t help but admire, envy, as he plops down next to you like it’s nothing. unconcerned about you or your concept of personal space.

”whatcha up to?” he chirps, in a sugar sweet tone, layered over with a boyish kind of excitement. there’s that teasing tilt of his, too, the one that always accompanies his voice when he’s speaking to you.

usually, hearing him speak in such an irritating fashion would’ve put you off. maybe you would’ve given him an apprehensive look, or tried to sound unbothered when answering his inquiry — that usually only makes him more intent on annoying you, but you just never seem to learn.

in your current state, though, you can’t muster up anything of the sort. you’re too tired, too anxious. you just want to sleep.

and yet, despite your best wishes, here he is; satoru gojo, in all his glory, ruining your hopes of what could have been a peaceful breakfast. you can’t even bring yourself to get mad. today, you just don’t have the energy to deal with him at all.

when you glance his way, your eyes meet, for a second — not like you can actually see them, from behind his sunglasses, but you know they’re there. menacing and uncanny. bright and excited.

you allow your gaze to linger at him for a brief moment, before trailing back to your plate. ”morning,” is all you manage to mutter, before taking a tentative bite of your sandwich.

gojo blinks.

he immediately notes that your voice sounds meek. even more so than usual. and it’s a little confusing — he expected you to give him a scoff, or even just a timid huff. but no such luck. you’re just sitting there, quiet, curling into yourself.

so, after a moment’s consideration, gojo opts to look at you. to really look at you, studying your face, the way your fingers move to curl around the ceramic handle of your cup. he’s always been observant, but it doesn’t take a genius to see that you’re tired.

you look out of it, plain and simple. eyes unfocused as you stare into space. gojo is silent for no more than a mere moment, contemplating his next course of action. he’s never seen you like this, before.

did something happen?

— well, it doesn’t matter. not his problem.

”you look like a zombie,” he grins, teasingly, showing off the white of his teeth.

despite the oddity of your behavior, he can’t hold it back — despite his own intuition, telling him to let you be. he can’t help it. you’re just too fun to tease.

suguru or shoko just raise their eyebrows at him, or stare him down like a misbehaving dog — but you always have a good reaction to give. something to entertain him when he’s bored, or something to distract him when his mind is too full of noise.

so he can’t help but tease you, a little. hoping it’ll soothe the restlessness in his chest.

— but for once, what gojo expects isn’t what he gets.

he expects you to glare at him, or tell him to leave you alone, or even just sigh in exasperation. either one would be fine. it’s just mindless enjoyment, to him, a little fun to lighten up his day.

especially now, when suguru is away on some day trip he wasn’t privy to. traitor, is all he can think. and shoko is nowhere to be seen, either. probably off smoking in some random alleyway, listening to one of her weird indie bands.

the whole dorm is so eerily quiet.

(gojo would never admit it, not in a thousand years, but maybe it’d be just a little bit lonely without any of you around.)

for a while, he assumed he’d have to spend the whole day alone. but then he entered the kitchen, and lo and behold; there you were, his saving grace. his dear old irritable little classmate.

a great relief overtook him, when he set his sights on you. oh, thank god — he thought he was going to die of boredom. but with you at school, too, his day is saved. now he can push your buttons to his heart’s content, bask in your playful banter until suguru gets back.

— only this time, you don’t react at all.

you don’t give him what he expects, don’t indulge his little antics, in the way he’s grown so accustomed to. all you do is continue to eat your breakfast, and drink your coffee, in silence. intent on gulping it all down quickly, so you can leave.

gojo’s words aren’t even irritating to you, right now. barely even a hassle. you honestly can’t be bothered with him at all; he can say what he wants, you don’t care. even mustering up the energy to get annoyed feels like too much for your sleep-deprived brain.

gojo waits, for just a couple moments more. hoping for a delayed reaction, a witty counter, a snarky comment. anything.

but it never comes.

finally, he starts to sulk. ever so slightly, slumping against the leather seat behind him, quieting down with a low huff. furrowing his brows as his lips curl down into a soft pout.

god — just what is your problem? what is with you, today? it’s no fun if you don’t play along.

gojo can’t help but grumble a little, under his breath. you’re usually so responsive, so easy to rile up. so what’s wrong? why are you just sitting there?

whatever. he doesn’t care. not even a little bit. so what if you’re not talking to him? like he cares enough to be bothered by it. gojo has better things to do, bigger fish to fry. he wasn’t even that excited, when he saw you. the thought of bantering with you didn’t lift his spirits, even in the slightest. not one bit.

(he hadn’t realized he’d begun to look forward to your interactions so much.)

but, really — come on. would it take so much effort to just say something? to just respond to his friendly little quip? you can’t possibly be that tired.

or what, did you get insecure, or something? because he called you a zombie? no way. you’re not that sensitive. right? or is that it? what a hassle.

you know he’s just messing with you. so why are you acting so….

(sad, gojo wants to think, but he buries the thought before it has a chance to reach his frontal cortex. he doesn’t want to empathize with you. that’d just be too troublesome.)

nonetheless, a strange frustration bubbles up in his chest. at your lack of reaction, the weak glint in your eyes. he just doesn’t understand why — and that frustrates him even more.

why can’t you just bite back, like always?

it’s fun when you do.

the silence lingers on, stretching out as you gulp down your food while gojo keeps on sulking. he’s still just sitting beside you, waiting for something to happen. he briefly considers getting up and leaving, or saying something annoying to hopefully spur you on —

but you stand up before he can convince himself to go through with either option.

having finished your breakfast, your legs carry you to the sink. finally, you can head back to your room. gojo’s being weirdly quiet, you can’t help but notice; it’s kind of hard not to, with how loud he usually is.

but you pay no mind to it, methodically washing your dishes in silence. deciding not to dwell on it. it’s a rare opportunity, after all, one you’d be foolish not to enjoy it while it lasts. you don’t bother saying goodbye to him, either, as he sits there. still deep in thought and grumbling curses under his breath.

he watches you as you leave, gaze trailing after your form until you’re completely out of sight.

then he lays down, flat on his back, with a frustrated huff. trying desperately to brush away the memory of your dim eyes, the slight frown on your lips. the dark circles under your eyes, that he tried not to notice because they made him feel so weirdly uncomfortable. the meek look you gave him.

gojo sighs.

(he feels just a tiny, tiny bit bad.)

when you wake up from your slumber, you immediately note that your body feels lighter.

no nightmares came to haunt you, this time. you practically collapsed once your head hit the pillow, finally giving you some peace of mind, and some well needed rest. maybe having breakfast really did help.

with a groan, you lazily stretch out your limbs, gaze falling on the clock on your wall. you’ve only been asleep for about two hours, or so, but it’s more than you got last night.

what to do, what to do. you still have the whole day ahead of you. another nap wouldn’t hurt, but you don’t want to waste your precious free time by just rotting in bed. maybe you can take a walk around the schoolyard? the cherry blossoms have started to unfurl, and it’s a beautiful sight — perfect to enjoy on a day like this, framed by the blue of the sky.

it’s a pleasing mental image. enough to have you changing into some light and comfortable clothes, intent on seeing the idea through, before you reach a hand out to push the door open.

as you do so, something is knocked over.

a soft little thud, accompanied by the sensation of collision between the door and something else. that’s all you hear, all you feel.

with a low curiosity simmering in your eyes, you exit the room, eagerly peeking around for a look at the mysterious something.

as you do so, your gaze falls on something pink.

it’s tiny, awfully out of place as it lays on the floor. crouching down to examine it further, you recognize it immediately; a small carton of strawberry milk, with a plastic straw plastered on its side. one of the items sold in the schoolyard’s vending machines.

you drink it fairly often, every time you need a small pick-me-up. the sweet taste always succeeds in soothing your spirits.

and it was sitting right outside your door.

you stare at it in contemplation, holding it in your hand as the gears turn silently in your head. that’s weird. did someone drop it? no, that’s dumb — who’d drop it right outside your door and then not pick it up?

did someone leave it for you, then? because they know you like it? that could be it, maybe, but who would —

….

your mind stills.

the idea is odd, to say the very least. so odd that a part of you doesn’t even want to entertain it. but despite your inherent denial, it’s the most reasonable conclusion to arrive at. after all, neither shoko nor geto are there — and that just leaves one possible culprit.

why would he do something like that, though? he doesn’t like you, you know that. so there’s no way — right?

… then again, you have seen him drink it. both of you seem to like it, contrary to your classmates; shoko doesn’t like sweet things in general, and geto doesn’t go for strawberry milk if he can choose something else. honestly, it might be the only thing you and gojo have in common, the one thing that binds you two together. a single carton of strawberry milk. it’s almost comical.

(you wonder why he did it, if it’s really true. you wonder if he noticed that you were feeling under the weather, and figured it’d make you happy.

you wonder if it’d be foolish of you to believe that it’s true, if only because you like the idea.)

your feet move on their own, before your mind has a chance to question the decision. where could he be, you wonder? in the kitchen? in his dorm?

just as the question enters your subconscious, a flash of white crosses your vision. as you absently glance out the window, you see it; white, soft hair, like a fluffy cloud in the midst of all the pink petals fluttering about.

you stop, and then begin walking once more. with more decision.

gojo is sitting right outside the dormitory, on a wooden bench, legs swinging as he gazes up at the sky. his hair sways slightly with the breeze, soft strands moving and caressing his skin.

the air is filled with pink petals, gracefully descending down to the ground, together with a trail of bubbles. gojo is blowing them, haphazardly, following their movement with his keen eyes. they glimmer in the sunlight, reflecting all shades of the rainbow.

the sight is just a little bit breathtaking.

the ground crunches beneath your feet, when you take a step forward — and gojo turns towards you. you stiffen like a deer in headlights. it was almost on impulse that you walked over to him, but now that you’re face to face, it’s a little nerve-racking.

still, it’s far too late to back out now. there’s not much to do except join him. so that’s exactly what you eventually do, albeit a little hesitantly.

attempting to ignore his continuous stare, burning into the side of your head, you plop down beside him. an uncomfortable silence lingers in the air around you both, as he waits for you to say something.

mustering up the courage to do so is tough, though. the decisiveness you felt when you decided to go see him has faded, now only the ghost of a sensation — you’re somewhat nervous to verbalize what was on your mind when you made the decision.

but eventually, you force yourself to speak. hoping you won’t come to regret it.

”… hey, gojo?” you start, softly, not looking at him. gaze glued on the cherry trees. but you know his eyes are still on you; you can feel them, and their weight.

the carton of strawberry milk is in your right hand, and you raise it up, faintly. to get his attention. then you look over at him, not quite managing to give him a smile, but you try your best to look somewhat appreciative.

”thanks.”

a confused blink. gojo looks down the strawberry milk, and then back at you. eyelashes fluttering.

a moment passes. then he turns his head away, swiftly. his hair is tousled by the movement, a couple pink petals stuck between the soft strands. you can’t see his face anymore.

”i don’t know what you mean,” he huffs, with a voice you’ve never heard from him. he sounds almost embarrassed.

upon closer inspection, you think the tips of his ears may be just slightly red. a smile finds its way onto your lips, unbeknownst to you — like this, he’s actually kind of cute. denying your implication, when it’s so obvious.

some part of you was still a little unsure, but gojo’s embarrassment basically confirms it.

(maybe he’s not as bad as you thought.)

cherry blossoms flutter in the wind, dancing joyously, without a care in the world. a spring breeze ruffles gojo’s hair, as he sits beside you, having begun to blow bubbles again. not saying a word, and looking straight ahead. but can’t help but stare at him, a little.

you find yourself thinking that he looks right at home, among the petals. they’re fleeting, hard to get a grasp on. pretty, and so out of reach, despite being so close.

you could reach over and touch him right now, if you wanted to. you could reach for his sunglasses, lift them off his face, and finally see those eyes he’s so intent on hiding. you could see him, see straight into his soul, and find out who he really is.

you won’t, though. some boundaries aren’t meant to be so callously crossed.

instead, you puncture the pink carton in your hand with the plastic straw, and take a tentative sip. the sweet taste soothes you almost immediately; you can’t help but sigh, softly, relaxing a little further. it’s absolutely perfect, for this kind of weather. the sight before you, cherry petals and shining bubbles. a boy you don’t like, but definitely don’t hate, either.

you both look up, following the bubbles with your eyes as they float up into the sky. as they get smaller and smaller, farther and farther out of reach. neither of you say a word, but the silence is comforting. light.

gojo is the first one to break it, surprisingly, in a voice so small you barely hear it.

”you don’t look like a zombie.”

a second passes. the statement catches you off guard, and you’re left blinking in confusion, trying to decipher it.

unable to resist the temptation, you decide to look over at him. with his eyes conveniently hidden behind his sunglasses, you can’t get a good read on his expression; he’s regained his composure, then.

it takes a couple seconds for his words to sink in — but once they do, all pieces seem to fall into place.

is that why he got you the drink?

you just can’t help it. you laugh, lightly, and this time it’s gojo who’s left confused.

”did —” you wheeze, softly, voice thoroughly amused. almost fond. you try to bite back the laughter, but it’s tough. ”did you think i was bothered by that, or something?”

gojo looks at you, for a brief moment. a little stunned. the sight only makes your smile grow even further, as you meet his gaze, eyes crinkled. you really aren’t trying to tease him — it’s just so funny to you. so endearing.

from the angle you’re viewing him through, as you lean back against the bench, you catch a glimmer of his eyes at last. they’re awfully pretty. blue and bright, full of life. when you look closer, you can see tiny, white splotches of colour in them.

they look like the blue sky.

you called them menacing, before, uncanny, but now you don’t think that’s quite true. they’re awfully soft, in the sunlight. especially when viewed like this, right after catching him slightly off guard. it’s a rare moment, terribly precious.

gojo doesn’t let it linger, though — the moment only lasts for a second or two.

then he scoffs, abruptly, turning away yet again. you swear that he’s pouting, a little, even if he’s trying to sound annoyed and nothing more.

”obviously not,” he huffs, sounding irritated as he rests his jaw on the heel of his palm. ”but with how sensitive you are, i wouldn’t be surprised.”

usually, a comment like that would irk you, and you’d bite back. but now it just makes you giggle, lightheartedly. the tips of his ears turn red, again, at the sound.

yeah. he’s really not so bad, after all.

for a while, you don’t say anything else, afraid of ruining the tender atmosphere. you feel closer to gojo than you ever have before, and you wonder if maybe this is the gojo that geto sees; childish, but well meaning. arrogant and cocky, but oddly innocent. selfish — but not really. you may have been slightly off, with that one.

the strawberry milk on your tongue tastes sweet, sweeter than usual.

”hey,” you break the silence, surprising even yourself. the words fall from your lips like soft little breaths, rolling off your tongue like marbles pouring out of a glass bottle. ”i don’t dislike you, you know?”

it’s an impulsive admission. saying it out loud doesn’t feel wrong, though. maybe a little humiliating, sure, but not wrong. they’re honest words, after all.

you suspect gojo may be looking at you, out of the corner of his eye, but you’re not sure. after all, you’re not looking at him, either — that’d feel a little too embarrassing.

he doesn’t quite know how to respond. you’re being strangely unpredictable, today, and it makes him feel a little unsure of himself. your tone is so soft. almost friendly. he only ever hears it when you’re talking to shoko, or geto.

not learning his lesson, gojo opts to tease you, as always. he can’t let the silence linger for too long. it’s a halfhearted attempt, though — more of a vaguely amused huff than anything.

”what, got a crush on me or somethin’?”

this time, you don’t scoff, or roll your eyes, or give him an earnest fuck right off. you just chuckle, in a way that almost borders on fond. you’re not one to tease, contrary to the boy on your left, but your words are teasing even still. ”i have better taste than that.”

gojo should be irked, should grumble and shoot something back, but you don’t give him the chance to.

”i just… you know,” you mumble, tasting the words on your tongue. ”i still think you’re annoying. and childish.” gojo huffs, and your lips curl up. ”but i really don’t dislike you.”

you take a sip of the strawberry milk, before continuing, hoping it’ll make the words easier to say. ”and it’s not like i know you, anyway. so i’m sorry for making a bunch of assumptions.”

a pause. for a split second, you quiet down, a little embarrassed. ”… that’s all i wanted to say,” you exhale, gaze glued to your lap.

as always, you can’t tell what gojo’s thinking. out of the corner of your eye, you try to catch a glimpse of his face, but you have a nagging suspicion that it wouldn’t tell you anything anyway. his eyes are hidden by those sunglasses, after all, acting as a wall between him and the rest of the world. so you don’t know if the words reach him, if they mean anything at all.

but you hope they do. even as you brush cherry petals and non-existent dust from your lap, and get up to leave.

gojo just sits there, for a second, deep in contemplation.

he tries to bury a certain thought, before it has a chance to reach his frontal cortex, before he has to accept that it exists — only this time, he doesn’t succeed.

the words die before they reach his tongue, but he hears them, in his head. and begrudgingly has to accept their existence, after all.

(i don’t really dislike you, either.)

what actually ends up leaving the confines of his throat is merely a scoff, so faint he doubts you even hear it. ”whatever,” he mutters, hoping it’ll come across as cool and unbothered.

the gruff sound strikes you as just slightly flustered. one last smile reaches your face, before you head back inside. gojo stays behind, on the bench, lost in thought.

you toss the now-empty carton into a trash can, dismissing the stray thought of keeping it as a memento of the interaction. that’d just be creepy. you are happy, though. you feel as if you’ve reached something, the start of an eventual conclusion. something worth cherishing.

you still don’t understand satoru gojo. you get the impression that you just grew a little bit closer to him, though.

there are layers to him, more than what meets the eye. hidden behind those sunglasses of his. you can only imagine what the world might look like, from his perspective. what you look like, reflected in his eyes.

you feel a little ashamed, for thinking you had him all figured out. a spoiled, self-centered rich kid, with no functional empathic abilities — it might be partially true, but you’ll have to reevaluate the statement, to see how well it holds up.

the lacking empathic abilities, especially. you still don’t think his emotional intelligence is anything to gawk at, but you may have been underestimating it, a little bit. it’s there, despite everything. in those eyes, in that carton of strawberry milk.

you think there’s a certain maturity, there, in spite of his childishness. or perhaps the latter is no more than a product of the former, a way for damaged children to dress their wounds. the way he carries himself and the way he speaks both seem a bit forced. like he’s used to performing, used to moving in a way that demands attention.

all eyes on him, at all times. you think that sounds just a tad exhausting.

as you return to the safety of your room, you still can’t help but ponder. there’s so much you don’t know. despite the moment you shared, and the connection you think may be growing between you, he’s still so out of reach.

(almost lonely, in a way.)

you wonder what he’s like when he’s alone, when there’s no one around to perform for. what is an actor without their audience?

you don’t understand satoru gojo, not really. not at all, not in the slightest.

but you think you’d maybe like to.

part 0

#i wrote this part a pretty long time ago so tbh i dont think my writing is. v good. but hopefully itll get better by the end LMAO #i love hs gojo soo much hes so cute. so shoujo manga ml. n hes so fun to write in a no curses au #i just feel like gojo is such a gift giver. physically cant apologize but throws ur fave bag of chips at ur head n acts like it wasnt him #hes so silly <33 #next part will b geto’s!!! but itll prob take a while bc my geto bias needs it to be Flawless #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru fluff #gojo satoru x y/n #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader

289 notes · View notes

teecupangel · 1 year

Note

Desmond when he's dying: This would've never happened if I was just a pigeon.

Desmond: *Becomes a pigeon in the next life*

Introducing Desmond the Assassins suspiciously long-living pigeon.

(I love this for the sole purpose that turning Desmond into an eagle would have been the most obvious choice but you, nonny, deliberately turned him into a pigeon which is hilarious. Alright, let’s make Desmond’s pigeon life super weird)

=================================

When Desmond woke up as a freaking pigeon, he was annoyed at himself. If he knew he could have been anything, he would have picked an eagle or even a freaking cat.

But nooooo. He just had to think he wanted to be a pigeon of all things.

Goddamn it.

Well, no use bemoaning his own cursed life.

He should get high up and see where the hell he was because this open sky was definitely not the Grand Temple.

…

Soooooo… how was he supposed to fly?

Just… flap his wings?

Flap

Fuck.

It wasn’t working.

Okay.

Maybe he just needed… momentum. Yeah, momentum might help?

So Desmond took a few step-

Sigh.

Desmond took a few hops back before running straight ahead into the edge of the roof where he had woken up on, flapping his wings the entire time and…

Yes! He was flying.

Holy shit, he was flying.

Wait.

Nope.

He was gliding.

He was fucking gliding and he was going down fast.

Ohfuckohfuckohfuckohf-

Slam.

Feathers flew everywhere as he smacked straight to a wall.

As if that wasn’t humiliating enough, he began to skid down, falling into the grassy ground with a pathetic thud.

A shadow appeared over him but he didn’t move.

He could feel one of his wings was now broken.

But more importantly, he was too embarrassed by that pathetic attempt at flying that he’d rather lie down on the ground for a while and contemplate just letting this bird life die out here.

“Are you dead, little one?” A voice that cracked at random asked and Desmond kept his eyes closed in total defeat.

He would like to say ‘yeah, pretty much’ and also 'uh, rude?' but it only came out as a sad cooing sound.

“It’s alright.” He felt hands grab him a bit too roughly, making him let out a pathetic cooing sound once more and the hands lessened their grip. He was cradled into someone’s arms and he was bounced lightly as the person carrying him began to run.

When he finally opened his eyes once more, he blinked when he recognized the gates ahead of them.

The front gates of Masyaf…

He was in Masyaf…

And it wasn’t the Masyaf that he had been in pictures after he heard from Shaun that Masyaf was under Abstergo’s control.

No.

This was the Masyaf he was familiar with.

This was-

“Altaïr.”

The teenager holding him stopped running and held him close as a…

Holy shit.

Was that Al Mualim?

He looked…

Young… ish.

“We had been worried. You shouldn’t leave the training ring without being dismissed.” Al Mualim said in a kind fatherly voice that made Desmond immediately want to peck him.

“I’m sorry, master. It’s just…” The teenager (holy shit, it was Altaïr. Not only that… it was Altaïr with a cracking voice! Desmond couldn’t stop himself from finding this amusing) raised his arms slightly to show Desmond who tried to glare at Al Mualim as a pigeon, “This little one broke its wing when it was trying to fly. I figured the healers might be able to do something about it.”

Al Mualim stared at Desmond for a moment before his eyes softened, “Very well. You’re dismissed today, Altaïr. Have the healers check the pigeon but…”

Al Mualim placed a hand on Altaïr’s shoulder and said, “Do not get your hopes up. Sometimes, it is impossible to fix a thing that is too broken already.”

Altaïr’s hold on Desmond tightened just a bit as he said quietly, “I understand, master.”

Desmond let out a cooing “yeah, fuck you too, asshole” that Al Mualim didn’t respond to, which made sense, since Desmond was now a fucking pigeon.

Ugh.

He just knew this new life of his was going to be a pain.

=================================

(More of an idea summary)

=================================

Altaïr

Desmond spends most of pre-AC1 getting treated for his broken wing and trying to learn how to fly afterward. The recruits and novices like him because he doesn’t act like a normal bird and likes to screech whenever Altaïr tries to leave him (in his defense, he was a grounded bird in a place that likes to find ‘alternative’ uses for stuff they can’t use and he can only think of one way to use a flightless bird who can’t even deliver messages).

He likes sitting on Altaïr’s shoulder. Whenever Abbas is nearby and being annoyed, he uses his minimal ‘flying’ skills to reach Abbas and peck him until he falls (Altaïr is always there to catch him). Because of this, Desmond got a hang of gliding and swooping (the falling is, unfortunately, still his greatest nemesis).

Abbas once threatened to cook Desmond and he almost got his eye pecked out because of it. (then received a very descriptive morbid detail of what Altaïr plans to do to him if he ever just as much try to pluck any of Desmond's feather)

Desmond will not, under any circumstances, eat worms. Kadar is the one who finds out Desmond likes fruits. Altaïr says Desmond is getting fat from all the fruits Kadar is giving him but Desmond pecks him. After that, Altaïr just gives Desmond a disappointed glare every time he sees Desmond eating the fruits Kadar brings him (who likes seeing him eat because Desmond makes this little sweet cooing sounds when he eats).

Malik secretly gives a bit of his own food whenever Altaïr is away because Desmond likes staying with him whenever Altaïr is busy. Malik never tells Altaïr about it and Desmond is a bird so it’s not like he can tattletale on him. However, Desmond’s soft spot for Malik makes Altaïr and Malik have a ‘nicer’ relationship… sorta.

Desmond finally learns to fly during Altaïr’s ‘punishment’. He saw Altaïr being chased by guards after killing one of the nines (maybe Garnier?) and he just… swoopes in to peck the guards to give Altaïr a chance to escape.

Maria is the one who actually asks outright why nobody is asking why this pigeon is still alive? Altaïr just says that it might be connected to the Apple of Eden because it does light up whenever Desmond touches it with his talons (Desmond doesn’t feel anything. It literally just lights up like a touch-activated lightbulb and Desmond is both disappointed and amused at the same time. He uses it to tell Altaïr he's been studying the Apple for too long and he needs to take a break.)

Darim likes giving him fruits too but he stops when Sef was born because he wants to be seen as a responsible big brother. Sef, on the other hand, loves Desmond and plays with him a lot. Desmond becomes an unofficial babysitter because everyone just agrees that the POE must have done something to his brain. That’s the only explanation they could think of as to why Desmond acts so intelligent. Desmond questions everyone's sanity for letting a bird babysit two children.

On the other hand, any time Desmond tries to actually communicate to someone by trying to write on the sand or that one incident where he tipped the ink bottle and used it to make some kind of ‘hand writing’, his words always end up gibberish and Desmond isn’t sure if ‘something’ is making him unable to write properly OR if there was some kind of human speech to bird language thing going on in his mind and that’s why he understands everyone but that shit doesn’t work when he’s trying to write his bird language. (Although, he can’t communicate with any other animals anyway)

Desmond stays with Sef when Altaïr and the other go to assassinate Genghis Khan. At this point, Desmond is a freaking master in bird stealth and manages to find incriminating documents that shows Abbas was planning a coup (Abbas and his cohorts got sloppy now that Altaïr was away). The coup was unsuccessful and Sef and Malik lived. (because fuck canon)

Desmond stays with the Ibn-La’Ahad bloodline (especially Sef’s bloodline) until something inside him suddenly calls to him, creating a golden thread-like mist that only he can see.

Having a feeling of where it was going to take him, Desmond only leaves after staying with his last ‘owner’ until her dying breath.

=================================

Ezio

When Desmond gets to Italia, Ezio has just been born.

He stays by the window and watches Ezio. The maids tried to shoo him away whenever they see him. Giovanni sees him at least twice but just thought he was a normal bird.

Ezio grew up seeing him as his guardian angel (“Your guardian angel is a pigeon?” “At least I can see mine!”) and that idea only solidified when he was a teenager who just learned pigeons are not supposed to live this long.

However, Desmond keeps his distance because he knows that people would find it weird (and maybe even the devil’s work) if Ezio has a pet pigeon who is still alive after all these years.

He does, however, always fly near Ezio whenever he used the rooftops and stays with him if they’re in a hiding spot or really high up.

This, inadvertently, helps Ezio be better at freerunning and climbing (and stealth) before that fateful day.

On that fateful day, Desmond leaves Ezio to warn the Auditores by squawking really loudly on the rooftop until Federico had enough and went up to see what has Ezio’s guardian angel all squawking up a storm when it was usually silent. Federico sees the guards coming towards the Palazzo and alerts his father because Desmond made a show of diving in and getting one of the wanted paper that they all had to identify the Auditores and giving it to Federico with a flapping motion that says “run, fucking run!!!”

The Auditores don’t get captured but they had to go into hiding instead. Giovanni tries to talk to his friend Uberto Alberti about this with the evidence but Desmond is not having any of that. Federico is stuck because he’s been ordered to protect his family but Ezio was still out in Firenze so Desmond goes to him and takes him to Giovanni.

Ezio gets there in time to see his father being cornered by guards and he and Desmond helps Giovanni get out.

Unfortunately, the only thing that shows that the Auditores were innocent was with Uberti and he had burned it in front of Giovanni for dramatic effect and because he isn’t stupid.

Left with no choice, the Auditore family leaves Firenze to seek shelter in Monteriggioni.

(Altaïr’s statue has a pigeon on his shoulder and Desmond tries to get Ezio to realize that he’s the pigeon by sitting next to his pigeon statue and mimicking the puffed-up pose. Ezio just chuckles and says “Yes, angelo mio, you are more beautiful than Altaïr’s pigeon”)

=================================

(Okay, that’s as far as I got. If anyone wants me to do a semi-summary/semi-fic continuation of the Kenway soap opera, Arno and the Frye twins, let me know XD)

=================================

(Unorganized ideas)

There is no eagle connection ala Layla Trilogy between Desmond and any of his ‘owners’. He's literally just a pigeon with a long lifespan.

Sef once pinched a feather from Desmond without his approval because he dropped the feather that the Rafiq gave him, Desmond pecked him in the ear the entire time they were back in the bureau and the Rafiq just looked at him with an expression of ‘Do you really think I don’t know the difference between a pigeon’s feather and an eagle’s feather? Bitch, I’ve been Rafiq longer than you’ve been alive.’ but only takes the feather silently while Sef grins at him. It took lots of fruits for Desmond to stop being angry at him (and Sef knew he fucked up because the moment they returned to Masyaf, Desmond sat on Darim’s shoulder with his back turned, making Darim go “What did you do now, Sef?” in that tired older brother tone that he has used so many times by now)

Petruccio absolutely believes Desmond is Ezio’s guardian angel. Claudia and Federico didn’t until Desmond helped them escape

#desmond as an ageless pigeon #semi-short fic semi-idea rambling #... soooo business as usual i guess?#ask and answer #assassin's creed #desmond miles #altaïr ibn la'ahad #kadar al sayf #malik al sayf #darim ibn la'ahad #sef ibn la'ahad #ezio auditore #federico auditore #giovanni auditore #teecup writes/has a plot

386 notes · View notes

medic-simp · 9 months

Text

Just Go To Sleep - First Night

Rating: Gen || Chapter Word Count: 1176 Chapter Content Warnings: sharing a bed trope, slow burn

Just Go To Sleep Masterlist || Next || AO3 Work Link

Year of the OTP Event: August Prompt "AU of Your Choice" @yearoftheotpevent

Your back hurts. Janna, your back hurts. You roll onto your other side for what feels like the millionth time in the two hours you’ve been trying to sleep on Silco’s god-forsaken couch. Your shoulders ache, your spine is shouting at you in a dull, stinging vibrato, and the sandman won’t visit you so long as you have such a pain. This isn’t going to work.

Your blanket lands on the office floor with a quiet sigh, huffing indignantly as you march over it to Silco’s quarters. The door is even quieter than you are as you turn the handle and peek in, and you’re surprised that it’s unlocked. Perhaps Silco left it that way in case you needed him, lucky for you.

Silco’s room is pitch black, such that you can’t see what you may run into, causing you to stumble several times. It takes a few seconds before your eyes adjust and you can see the bed and the outline of Silco’s body as he sleeps softly on his side.

Now, how to proceed… you’re in here but what do you do? Wake him up and ask for a better sleeping spot? Ask to sleep in his bed with him? Just crawl into his bed?

Thinking, you mindlessly start towards Silco, listening to the sound of his steady breathing as you inch forward, slowly, carefully, quietly… until you run into the dresser. Your poor big toe catches on the stubby wooden leg and it sends you reeling, cracking your forehead into the rest of the hulking piece of furniture. You’ve never thought dressers were more ridiculous in your entire life.

Clutching your throbbing foot in one hand and your forehead in the other you tumble down to the floor in a much larger crash, but you’d kind of given up on being quiet when you loudly collided with the dresser.

A sigh erupts from the bed and a Silco sits up, taking off an eyepatch that one can only assume is for his molten red eye. That eye glows in the darkness of the room and you can feel the heat of his glare boring through you.

“I don't think you could have been any louder.” You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t so caught off-guard by the much deep, dark timbre of Silco’s voice. It’s a rough growl, gravelly in all seconds that it rings out, and you can practically hear its diaphragmatic origins by the way it rumbles. Your shock does not go unnoticed to Silco, and he scoffs at your stillness.

“Never heard of morning voice?” he asks, and that same growlish tone gives you a tingle on the back of your neck. Before you can answer his question, Silco is out of bed and flipping on the light switch.

“What do you need?” He sounds less annoyed than you thought he would have, but maybe he just isn’t awake enough to feel or convey that emotion yet. He’s still holding his eyepatch, fidgeting the strap between his thumb and forefinger with slow, almost deliberate twirls.

Silco looks at you, expecting an answer, but you only manage to sort of dumbly look at him, still a little surprised with yourself for being in Silco’s bedroom. His eyebrow arches.

“Um, the couch is really uncomfortable and I’m having trouble sleeping.” His eyebrow arches still. “And, er, I know it’s rude to ask since you’re already offering me space but I do work a full-day tomorrow and I was just wondering if you had any other place I could sleep?” You chew on your lip and try to maintain eye contact with Silco, it usually helps when asking for something, otherwise he doesn’t quite take you seriously. You watch carefully for any tell-tale signs on his face, a quirk of the lips, the slightest twitch of his eye, a clench or unclench of his jaw, or perhaps an unarching of the eyebrow. Nothing so far, Silco only gives you a quick look up and down, as if scanning your body for any malicious intentions. And then that eyebrow relaxes, taking away from some of the wrinkles on his forehead as it rests just above his sea-green eye.

“I know you can’t sleep,” he grumbles, “I can hear you tossing and turning in there.” Silco puts a hand on his hip, thinking, and almost entirely dismissing your red face. “You aren’t the only one missing sleep.”

You can’t help but recall the times that you’d switched your position on the couch, and you realize you were quite loud. Between pillow moving, body and limb shifting, and annoyed groaning, it’s no wonder you kept Silco up. Wait, was he awake when you first came into his room?

After a few more seconds of thought, Silco sighs. “You can sleep in here or in the bar,” he says matter-of-factly, quickly adding, “though I imagine you have no intentions of requesting the bar.”

You imagine going down there while it’s likely still just barely active, a few drunkards taking their own naps, waking up to your boots melted into the booze-sticky floor. Of course you’d have to be in your day clothes, no way you can be clad in “pajamas” in there.

Apparently, your displeasure with the idea of sleeping in the bar is evident on your face and there is a wordless exchange as Silco invites you to sit on the bed. He disappears into a closet, presumably to get any extra bedware you may need. And despite your chill-fueled desire–something you’ve recently acquired as you realize how chilled Silco keeps his room–you don’t slip under the covers. You can see where Silco was before you rudely interrupted his attempt at sleeping and you feel uncomfortable with the idea of shifting his pillows from the middle of the bed to one side, so you instead wait for Silco to move his own spot over.

The man comes back with a lot of pillows, a pile stacked so high you can barely see his eyes over it. They fall unceremoniously onto the bed, some falling onto the ground as well, which you quickly pick up and toss to the pile.

“Are we building a pillow fort or something?” you ask, a joke you regret making as Silco gives you a tired glare; he’s beginning to wake up enough to feel and express annoyance.

“Get whatever pillows you need to sleep on and get in.” Ignoring your comedy genius, Silco gestures to the bed and, to avoid making him more sour (and to escape the cold), you hurry your ass up, grabbing one pillow and slipping under the covers.

Without another word, Silco climbs in after you and begins taking the pillows piled on the bed and situating them between the two of you. It makes more sense than a pillow fort.

Once he’s checked that the pillow wall is secure, Silco turns the light off and rolls very much deliberately to face away from you.

“I’ll see you in the morning.”

“It is morning.”

“Just go to sleep.”

#silco #arcane #silco arcane #silco fanfic #definitely making a part two for this

89 notes · View notes

anjanahalo · 8 months

Text

Wayne vs Fenton 5

This one is probably the start of the fic. Warning for some transphobia. This isn't a trans Danny fic (though that makes the most sense in canon considering Dani), but it is a small example of how transphobia hurts everyone. Protect Trans Kids. ~*~

Damian’s first step into madness, upon reflection, was incidentally coming to the defense of the new transfer student in order to quell the loud and blatant bullying before him. If he was more pragmatic, he’d call it a misstep, but that suggested he made a mistake instead of a deliberate choice. Gym class at Gotham Academy wasn’t something he enjoyed. It was annoying how he had to hold back to not stand out, the ease of even the most strenuous activities offered that made the class itself dull, and the smells and sounds of the boy’s locker room before and after each session. Add on top the terrible jokes and performative machismo his classmates insisted on participating in, and he walked into each physical education class in a foul mood. Today, it went over the top from “barely tolerated” to “insufferable” when one of his classmates, one who made it into the academy on an athletic scholarship, began harassing one of their number who’d disappeared into a changing stall to dress back in the school uniform, forgoing the shower entirely. He’d done so at the start of class, as well, and in the few days he’d been at the school thus far. This didn’t bother Damian. What was it to him if the boy was too shy to change before his peers? It did, however, bother Justin Holbeck. “Hey, Fenton! Why don’t you come out?!” The reply was too soft in the din of the locker room, but Damian had to assume it was in the negative from Holbeck’s reply. “Hey, we’re all guys here, right? We’ve all seen it before. There ain’t nothing to be scared of, unless you do got something to hide?” Damian frowned at what must have been another reply from behind the changing curtain, one he still couldn’t parse. “I’m just wondering if you’re packing a taco instead of a sausage, if you know what I mean, Danny, or is it actually Danielle?” Damian heard enough and approached as Holbeck reached for the curtain to pull it aside to reveal the occupant. Before he could, however, Damian had him by the wrist. He closed his fist just enough that Holbeck would feel the radius and ulna begin to rub together. With a deep breath, ignoring Holbeck’s offended screeches, Damian pieced together enough “locker room” talk to create a response. “Didn’t you know it’s rude to stare at people who are changing?” Damian asked Holbeck. “Hey, I have every right to know if Fenton’s in the wrong locker room! If he’s a she, then-” “Then it’s none of your business, isn’t it, Holbeck? Besides, why are you so interested in Fenton’s genitals? If you wish to date them, I can think of better ways of asking him out.” The entire locker room, of course, watched them once Damian stepped into the situation, and they all laughed and began asking Holbeck about his sexual orientation and potential crushes. Flustered and embarrassed, Holbeck retreated, grabbing his things before making a hasty retreat from the locker room, shoes and socks still in hand. Damian ignored the rabble, as usual, and turned to the curtain and its so far silent occupant. “Are you alright?” he asked, his training as a Robin kicking in. Check on the civilian. Ensure their physical and emotional well being until help arrived. “I can locate a teacher or escort you to the principal’s office if you wish to lodge a complaint-” “No, no, I just…I don’t want to make it worse. I’m alright.” A long pause where Damian could almost hear Fenton, his worry and pleased surprise resonating within Damian. “Thanks. I’m not, you know…I’m not trans, I just don’t want people to…I mean, thanks for helping me. I just don’t want people staring, you know?” Damian, oddly, did know. He’d received plenty of stares before from his scars, each one a hard lesson from the League’s training. “It doesn’t matter why you don’t want to be seen undressing. It’s uncouth to ask those sorts of questions and demand an audience.” “Yeah. Um, thanks again.” “You’re welcome, Fenton, but it wasn’t an issue.” Damian, satisfied with Fenton’s stable state, walked back to finish redressing.

#dpxdc #wayne vs fenton #here i go writing again #trans rights are human rights

113 notes · View notes

firelord-frowny · 2 years

Text

I've been realizing lately just how much my fear/anxiety about Going Out Into The World To Pursue My Interests is rooted in the stuck up, condescending, judgmental attitudes of my dad, and to a lesser extent, my brother.

lmao i mean i aaaaaaalllllllwaaaaaaaaaays knew that they did and said things to cause me to feel like shit. the catch is that at the same time that I was feeling like shit because of what they'd do and say to me, I also fully understood that the dumb things they tried to make me believe about myself weren't true. So like, the hurt came mostly from the fact that they wanted me to feel bad in the first place. Like, my brother would call me stupid, and i KNOW i am not stupid, so I'm not upset because I now feel stupid because of what he said, because I know I'm not stupid. I'm upset because it hurts me to know that he wants me to feel bad. I'm upset because it hurts me to know that somebody could think something about me that wasn't just unkind and rude, but also untrue. So like, my self concept never really suffered because of anything they did or said.

but holy WOW it has made me hyperaware of the possibility of being perceived as or accused of being something I'm not. It's made me hypervigilant in terms of not wanting to be seen doing anything that somebody might judge me unkindly for.

And I know now that a lot of that is because not only did they say mean shit about me, but I also witnessed them saying mean shit about complete strangers.

Examples (some of which I can remember as having Actually Happened, and some of which are just hypothetical scenarios that demonstrate what I'm talking about):

Say every time my family goes to a particular restaurant, there's always the Same Dude sitting alone at the Same Table. My dad and brother, every time we see him there, say something like, "oh, there he is again. he should try somewhere else for a change." "i bet the staff is creeped out by him." "what's he doing here all the time? the food isn't even that good." It's just a dude enjoying his favorite dish at his favorite restaurant, but to my dad, he's Doing Something Wrong.

Say a fat lady is walking across the street in a bright yellow mini dress with pink polka dots, green hair, prancing along with a confident, enthusiastic gait. My dad turns up his nose and makes a grotesquely horrified noise and goes, "she ain't got no business drawing all that attention to herself. she needs to be dressing down, not up." The grotesque implication being that she's not beautiful enough to have the right to make herself stand out in a crowd, and the fact that she makes herself stand out regardless of that 'fact' is a character flaw worth saying out loud.

I'm watching Rocky Mountain Vet on animal planet, and a couple is explaining their dog's ailment to the vet tech. They talk about how their dog is 'like their child' and they 'don't care how much it costs to get him healthy again.' they'll 'do anything for him.' My dad walks by as I'm watching this, and he huffs about how ridiculous it is for people to care that much about their pets.

We have some neighbors who are, uh, really fucking obnoxious lmao ngl. But they're not bad people. Just annoying. The husband, when he's out mowing the lawn, wears a bright yellow reflective safety shirt. My brother somehow winds up in a conversation with the guy in which the guy mentions that he likes to wear bright yellow when he's doing yard work so that he can be easily seen. my brother, being incapable of Not Giving A Shit About Other People's Personal Choices, misinterprets the neighbor's words to mean "I think it's fun to make people pay attention to me." After that, my brother started deliberately taking a right turn instead of a left one whenever he leaves the house JUST to deprive the neighbor of the satisfaction of having been seen by him.

Somebody posts on social media announcing the launch of their online business and asking their friends to take a look at their website and perhaps purchase something. My dad sneers about how pushy and presumptuous they're being - don't they know nobody cares about their dumb business? there's already dozens of other business like it anyway.

literally just, people can do the most benign things, the VERY SMALLEST THINGS to intentionally or incidentally draw any kind of attention to theirself, and my dad expresses condescending contempt for all of it.

and as for how this has effected me and how I move through the world...

I once bought some DELICIOUS cupcakes from a new cupcake bakery. A couple weeks later, I went back for more. It's been like 5 years since that 2nd visit and I've wanted to go again, but I haven't because I worry that the staff will recognize me, and if they recognize me, they'll think I'm a weirdo for always buying cupcakes from them. OBVIOUSLY that is dumb as shit and not at all true, but I can't make my emotions believe that.

When I had both my junior and senior recitals in college, I invited No One. I did post about it on facebook just to make people aware it was happening, but I only did it once, and I didn't actually encourage anyone to attend because I worried that people would think I'm an attention whore.

My emotions are SO CONVINCED that everyone around me is secretly Just Like My Dad, and will ridicule me for having the audacity to do anything at all that might make someone look at me.

4 notes · View notes

pyukumukuus · 1 year

Text

i finished mass effect and i just gotta document my decisions/experience of the whole trilogy here in case i forget:

mass effect 1

my shepard is a badass. for some reason my brain rotted and i didn’t take a single screenshot for the whole of the first 2 games. but here she is in all her badassery (in me3):

infiltrator shepard grew up as an orphan on earth, was the only survivor of her squad after a thresher maw attack on akuze. she used a sniper rifle as her signature weapon and chose (mostly) paragon choices.

shepard recruited to the normandy sr-1:

kaiden - i thought he was a bit boring and annoying at first but his flirting made me like him more and i ended up excitedly pursuing a romance with him (although deep down i wanted to romance garrus). throughout the series i kind of liked him but also kind of found him really annoying

ashley - i disliked her the second she exposed herself as a bit of a racist, she grew on me a little but not really that much... still felt guilty when she died though because i had to choose between her and the dude i was banging .... i mean that just isn’t fair

garrus - you know sometimes when 0.1 seconds into a character’s introduction you know they are going to be Your Favourite??? well. that.

wrex - his attitude annoyed me at first but i quickly became interested in the history of the krogans and the effect of the genophage and as a character he massively grew on me throughout the series

tali - i liked her straight away and found the quarians really interesting

liara - i shut down her romantic advances straight away which was kind of cold... i found her a bit dull and she kind of stayed that way throughout the series but eventually i just saw the dullness as part of her personality and she grew on me. i also ended up recruiting her after i already witnessed the death of her mother which completely messed up the flow of the story

shepard saved the colony on feros and (i think?) saved shiala, spared the rachni queen, saved kaiden on virmire and also successfully talked wrex into standing down.

shepard chose to focus on fighting sovereign rather than prioritising saving the council, and chose anderson as councillor.

mass effect 2

shepard recruited to the normandy sr-2:

jacob - he was boring from the start and really never got interesting at all (loyal)

miranda - didn’t like her attitude and first and i was deliberately rude to her, but she grew on me a little as the game went on and i liked her a lot more in me3 (loyal - became disloyal after i sided with jack, then i got her loyal again by passing a paragon check later on)

mordin - i liked him the moment i met him and my god i only liked him more and more as this game went on (loyal - kept maelon’s data)

zaeed - batshit insane..... he made me uncomfortable. i don’t think i ever took him on a mission (disloyal - i saved the factory workers and vido got away, and i must have missed the paragon dialogue or something)

kasumi - i thought she was kind of cool and i really liked her loyalty mission. she grew on me a lot as the game went on (loyal)

garrus - <3 <3 <3 he was so good in this game..... i romanced the HECK out of him (loyal - i let him kill sidonis)

jack - i liked her fucked up energy a lot and she was such a badass (loyal)

grunt - i thought he was a bit underused but liked his loyalty quest; i liked learning more about krogan culture (loyal)

tali - tali is just great (loyal - cleared her name and didn’t incriminate her father)

samara - i really liked samara as a character and she is like.... the prettiest character ever (disloyal - i was gutted by this.... i totally fucked up on the dialogue when speaking to morinth and she bailed on me)

thane - thane really pulled on the old’ heartstrings and i loved his backstory (loyal)

legion - i was soooooo pumped to recruit a geth (loyal - rewrote the heretics; lost his loyalty after siding with tali but got it back again later)

in the suicide mission i made the following choices:

passed all the normandy upgrade checks (nobody died)

sent kasumi into the vents and had jacob lead the fire team (all survived)

all of the normandy crew had died by the time i got to them (except dr chakwas who i successfully sent back to the normandy with thane) because i spent too long completing loyalty missions.... this was so bleak and i had to watch kelly be liquidised :(

chose jack as the biotic specialist and jacob again to lead the fire team (all survived)

took garrus and tali into the final fight (both survived)

left jacob, miranda, mordin, zaeed, kasumi, jack, grunt, samara and legion to hold the line (samara died)

chose to destroy the collector base

mass effect 3

shepard recruited to the normandy sr-2:

james - i liked his big dumb energy from the start and he kept growing on me too. i loved his relationship with shepard. i really thought for like half of the game that he and steve were going to be a couple

liara - she was more interesting in this game, especially after waking javik

garrus - i did the citadel dlc way too quick and then realised i missed out on The Tango Scene so i threw away like 5 hours of gameplay just to have the chance to see that (worth it bc i also got to invite more people to the party)

EDI - EDI was awesome and i absolutely hooked her up with joker

javik - i found him quite abrasive at first and although he was interesting i didn’t really like him... but he really grew on me (which i guess was probably the intended effect) and he got SO funny

kaiden - i deliberately was snippy with him at the beginning of the game because he was an arse in me2 and when he got all weird with me about dating garrus i was so mad that the dialogue options were like sowwy for hurting your fweelings / sowwy for cheating on you / sowwy...... and not like.... THAT’S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS.... anyway as mentioned above i sort of like/hate kaiden. he belongs in the squad. annoying as hell but he belongs there

tali - loved the quarian/geth conflict and tali being an admiral, as usual she kicked ass in this game

as for the priority/major missions:

grissom academy - i fucked up and didn’t do the mission so jack ended up being taken and corrupted by cerberus (when i found out that was going to happen i thought there would at least be a sick cutscene introducing her as your enemy.... but no.....) anyway i feel really shitty about missing out on her in me3

genophage - i cured the genophage (this mission was AWESOME) and mordin sacrificed himself to ensure the mission succeeded.... i nearly cried :’( but at least he died for a cause he believed in!! it felt fitting

citadel coup - i didn’t shoot kaiden during the coup; i shot udina right in his gutless betraying face

rachni - i helped the rachni queen escape; grunt survived

geth/quarian conflict - i chose to let legion upload the reaper code to the geth...... and on realising the outcome of this choice i did the whole mission again because there was no way i was going to let tali die like that!!! but hoo boy this was the hardest decision in me3 for sure.... after everything legion gave to the cause i really thought the geth deserved their freedom.... and having to kill him was just devastating. gutted that i couldn’t resolve this peacefully all because in me2 a) i didn’t choose to destroy the heretics and b) i didn’t resolve tali and legion’s dispute with paragon/renegade dialogue.... feelsbadman

horizon - miranda survived the horizon mission

crucible/catalyst - i chose destroy, only because i figured it was the choice my shepard would make. it was sad to lose EDI and it really hurt seeing the mass relays being burnt out.... i thought about picking synthesis but then i thought i can’t consent to that on behalf of the entire organic population..... and i definitely didn’t want to choose control because that is what the the illusive man would have done. my war asset score (despite doing everything i could) wasn’t high enough for shepard to survive :( but i really liked the reveal that the reapers were there to restore balance and that their existence was to ensure synthetic life never completely destroyed organic life. i’m a sucker for whole ‘we have been through this cycle millions of times before’ trope (i dunno what you actually call this trope..... it felt similar conceptually to horizon zero dawn)

anyway this game was wonderful and i will be thinking about it for a LONG time.... here’s some screenshots from my playthrough :)

#mass effect

1 note · View note

arvinsescape · 3 years

Text

Behind his back.

A/N: Darker fic for me to write but i’d had this idea for a while and i really hope you enjoy, please do read at your own risk as i have given warnings!

Summary: Y/N goes behind Tom’s back and gets herself into a terrible situation.

Warnings: Swearing, death, gore, violence, general mob stuff, knife use, gun mentions and smut (oral fem r), unprotected sex (please practise safe sex) Minors do not engage.

This is a darker one shot so please only engage if you feel comfortable, i have put all the warnings in.

W/C: 6.6K

You knew you shouldn’t be here, you knew how dangerous it was, Tom had specifically asked you to sit this one out but you didn’t listen. You knew coming here could be the end of it all for you, you could easily lose your life tonight but you were optimistic, confident in your abilities. You wondered briefly if Tom would kill you himself if he found out you’d deliberately disobeyed him.

You were a card Tom kept close to his chest, only bringing you in when he felt it was absolutely necessary. Most people assumed you were just an ordinary woman, only a few of Tom’s close friends knew who you were, most of his men didn’t even know you existed. He only ever met you at your house and it was always at some ungodly hour, making the sneaking in and out easier.

You remember when you first started working for Tom, you were initially sent to gain information from him by your previous employer. He caught onto your act after a while and found himself so impressed by your ability that he hired you to extract information for him.

“I should get going.” You said as you removed yourself from Tom’s lap, you’d been flirting all night, of course this was part of your plan. You’d been touchy feely for a good hour by this point, making it easier to take the document you needed from his pocket and discreetly slip it into your bra.

“But I was having so much fun darling.” He smirked, if this had of been any other night, you’d have let him take you home. He was by far the most attractive man you’d ever had to extract information from.

“Maybe I’ll see you around.” You flirted back and made your way to the back exit of the club, hoping to slip into the night and deliver the piece of paper that was still wedged into your bra.

You made it outside in the alleyway between the club and the building next door when you felt an arm wrap around your waist. You almost screamed but remembered the last thing you needed to do was draw attention to yourself, especially when Tom owned this club, you couldn’t have him finding out what you’d done, it’d blow everything.

“Not so fast darling.” You relaxed slightly when you heard his voice, melting into his hold only slightly.

“I told you I was tired and I’m heading home.” You said innocently and he chuckled before turning you around and pinning you to the wall, arms either side of your head and you felt your breath hitch at the closeness. You knew you could have given him a good kick between the legs and bolted but you didn’t want to. You’d heard he was dangerous yet you doubted he’d hurt you.

“I think you have something of mine.” He said as he peppered kisses along your throat and you shivered in his hold.

“I don’t think so.” You said again and he chuckled before moving his hands to your waist, your hands finding his hair as he continued to kiss along your neck, hands sliding up your sides and you found yourself panting as you grew aroused.

“Tom.” You said as he sucked on your neck, leaving a mark. He hummed as his hands slipped further up your sides, cupping your breast with one hand.

“You gonna hand it over? Or am I gonna have to take it?” He said as he brought his face back to yours, lips inches from your own. “You’re good, had me fooled. If only Haz hadn’t have asked to see the paper, you’d have gotten away with stealing it.” You laughed slightly as you realised you may as well drop the innocent act.

“Dam Harrison then.” You said and he threw his head back as he laughed.

“You’re playing a very dangerous game princess. How do you know I’m not going to kill you for stealing from me, I’ve killed people for less you know?” He said and although you should have been intimidated you weren’t, you were so wrapped up in his scent and just him.

“If you were going to kill me, I assume you would have done by now.” You said confidently, your lips where still inches apart and you were fighting everything in you not to close the distance. You felt yourself become disappointed as he moved away from you and held his hand out.

“True. I still want it back though.”

“How do you know I still have it on me?” You tried.

“I don’t for certain but I assume you do. Hand it over and I’ll give you something in return.” He said and you found yourself hoping that meant an absolute railing in this alleyway. You pondered over the idea before you sighed.

“I can’t. The people I work for won’t be happy, they’ll kill me. So I suppose I have to make a choice, let you kill me or them, either way I’m fucked.” You said, the atmosphere shifting from playful to serious as he furrowed his brows as if deep in thought.

“I’m not going to kill you but I am going to take my documents back.” He said after a while and you gasped slightly as he pinned you back to the wall, hand reaching between your breasts as he pulled the paper from your bra. You moved to snatch the paper back from him, ready to hit him and run but he was much faster than you.

“You know who I am don’t you?” He asked and you nodded your head. “I can make the people you work for disappear, make sure you’re safe, I just want one thing in return.” He spoke again.

“You don’t even know who I work for.” You said.

“True, I don’t but it doesn’t really matter. Tell me who they are and I’ll make them go away.” He said and it sounded as if he was trying to reassure you.

“What do you want from me?” You spoke after a moment.

“I want you to work for me.”

That was that, he indeed did get rid of the mobster you previously worked for, you still don’t know what he did and ultimately didn’t care. Tom was a much less demanding employer and always made sure you were safe, he didn’t leave you to fend for yourself, ever. You were yet to see where he lived, he didn’t want anyone to accidently see you and make any connection, he wouldn’t endanger you like that.

You were head over heels for him, completely in love, nothing ever happened between the two of you. There had been a couple of occasions where you’d thought he was so protective over you because he liked you back but after months of him not making a move and last weeks words, you realised that you were just a good business investment and that’s why you were so well protected.

You knew you were here tonight because you were in love with him, because you wanted to prove yourself to him, make him see you were more capable than he gave you credit. You weren’t just some girl who was good at flirting and stealing. James Kane was a dangerous man, he didn’t care if you were male or female, if he wanted you out of the way, you were dead. There were rumours he’d killed his ex-wife so she wouldn’t get any of his money in the divorce.

He’d become a thorn in Tom’s side and Tom was growing desperate to get him off the board, that had sparked the argument you’d had last week.

“Tom, I can do it!” You practically begged him. “I know where he’s going to be, it’ll be easy. He wouldn’t suspect a thing, he’s too arrogant to believe a woman could outsmart him.”

“Y/N.” Tom sighed as he stood from your couch. “No. I will not have you in the same vicinity as him, I can’t go with you, he knows who I am.” He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, he wasn’t used to people arguing his authority.

“Send me in with someone else.” You pleaded.

“No.” He said. “You’re not going, end of.” He snapped.

“You can’t tell me what to do.” You said and he almost pinned you to the spot with his stare, you’d annoyed him.

“I pay you to do what you do remember.” He snapped. “You’re not going, it’s too dangerous.” He said.

“So what? Why do you care so much?” You almost screamed in frustration.

“Because I-“ He cut himself off.

“Because what Tom?” You shouted and he pinched the bridge of his nose as he thought for a moment.

“Because you are a very valuable asset that I can’t afford to lose.” He said and your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach. You really were just a good business deal. “You’re not going and that’s final, I’ll find another way to deal with him.” He didn’t give you chance to respond as he slammed the door to your home shut, leaving you crying.

You hadn’t spoken to him since, you were angry at him, you wanted to get this information from James and hand it to him personally and gloat. You realised it was probably stupid to think this way, you wanted him to love you back so badly that you were here tonight, putting your life in danger. You were currently seated on James lap as you flirted, your phone had now been buzzing in your bag for ten minutes.

“You should probably get that.” James spoke into your ear and you had to fight the urge to vomit as his hand trailed up your thigh, nothing like the night you’d flirted with Tom, you hadn’t been acting then.

“That would be so rude of me though.” You said as you leant your head back onto his shoulder, you needed to fish around for the documents soon and you knew it but you had to play carefully, you were on your own, no back up.

“I don’t mind.” He said as he licked a stripe up your neck and you shivered but not in a good way, thankfully he thought it was. You turned and kissed his cheek as you grabbed your phone from your bag, James’s arms looped around your waist.

You furrowed your brows as you checked your screen.

Tom: 40 missed calls.

Tom: 13 new messages.

“Who’s Tom? Boyfriend?” He said and you put your phone back into your bag after switching it off.

“My brother.” You lied, hoping he’d drop it.

“Seems pretty clingy.”

“He probably wants a lift home from his night out.” You spoke and James kissed your shoulder. “I’m just gonna go to the toilet, I’ll be back in a minute.” You said as you kissed his cheek once more.

You removed yourself from his lap and made your way into the bathroom, splashing water over your face as you sighed and looked into the mirror.

“Come on Y/N, you can do this. You don’t need his protection for everything.” You pep talked yourself, your nerves were getting the better of you. You were also panicking now because Tom was trying to get hold of you and you never ignored his calls, he was gonna be even more pissed at you. You made your way into a stall and as you locked the cubicle you heard someone else enter the bathroom, assuming it was a woman here to do her makeup.

You made your way out of the cubicle and your blood ran cold as you saw James leant against the sinks, arms folded as he pierced you with his gaze, the piece of paper you wanted to get hold of was held in one of his hands. He knew and you were fucked.

“I was gonna give you more time, but I assume you lost your nerve. He’s not sent you with anyone tonight has he?” He spoke and you tried to compose yourself, play innocent.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You said and he shot you a glare so foul you knew you were done for.

“Don’t play dumb with me you stupid bitch.” He spat and you started weighing up your options in your head, you had to get away. “You honestly think I don’t know who you are. Very cute pet he has.” He spoke again, you needed to keep him talking whilst you weighed up your escape.

“How did you find out?” You went with.

“Tom put his trust in the wrong man. Jacob isn’t as trustworthy as you think, worked for me for years. He told me all about you and how precious you are. He doesn’t know you’re here tonight does he?” He spoke so honestly and you knew in that moment that his intention was to kill you, he didn’t need to hold back because in his mind you were a dead woman walking. Your blood pumping was pounding in your ears as he spoke.

“Tom wouldn’t be so stupid as to send you to me, no. You’ve come here off your own back.” He deduced. “Shame it’ll be the last decision you ever make.”

You bolted towards the door and James caught you, arms around your waist and you panicked, shoving your heel into his foot, he screamed in pain as he let go of you and you took the opportunity to kick him between his legs before bolting out of the bathroom.

You knew you couldn’t go to the entrance of the club, too many of James’ men were around so you bolted out of the fire escape and into the alleyway. You hastily took your heels off and threw them so you could run faster, you made your way into a different alley nearby, the area was quiet, no people around. You fished around in your bag for your phone and as you went to switch it on, you felt a body collide with your own.

“You fucking bitch.” James spat as he pinned you to the ground, your phone went flying and you watched with disbelief as it went down a drain, this was it, you were going to die and all you could think about was how you should have listened to Tom. “He’s not worth dying for you know.” James spat again and you felt the tears slip from your eyes. “Don’t cry, I’ll make it quick.” He said as he wiped at your tears and you felt around you for something, anything you could use. Your heart rate sped up as your hand gripped a rock and you used all your force to hit him in the temple with it.

He groaned as the force knocked him onto his side, you were quick to stand as you ran out of the alley and just as you were about to reach the opening a hand gripped your ankle and pulled you onto your front and you cried out in pain. You felt the blood trickle from your head as it collided with the concrete. He turned you over and you fought against him as he straddled you.

“You really are a feisty thing, I can see why Tom likes you. Bet you’re a good fuck, that’s why he keeps you around.” You studied his face and saw his head was split where you’d hit him with the rock and given his position over you some trickled down the side of his face and off his chin, onto your own face. Tears were streaming down your face as he spoke.

“Wait. He’s not fucked you has he. Fucking coward. Has he not told you he’s in love with you?” James taunted making your heart hurt at the thought of Tom and how you were probably never going to see him again. He laughed as he realised he was right. “I want you to beg for him, I want you to beg for him to save you.”

“Fuck you.” You said as you spat at him, he lifted a hand to wipe it away and you took the opportunity to punch him in the gut as you tried to roll him off you but it was no use, he was much stronger and heavier than you.

“You silly little cunt. I was gonna make it quick but now I think I’ll savour it, then I can tell Tom how he wasn’t fast enough, how he couldn’t save you. It’ll kill him to know he couldn’t save you. You’re gonna beg for him and the last thing you’ll ever remember is how much you begged for him to save you and he couldn’t.” He said as he got a knife out of his pocket, your eyes widening as he brought it to your face.

“Such a pretty face, it’ll be a real shame that he won’t recognise it when I’m done with you.” He said as he used the blade to draw a cut into your cheek, it wasn’t too deep but it was enough to draw a lot of blood, you screamed in pain as you felt it trickle down and into your hair. “That’s right scream for him, scream as loud as you can. Maybe he’ll hear you and come running. Might just be able to watch me take your life. Maybe I’ll carve out your heart and send it to him, poetic don’t you think.”

Tears streamed down your face and you felt yourself grow determined, you had to get back to Tom, you had to save yourself, you couldn’t let him win. You tuned him out as he spoke and felt around as you felt for the brick, you used it again, this time with a renewed force and you knocked him clean off you, you got up quicker than last time but it seemed James was just as quick as he grabbed your arm and spun you around.

Your hand went for his hand that held the knife and you used all your force to turn it towards him all as he went to stab you and you watched his eyes widen as he felt the knife plummet into his own body. You watched in shock as he fell to the ground, hands went from clutching his wound to reaching out for you, smearing blood on your legs and arms as he fell all as you stood there in shock.

Your knees collapsed after a while and you fell to the ground, fighting the urge to vomit, you must have looked a mess, blood, and dirt all over your exposed skin. You were no longer sure if the red of your dress was blood or the original colour. You’d never killed anyone before and although he deserved it and it was you or him, you still felt sick. You pulled your knees to your chest as you stared at James’s lifeless body.

You heard in the background as vehicles approached and you couldn’t find it in you to move and hide properly. You heard as gunshots were fired into the night sky and still couldn’t move. You jumped as a hand on your shoulder brought you back to reality and the tears came again as you screamed, turning to shove the person who’d touched you.

“Christ, Y/N. Fuck, calm down, it’s me, it’s me.” You heard an all too familiar voice. You opened your eyes and were met with the piercing blue of Harrison’s. “It’s okay, it’s me.” He said and you cried harder out of relief. “Tom! Mate! She’s here.” Haz suddenly shouted and you heard rushed steps approach before they stopped completely.

“Fuck. Is that-“ Tom cut himself off as he took you in and his heart dropped. You were filthy, cuts and scars everywhere. He practically shoved Harrison out of the way as he dropped to his knees in front of you, taking your face in his hands. “Princess, are you okay? Is that your blood?” He asked as he tried to look for any obvious and huge injuries. His voice was softer than anyone had ever heard it as he spoke to you.

“Some of it.” You croaked out and his heart broke. “Tom, he was gonna kill me, I didn’t have a choice, I didn’t mean to. He wanted me to beg for you to save me, said he’d carve my heart out and give it to you. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to kill him.” You rambled as he took you into his arms, nodding at his men who disappeared, leaving Harrison as he watched the interaction, it was like no one else was there, Tom was fixated on you.

“Baby,” he couldn’t stop the name rolling off his tongue, “it’s okay. He’s never gonna hurt you again. No one is, you’re safe, I’ve got you.” He said as he stroked through your hair, grimacing at the blood in it. This shouldn’t have happened to you. Harrison cleared his throat, reminding his boss that they needed to move, they couldn’t stay here, the gunfire would have attracted attention. Tom nodded as Harrison moved to start the car.

“We need to go. I’m gonna take you home.” He said and your hands suddenly grasped his shirt as you clung to him for dear life.

“I don’t wanna go home Tom. I wanna stay with you.” You begged and you didn’t care how pathetic it sounded, you needed him. He stroked your hair again as he kissed the top of your head.

“I’m not going anywhere.” He said again. “I promise I’ll stay with you, okay? We need to go though, I’m gonna take you to mine, you’ll be safe there, I’ll keep you safe.” He promised as he stood, you in his arms still as you leant all your weight on him, you grew more tired as he picked you up bridal style and carried you to his car.

“Haz, get someone to get rid of that quick.” He said, tone much more assertive than the one he’d used with you. He was referring to the body and you knew it but appreciated him not saying it. He carefully placed you into the black SUV as he told his man to drive, he didn’t let go of you the whole way to his.

Once you arrived at his he carried you into his mansion, if you weren’t so tired and still trying to process what had happened you might have been in awe of it. He easily carried you upstairs and into his bedroom, heading straight for the bathroom. Neither of you spoke as he undressed you, he was careful, every touch feather light like he was afraid he’d hurt you. He set the shower going as he got it to a good temperature.

“Okay, you should get in.” He spoke quietly and you nodded, before stepping into the shower and letting the warmth envelope you. You watched as the blood and dirt disappeared down the plug hole, washing away the evidence of what had happened tonight.

“Tom?” You found yourself calling and his head popped round the shower screen, his brows furrowed as he looked at you, he wasn’t looking anywhere except your face.

“Yeah?” He spoke softly and you cried again, his face softening.

“I’m sorry.” You said and he sighed before disappearing, you panicked that he was going to leave you until he reappeared, stepping into the shower with you, both of you naked as he held you in his arms. After a while he moved away from you, grabbing the shampoo as he lathered your hair, making sure to get all the blood and dirt out of it.

He took the sponge and cleaned you up, you winced as soap went into your little cuts, your legs and feet littered with them, he apologised every time you winced and you wondered what had happened to the big scary mob boss you were so familiar with. He was being so gentle and careful as he cleaned you up.

Once he was satisfied you were clean, he made short work of his own shower before getting out and wrapping a towel around his waist. He held out a hand as he helped you out of the shower, getting a towel and drying you off, wrapping your hair in the towel when he was done. He led you into the bedroom as he handed you one of his shirts and a pair of boxers as you put them on, watching as he dried himself off before pulling his own boxers on.

“Come here.” He patted the bed in front of him as you sat there, he took the towel off your head before grabbing a hair brush he had on his bedside table, you wondered if a woman had left it there and then cursed yourself at the jealousy that followed. He carefully brushed your hair and set to work platting it.

“Where’d you learn this?” You found yourself asking quietly as he fished around for a hair tie.

“I’ve watched you do it a million times, figured it couldn’t be that hard.” He said as he tied the end, dropping your hair and wrapping his arms around your shoulders before pulling your back against his chest. “What were you thinking?” He asked and you tried to find the annoyance, but it wasn’t there.

“I’m sorry.” You said again as he rested his chin on your shoulder. “I wanted you to see what I could do. I wanted to do this for you.” You admitted and he sighed before kissing your cheek.

“I never once doubted you but I always wanted, no needed, you safe. You’re precious to me and I don’t want anything to happen to you.” He spoke. “Princess you scare me.” He admitted and you spun around to look at him, feeling the anger you held towards him earlier that day rise.

“Why? Because I’m a good asset that you don’t want to lose?” You snapped and his face twisted in annoyance.

“I didn’t mean it like that. Just remember that I specifically asked you not to go tonight and you did and you almost died.” He said.

“Yeah and I didn’t did I? I saved myself if you hadn’t realised.” You spat and his face went red.

“That’s not the point. You shouldn’t have been there in the first place.” He almost shouted and your anger reached a breaking point, you moved away from him and got off the bed.

“Fuck you Tom. Fuck you.” You spat as you made your way out of his bedroom, slamming the door. Seconds later you heard it open again and Tom’s footsteps followed you.

“Where are you going?”

“Away from you.”

“Y/N, come back.” He demanded.

“No, I want to go home.” You shouted as you grabbed one of Tom’s many coats off the hooks and pulled it on, going to open the front door. Before you could pull it open Tom’s palm made a firm connection with the wood of the door as he held it shut.

“Please, Y/N, it’s not safe. You can’t go out on your own at this time of night.”

“I think I’ve proven myself pretty capable.” You snapped and he sighed.

“I’m trying here, will you please just stay?” It sounded like he was begging but he couldn’t have been, Tom Holland didn’t beg. Harrison had made his way downstairs now, the commotion having disturbed him.

“Are you guys okay?” He asked and you turned to look at Harrison.

“Please can you take me home?” You asked him and he nodded slightly. Tom pulled back from you and he looked almost hurt but you were too angry to care.

“Y/N/N I-“ Tom spoke and you cut him off.

“I don’t wanna hear it Tom, I’m more than just a business deal you know. I went there tonight to get information for you because I love you and I wanted you to see me as more than you do but that’s just wishful thinking.” You said and the atmosphere went silent at your confession. Harrison said he’d be in the car as you looked at Tom, you couldn’t decipher the look in his eyes.

“Until you’re ready to see me as a person Tom this isn’t gonna work.” And the roles from last week became reversed, you slammed the door before he could speak. You made your way to the car and Harrison smiled sadly as you hopped into the passenger seat.

“Y/N, he loves you, you know.” Haz spoke and you sighed.

“Then why doesn’t he just say it?”

“It’s hard for him. He doesn’t do relationships, he wants to keep you safe.”

“I don’t wanna talk about this right now.” You sighed and Haz nodded. “Jacobs dodgy by the way, he ratted me out to James.” You said and Haz looked at you in confusion as he pulled into your drive.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Make sure Tom knows I sorted two problems for him tonight, his rat and the thorn in his side.” You said, venom laced with every word.

You hadn’t seen Tom for a week and you were angry with him for a few days and now you just missed him. You wished he’d have followed you, come to your door and declared his undying love for you but no. No he hadn’t and you were angry about it and now you were just left with the sadness that he didn’t feel the same.

Your injuries had mostly healed, apart from the cut on your cheek and you wished you had a phone or at least remembered where Tom lived, but you debated it being a good thing you didn’t and couldn’t. You heard a knock at your door made your way towards it, pulling the door open, you were shocked when you saw him standing there.

“Tom?” You breathed out as you took him in, he looked like he’d not slept much, you hadn’t either, plagued with nightmares of James’ lifeless body. His hair was more untidy than usual, he was still sporting those black slacks that you loved so much, white shirt tucked in, sleeves rolled up, you were so in love with him that it hurt.

“We need to talk.” He said as he moved past you, you couldn’t decipher his mood. You shut the door as you waited for him to continue. “I am so angry with you right now.” He said and it was the last thing you expected him to say. “I’m angry that you thought it was appropriate to go behind my back and almost get yourself killed. I am beyond pissed off that you put yourself in so much danger.”

“Tom-“

“No, you’re going to let me finish. I’m angry that you think you’re just some business contract to me. You know the night you stormed out, I cried, I haven’t cried since I was a fucking kid. You scare me because you make me feel things for you that would put you in more danger than I already do. Fuck, I didn’t want you to go there at all because I am so fucking in love you that I don’t know what I’d do if anything ever happened to you.” He was almost out of breath when he’d finished, he’d taken steps towards you and now had you pinned to the wall. His eyes were desperately flickering between your own.

“I love you.” He said again and it was much softer than moments prior when he’d practically screamed it at you. You couldn’t stop yourself as you jumped into his arms, giving him a second to react as he caught you, your lips smashing against his in a desperate and needy kiss.

“I love you so much Tom.” You said as you pulled back before kissing him again. “So much.” You said repeatedly, almost like a mantra, through kisses.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again.” He said and you nodded as he kissed you again. You were desperate and needy for each other as you felt him grow hard, your own arousal growing. He lowered you down as you stood back on your feet, panting. “I mean it, don’t ever do that again.” He said again and you smiled as you put your hands on his face.

“I promise.” You reassured and he captured your lips in his again. You pulled away after a few minutes, your arousal having grown and you wanted him, fuck you wanted him. “Tom?”

He hummed in response as he kissed along your throat.

“I want you.” You said and he softly grazed his teeth over the skin of your neck.

“Come on then baby.” He said as he picked you up and made his way to the couch. He lowered you down as he took your shirt off, you’d forgone a bra today and he groaned at the sight of your hardened nipples. “Fuck you’ve got amazing tits.” He said and you laughed slightly. He took a nipple into his mouth and you moaned slightly. His hand slipped into your shorts and he collected your arousal on his finger.

“Shit, you’re wet.” He groaned and placed kisses down your stomach, he removed his hand and took the waistband of your shorts between his teeth, pulling them down your legs as he winked up at you. “Bet you taste amazing princess. You gonna let me have a taste?” He asked and you nodded profusely.

“Please.” You almost begged and he placed kisses up you leg before you felt his breath on your clit and your breath hitched. He licked a stripe from your entrance to your clit and you moaned at the contact.

“You taste fucking amazing.” He groaned against your heat and you moaned again.

“Tom, please.” You needed him and he groaned as he encased your clit in his mouth, sucking as he listened to you moan out, like music to his ears. He wasted no time in licking and sucking your clit, twisting a hardened nipple between his thumb and forefinger and he watched your face from his position between your legs.

You could feel your orgasm approach as he sucked your clit more harshly and he groaned as your hips bucked up to his face. He moved away from you and your orgasm disappeared.

“Tom!” You almost shouted and he chuckled as he smiled.

“Come here, want you to ride my face.” He said and you almost moaned at the thought. You both moved so that he had his back on the couch cushions and you were hovering over his face. “Fucking beautiful view.” He said as he moved his hands to your hips and pulled you down onto his tongue. He went back to licking and sucking at your clit as you rode his tongue, hands gripping his hair.

You felt your orgasm approach again and you cried out as one of his fingers circled your entrance before slipping inside, curling towards your g spot. You continued to ride his face as he pumped his finger in and out of your tight heat, adding another finger after a while. You almost screamed as your orgasm washed over you, it felt amazing, better than your fingers ever did.

“Fuck.” You moaned as he rode you through your high, keeping your movements steady against his tongue. “That felt amazing.” You said as you moved yourself down his body, straddling his hips, he groaned as your heat made contact with his clothed hard on.

“Open up.” He said as he placed his fingers inside your mouth so you could taste yourself. “That’s it, fuck.” He said as you sucked his fingers, cleaning them, all while keeping eye contact with him. He removed his fingers as you practically ripped his shirt open, a few buttons falling to the floor. “Careful darling. That was expensive.” He teased as your hands traced his toned body.

You moved down and made quick work of his slacks, shoes, and socks. He smiled up at you as you lowered yourself onto his hardened length, both sighing in pleasure. You gave yourself a minute to adjust, you placed your hands on his chest as you moved on him, moaning his name as you did. You picked up your pace as you fucked him, you’d waited so long for this moment.

“Fuck Tom, you feel so good.” You moaned out, which only turned Tom on more as he gripped your hips and flipped you both over. It didn’t quite go to plan as you both ended up on the floor but it didn’t matter you were both so wrapped up in each other that neither commented, he just continued to fuck into you on the floor as you both moaned.

He fucked you like his life depended on it and he went even harder when he found the right angle for your g spot which left you practically screaming for him. You felt your orgasm approach and you tightened around him.

“Shit, if you keep that up I’m gonna come.” He gasped as he placed his thumb on your clit, rubbing it in a figure eight as your orgasm approached faster, you screamed his name as your orgasm washed over you, he fucked you through it, thrusts growing sloppy as he pulled out of you, streams of his come lining your bare stomach as you came down from your high. “Fuck.” Tom panted and you giggled.

“I’ll be back.” He said as he got to his feet and made his way into the kitchen, returning a moment later with a cloth to clean you up. “Shit you look good covered in my come.” He spoke and you laughed.

You found yourself wrapped up in your bedsheets after another round, much slower and passionate than the previous. You had your head on his chest as he ran a hand through your hair.

“I love you.” He said and you smiled against the bare skin of his chest.

“I love you too so much.” You said.

“Be mine?” He asked.

“Of course, so long as this doesn’t change my job.” You smiled and you felt his arms tighten around you.

“It changes everything, it was hard enough knowing you flirted with men and they flirted back before you were my girlfriend, don’t think I’d handle it well now.” He laughed and you joined. “You’ll always be safe with me.” He said. “I know what almost happened last week but I’d never let anything like that happen again but you have to promise me you won’t go behind my back like that again.” He said and it almost sounded like he was begging.

“I promise.” You said.

“This seems to be healing well.” He said as he angled your face up to look at him, running his thumb over your cheek.

“Yeah.” You muttered as you placed your head back onto his chest.

“Jacob won’t be a problem by the way. I took care of it.” He said.

“What did you do?”

“Doesn’t matter, he’s not a concern.” He said as he yawned. You had a feeling Jacob may have spent hours being tortured before ultimately killed but Tom would never tell you what he did, never wanting to frighten you.

You smiled in content as you heard his soft snores leaving his lips, finding comfort in his embrace, he’d always keep you safe and you knew it and you’d never go behind his back again, although you couldn’t help but think that if you hadn’t done what you did you wouldn’t be here now. You still had a lot to talk about but that could wait until a much needed sleep, in this moment you were just happy to be in his arms.

#tom holland #tom holland one shot #tom holland smut #Mob!Tom #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n

373 notes · View notes

g-on-ef · 3 years

Note

Blitz decides to take up Strikers offer because frankly, he’s confused. For the first time, someone has gave him respect, and treated him like an equal. Is this what life could be like for him? He can feel the chemistry between himself and Striker, it’s different than the transactional fucks with Stolas.

He leaves a note for M and M and Loona, explaining everything, that he’ll be gone for a while, because he has things he has to work out. Honestly, Blitz thinks they won’t even miss him.

Blitz leaves with Striker that night, with Strikers tail curled round Blitz’s hip.

A/N: saw an opportunity to turn this into a mini fic and I did ^^ characters might be slight oc

Blazing red eyes met emerald green ones.

It was so tempting to say yes to give in to Strikers words and join him and his crusade.

His words screaming in his head, drowning out every other thought and reason as to why he shouldn't agree to Strikers plan.

But why not? After all Striker was right Stolas saw him as a plaything and treated him like he was lower than the Prince.

Blitz would never admit it but Stolas's words cut him deep.

Reminding him how he's only an imp, always sexualizing him, talking down on him, making him feel like all he's good for is a good fuck.

Not to mention how that while he agree to be his bodyguard he realized what a fool he was, Stolas could have easily defended himself and his daughter and yet he invited him and his employees and all that it got them was Blitz being reminded of the awful time he spend there, Moxxie and Millie getting hurt and that cheap ass robo clown reminding him yet again how everyone feels about him.

But if agree to join him ... What would happen to Moxxie and Millie ??? His precious Loony ??? He doubts that Striker would let them join them, what will he do without them?

"Well Blitz?"

Blitz felt like he was drowning in his thoughts and Strikers voice was able to pull him out from the very depts of his mind.

"What's your answer?" His tail wrapped itself around Blitz's waist and pulled him closer to Strikers body.

Blitz placed his hands on Striker's chest, their eyes never leaving each other.

However Striker placed his hands down and backed away a little leaving enough room for Blitz to breath and not feel like he was being corner into giving the answer Striker wants to hear.

His tail however remain wrapped around his waist.

Blitz looked away as his hand began to pet Striker's tail the cowboy began to purr making Blitz smile a little, his smile however fell as he thought about the situation they are in.

"I...I don't know," there he said it, he wasn't sure if he should agree to this or not. While the idea was tempting he wasn't sure if he could do it, if he was the one to help Striker to fight along side with him. Sure they tied in the games but does that even mean anything? Is he qualify to stand beside Striker.

After all Blitz maybe a good assassin but he wasn't that good.

Than again his insecurities sure were screaming loudly today reminding him that he'll never be good enough.

He felt a gloved hand under his chin, lifting his head, making him look Striker in the eyes.

"What do you mean?" His voice was soft, not annoyed or angry nor demanding but soft as if he was going at Blitzs pace.

Blitz gulped. This was another thing about Striker that Blitz admire.

The patience he had with him.

Blitz wasn't a fool he knew he could be a bit to much but the short time he and Striker spent together Striker showed him he genuinely liked Blitz and his company.

Last night definitely proved how much Striker loved Blitzs company.

Shaking his thoughts from straying he focus on the question he asked.

"I can't abandon M&M or Loony they're my family,"

H expected him to say something rude about them, find some way to manipulate him into turning his back against his employees.

Striker looked at Blitz and could see how vulnerable he was being, how sacred he was of something awful happening to him after saying no. Not only that but he could see his insecurities clear as day.

They were slowly rising up from whatever cage Blitz had them locked in, could see how they were giving him doubts reminding him of all the lies that everyone has ever told him until they became his version of the truth.

He can't help but wonder exactly what Goiesha and others before that pompous asshole did to him to make him scared to say no. Or feel like he wasn't good enough. Striker vow to hunt them all and kill them.

Striker pulled Blitz closer to him wrapping his hands around Blitz he hugged the smaller imp.

He could feel Blitz body freezing and the contact and not knowing what to do.

Striker ignored that and instead kissed the top of his head.

"I hate being being a weak ass bitch but for you I'll be one Blitz, if you want a better life for them then getting rid of Goiesha and the rest of the overlords is our best bet, I may fuck around wit Moxxie but even I can see how much you care for him and Mildred. Not to mention how much you love your daughter. I won't force you to say yes but think about it okay?"

He tighten his arms around him.

"You have so much untapped potential, don't let fucktards like Goeshia make you think otherwise.

He pulled back from Blitz his tail gave him one last squeeze before uncoiling itself from his body he gave Blitz one last smile before giving him a piece of paper.

"my number if and when you're ready to join me,"

Striker left him alone before he was out of the room. Leaving Blitz alone with his thoughts.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Blitz packed his things away Striker was gone, neither Millie nor her parents knew where he went they were however mad he left them without a warning.

Blitz packed his things away, last night he barely got any sleep hell he was ready to just off himself so that he could sleep.

Last night all he could think about was Striker and how the other imp made him feel.

It wasn't just mutual respect it was the fact that he was attracted to the other imp their fuck before the games was the best fuck Blitz had.

Not only that but he trusted Striker enough to bottom and he rarely did that.

He remembers how Striker made him feel, challenged, appreciated, cared for, Striker was bringing so many feelings out of Blitz he never knew he had.

Not to mentioned that Striker made him question everything he knew.

Striker referring him as a plaything to Stolas cut deep, not because it was Strikers intentions but because how true they were.

Not to mention it didn't matter how far Blitz got he was still a lowly imp who only existed to obey orders from those higher than him.

Him giving into Stolas's demands proved that.

Sure he could use that he gets to keep the book and only has to visit him during the full moon but that didn't change the fact that he was basically Stolas's bitch.

Loo Loo Land and The Harvest Moon Festival were perfect examples of him doing whatever Stolas said just because he got paid or he was wear down until he gave in.

Striker ... Striker did the one thing no one has ever done for him ... he gave him a choice ... he asked him to join him; not once did he try to force Blitz to say yes or kept pushing till h gave in.

Even now he was giving him the choice to say yes or no.

He could've done so many things to force him to say yes instead he gave him space didn't push for more than what Blitz was willing to share nor did he manipulate the situation into his favor he just respect Blitz and left him be.

Blitz wonder if he should give into temptation, say yes and see how far he could go and the extent of his power.

Looking at Millie, Moxxie, and Loona ... he wonder how they would feel if he left.

He secretly wonders if they would even care that he's gone.

Loona didn't really care for him and Moxxie was only there because of Millie and we'll Millie loves killing so he wonders if she even cares about him or just loves that she gets to kill humans.

Fitzorallys words cut deep because it was a question he always tried to avoid asking himself because he knew deep down no one did.

He wasn't stupid, he knows he can be a bit much, overbearing and annoying so will they even miss him?

He takes a deep breath and shoves that question deep within his subconscious, just another query that he will avoid as much as he can.

"Sir are you okay?"

Blitz lifted his head and looked at his fam- employees

He could see them eyeing him carefully wondering what was wrong with their boss.

"Yeah Moxxie everything is fine,"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Three weeks later

Striker open the door before he could even knock.

The cowboy IMP wasnt wearing his hat which made him look sexier than with it on.

"You came,"

"Yeah ... I did ... I'm in,"

Striker nodded his head he grabbed Blitz's bag and jerk his head a movement that told him to follow him to wear Bombproof was.

Blitz followed him. After much deliberation Blitz decided to follow Striker. He couldn't give a good reason as to why he wanted to join him.

Perhaps it could be do to his words, or maybe because he genuinely like Striker and wanted to see how far their relationship could go there many reasons as to why he decided to join Striker but he did know one thing for sure

He knew that if he wanted to make it to the top he'll need to stop serving bitter sinners and partner up with Striker and kill the unkillable. Make them pay for all the shit they put him and IMPs and hellhounds through.

Striker was right if he wanted his employees to have a good life he'll need to change the system

He already left a note to M&M as well as Loona he told them that he would be gone for a few weeks as he had somethings to figure out.

He of course before meeting or contacting Striker, Blitz met up wit Stolas told him that he can have him for a whole day to do whatever Stolas wanted the only thing he asked was for him to give Millie, Moxxie, and Loona 2.5 million dollars each that way they'll at least have money and not worry about anything for the time being.

Worst day of his fucking life but it was worth it. Stolas of course wanted to know why Blitz demanded for such a thing.

Blitz just gave him the finger threw his book in his face and left.

Striker put his bags over Bombproof before his hands grabbed Blitz's waist and hoisted him up placed him on Bombfires back.

Striker got on his hellhorse with ease.

He felt Striker's lips on his forehead before Striker's tail wrapped itself around his waist pulling Blitz closer to him.

"You won't regret this,"

Blitz smiled at Striker before cupping his face leaning forward he kissed Striker the two shared a soft passionate kiss

The two pulled back giving each other soft smiles. Blitz curled up on Striker's chest letting out soft purrs as Striker ordered Bombfire to move.

Blitz for the first time in weeks slept peacefully while Striker brought the smaller imp closer to his body his tail tightening itself around his waist not once did it let go of his beloved.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A/N: Imma be honest with y'all ... It was not supposed to be this long ... Oh well tell me what you guys think ^^

#blitzo helluva boss #helluva striker #blitzo x striker #helluva blitzo #helluva boss #answers asked #anon #anonymous #ficlet

106 notes · View notes

jisungscaramel · 3 years

Text

voices | changbin

❀ genre; smut, college au, fwb ❀ pairing; changbin x reader (fem) ❀ word count; 1.6k

[warning] explicit sexual content, dirty talk, masturabation, (slight) ownership kink, (mild) dom changbin, phone sex, (which includes imagery of) oral (fem receiving), bondage, spanking, unprotected sex (stay safe y’all), overstimulation, creampie

Your eyes open to darkness, and you groan in utter annoyance - you just hate when this happens. You don’t even wanna know what time it is... but you check anyway, 2:20... am - not the worst. At least you have the opportunity to get some sleep, the slightest chance of closing your eyes to immerse in some obscure dream and certainly not the type of wet fantasy that dared to disturb your beauty rest in the first place.

The universe just loves fucking with the sleep schedule you work hard to keep regulated. But the not-so-random interruption to your slumber in it of itself is the least of your problems; the not-so-subtle throb of your clit is beyond irritating, especially since a certain someone isn’t physically there to help you with it.

Your adjusted vision wraps around the silhouette of the ceiling fan, sharpening in detail as you attempt to scrutinize it, five curved blades, metal brackets reflecting the moonlight, a simple ligh- not that a mundane distraction such as this would do anything to help, valiant effort though.

And then you turn your head to the side, fixing on the space where your phone should be laying on the bed side table.

“Should I call him...?” you ask yourself. You grab the device and go straight to the phone app, aggressively scrolling through your contacts ‘til you see his name: Changbin Seo.

Nothing fancy, nothing personal, it’s a deliberate choice to keep it that way, to stay firmly behind his boundaries, well, the boundaries you’ve assumed of him. In reality, he probably wouldn’t have an issue with you contacting him on a whim - even at this ungodly hour, but the idea still makes you nervous. That’s the prevailing predicament of a friend with benefits - sometimes there are too many boundaries and sometimes there are too few.

‘What if he gets annoyed with me? What if he stops talking to me? What if he thinks I’m crazy?’ The more time you spend in your own head, the more the shadow of your past experiences so rudely loom over you.

‘No, Changbin’s not like that. He’s not like that. He’s not like that. He’s not fucking like that.

‘At the worst, he won’t pick up ‘cause he’s asleep. That’s it. That’s all. Relax.’

Regardless, things would be much easier if he didn’t have to go across the state to be home for winter break.

And instead of making that single tap on the glass of your phone, you put it back down, placing it face down, reaching to open the drawer that lays beneath it. You pull out a little drawstring bag. In the darkness, you open it, unsheathing a silicone vibrator, light pink in the light, but rendered colorless in front of your eyes.

‘I should at least try by myself.’

Committing to your decision, you drown your ears in some dvsn - you gotta do what you can to self engage your senses. But you’d much rather hear his voice, much rather feel it vibrate against your skin, reverberate through your nerves. There’s just something about the way he growls when he goes deep, overwhelming the auricles of your ears in a crescendoing frenzy you can’t even fathom outside the moment, even if you try.

Your eyes close when you turn it on, trying your hardest to picture him in your mind’s eye.

The way he tilts his head back to stare at you, eyes half-lidded in the kind of carnal hunger, it makes you wonder what he’ll do next, body sizzling in desire, like it’s on fire.

And then, there’s the way he lightly tugs at the corner of his bottom lip, tongue brushing over the reddened skin in a teasing lick, you just want them to dip into your slick, to indulge your clit with quick flicks. He loves to look up at you with a tinge of innocence that so eerily contrasts with the vulgarity of his actions, lips smirking against your heat ‘cause he knows exactly what he’s doing, and he knows exactly how to drive you crazy in the best possible way-

“Fuck!”

Even if your imagination is enough to get you there, it’s not enough to satisfy you; it feels like trying to fulfill a day’s worth of hunger with a measly cup of instant ramen when you know damn well you deserve a three course meal.

You haphazardly throw the toy to the side - you’ll clean it in the morning; it’s just too much effort now.

And here you are again, staring at the dark silhouette of your phone. At this point, the amount of fucks you have to give are rapidly dwindling.

And here you are again, phone shining bright in over your face, Changbin’s name and number apparent on the screen. But before you can actually contemplate the idea that you’ve begun to dub a “last resort,” your phone slips out of your hand, knocking you right on the nose, hitting - you guessed it - his number.

And… now you’re calling him. Of course the universe thinks it’s hilarious to mess with you - when does it not?

“Hello?” There’s a clear groggy sleepiness to his voice - clearly, you’ve woken him up.

Fuck. “Oh sorry, Binnie, did I wake you up?”

“Hmm yeah,” he pauses, probably to rub his eyes, “what’s up?” As sexy as his gruff voice is, it’s the last thing you can think about, subtle embarrassment delicately wrapping your nerves.

“My bad… you know what? It’s nothing. I’ll let you sleep.”

“No, it’s okay, tell me what’s up,” he requests again.

“It’s nothing, I just…”

“Just what?”

“I miss you…”

“...Miss me where?”

“In…” you tighten your thighs together, “places where I shouldn’t.”

“Oh yeah?” You can hear rustling sheets, as if he’s sitting up, as if his attention’s focusing on you. “What would you want me to do if I was there?”

You bite your lip. “You already know.”

“Tell me.” His voice takes a commanding tone, attempting to bend you into submission even through the phone.

Your fingers trace the skin above your underwear. “God, Changbin, I want you to fucking cripple me.”

It’s simply astonishing as to how clearly his sinister chuckle comes through your line, and it’s all it takes for your hand to slip under the thin cotton covering you. “Damn, chula, I didn’t know you wanted me that bad…” a moan slips from your lips both in response to your actions and his words. “Are you touching yourself?”

“Yeah,” your flustered response sounds in the same pitch.

“Naughty girl. I’m gonna have to punish you next time I see you.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“First, I’m gonna tear your clothes off,” you peel the flimsy sleep shirt off your body, not being able to take the increasing heat radiating from your skin, “and then I’m gonna tie your arms up and bend you over my desk to spank you - one slap for every time you’ve touched yourself while I’ve been gone.”

“Where are you gonna spank me?” A sultry tone edges your words.

“On your ass… your thighs… your pussy, depends on how bad you’ve been.”

“What are you gonna do if I earn my reward?” By now, you’re reaching for the vibrator you so carelessly tossed aside not too long ago.

“I’m gonna throw you on my bed, then I’m gonna force your thighs apart and stretch out your soaking little cunt. I’ll fuck you so deep, you’ll feel me rearranging your insides,” he grunts, “Fuck, I’m so hard just thinking about it.”

“Would you let me cum?”

That evil laugh is back, prolonged in the most tantalizing of ways. “Yeah, but not just once. It’s gonna attack you back to back, until your legs go numb.”

You shudder, eyes rolling back. “What if your roommate tries to interrupt us?”

“I’m gonna fuck you harder to mark my territory.”

“Am I your territory?”

He snickers. “You know that pussy’s mine. All. Mine.”

All you can offer as a response is an array of mewls, your walls desperately tightening against the inanimate object inside you.

“God, you sound so sexy when you moan, you know that?” He grunts, and for a few seconds, no words are exchanged. The only thing you can hear is the rapid rustling of fabric, presumably around his hand movements, and the subtle hisses seeping from his lips.

“Are you naked?” he asks.

“Yeah…”

“Show me.”

You lower your phone to capture the sin you’re committing between your legs with a clear view of your bare body neck down, promptly sending the image to him.

And it’s obvious when he receives it because you hear that low, guttural growl you’re oh so familiar with. “You’re so hot.” His voice is strained. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum… are you close?”

“Yeah… I wish you could cum inside me.”

“I do too. Fuck, you look so gorgeous when your pussy’s swollen, dripping with my cum.”

His voice drops an octave, catalyzing the long overdue release that has been coiling inside you. His name rolls off your tongue in an unexpected increase in volume. The hypothetical fantasy momentarily becomes reality in your mind, simulations inducing tangible pleasure inundating you in waves that you didn’t know were possible in a setting like this; why on earth did you let the frustration marinate for this long?

“Fuck,” he curses.

“What?”

“...I made a mess.”

Your phone vibrates with a message from him - it’s a video... and you have the slightest inkling of what it is.

332 notes · View notes

princeescaluswords · 3 years

Note

All this is just further proof that fandom is DEEP in their own, self indulgent crafted narrative/au that they assert as "canon". They actually HATE the show for subverting common tropes. No, the broody and attractive white man from a distinguished lineage isn't the hero. Nor is the snarky white sidekick. Fanfiction would have you believe Derek was kindly offering lessons to Scott, who rudely snubbed him. Stans whine about the "lost potential" of exploring the Hale Family, but it WAS NEVER ABOUT THEM!!!!

Your question struck me because it's so completely true. They claim to be looking at canon, but they really aren't.

One story I read this morning had Stiles joining the Hale Pack and ending his friendship with Scott because Scott 'neglected' him after Gerard kidnapped him in Master Plan (2x12), because the fact that Scott 'left with Allison and Chris' shows that Scott didn't care about Stiles at all.

Except that we don't see Scott leave with Allison and Chris. The next scene we see is Allison breaking up with Scott and we know it's the same night. But there's no indication that Scott didn't talk to Stiles after Jackson's resurrection. And it certainly seems that Stiles and Scott are in a pretty good situation with each other at the end of the season. Why would their minds go to "Scott didn't care that Stiles was kidnapped and hurt!?!?!"

Especially when their minds don't go there after Raving (2x08). It took you a moment to figure out what I was talking about, didn't you?

When Victoria is using poison gas to kill Scott, Derek, who is standing next to Stiles and his mountain ash line, has to shout at Stiles to break the line because he's sensed Scott is in trouble. And Stiles huffs and breaks the line. But we don't see Stiles ask Scott if he's okay. We don't see Stiles help find Scott. We don't see Stiles at the Animal Clinic while Deaton is taking care of Scott. Derek's there and waiting, but Stiles isn't.

Why don't their minds go to "Stiles is selfishly focused on his own needs and is neglecting Scott!?!?" Because it would be a ludicrous conclusion to draw; Stiles has demonstrated his care and feelings for Scott in the past just as Scott has demonstrated his care and feelings for Stiles in the past.

Now, this is a double standard, one of many, many, many double standards in a fandom that seems to relish them. And one could make the argument that it's a deliberate and conscious choice to ignore one scene in order to support their desired conclusions in another, but after reading enough well-meaning author's notes which talk about how they think that "Scott was a better friend than canon portrays," I think it might be something more troubling:

The fandom has been indoctrinated so deeply by the culture to see non-white characters as inherently not as good or as interesting as white characters that they can't really judge fairly.

I know that there are a lot of minority readers out there looking at each other and going 'duh, stupid white man is just figuring this out now!?!?!', so let me elaborate. I've always assigned a certain level of malicious self-interest to this before, that they chose to ignore scenes that run counter to their desired end -- they wanted the show to be about the Hales and Stiles, but, as you put it, it wasn't, so they were going to get back at the production.

But I'm beginning to suspect that white supremacy is so fully ingrained in the culture that it's become like an optical illusion. They literally cannot see the scenes that establish the idea that this is Scott's story and he's the lead protagonist.

As an immediate aside, no one should possibly interpret this as me arguing that white viewers have no obligation to overcome this narrative illusion or that minority viewers must teach them otherwise if they want to be able to participate fully in fandom. Individuals are responsible for their own behavior, regardless of cultural influences!

But it explains how often well-meaning people can come up with interpretations so essentially disproved by the narrative, again and again. People can say that they like Scott but believe that Scott somehow had less virtue, less talent or less claim to the focus within the story.

It's why they can argue that Scott had 'shit control' because he didn't follow Derek, when Scott literally surprised Derek with his control in Heart Monitor (1x06).

It's why they can argue that Scott was a poor student or can't keep a secret or can't bake or can't do any number of things it is assumed that white characters can do without question, how he is a lovable idiot without any positive qualities that weren't given to him by the Hales or Stiles.

It's why they can scold Scott for not being able to tell that Theo was a chimera infiltrator but forget that Derek couldn't tell that Deaton wasn't an alpha and couldn't tell that Jennifer was the Darach.

It's why they hate Deaton for insulting Derek once and not 'helping enough' but think Peter was the Sassiest Happy Fun Uncle who cared for his family so much.

It's why Kira is a placeholder and annoying, but Cora somehow wasn't.

It's why Monroe being slashed up by the Beast, forced to cover herself with her friend's body, and then having to wait there for the sheriff to find her is a 'stupid reason' to start hunting supernaturals, but Scott telling Stiles to go talk to his father about the person he killed and then decided to hide it is grounds for the end of the friendship if not outright revenge murder.

It's why Stiles could never ever trust Morrell because she worked with the Alpha Pack and promised to euthanize him to protect others, but he would love, love, love, love, and have Derek Hale's babies when Derek worked with Peter and spent an entire season trying to murder Lydia.

It's why they so strongly believed that the show should have ended with Alpha Derek and the Hale Family reclaiming their family's legacy, with all the little betas following them around.

It's why the subversive nature of having the hero be the earnest Latino and not the broody white antihero flies over their heads. It's why they conjure up elaborate and self-contradictory fantasies of unreliable narrators.

They just can't believe that this is Scott's story.

I'm finding it harder to believe that every one of these people is a malicious asshole who chooses to ignore canon so they can get their white power fantasy fix. It's exactly how it's been described.

#scott mccall #stiles stilinski #derek hale #scott mccall defense squad #fandom racism

37 notes · View notes

canary3d-obsessed · 4 years

Text

Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 05 (first part)

(Masterpost) (previous episode) (this episode, second part)

Warning: Spoilers for all 50 episodes of the Untamed

The Pride of Yunmeng

Waterfall Date

Lan Wangji gets to experience the two extremes of Wei Wuxian’s interpersonal skills within the span of a few seconds. This is even better than his rooftop date with this horrible annoying terribly, terribly attractive boy.

Lan Wangji has come here on a mission to make Wei Wuxian do his homework, which is why he immediately tells him “let’s go to the library” gazes at him silently for several seconds...

...and then lets him adjust his sleeve for him and step allll the way into his personal space.

Unfortunately Wei Wuxian is about to guess a Lan Clan secret, so Lan Wangji ends the conversation by saying “let’s go to the library” grabbing him by his sexy arm muscle and dragging him off. Did he hold his arm all the way to the library? Even if he didn’t, his “I don’t touch other people” later at the lake is clearly horseshit. I don’t touch other people unless they are named Wei Wuxian and our brothers aren’t watching.

(more after the cut!)

Apology in the Library

Wei Wuxian splits his library time between actually doing his homework and trying to make friends with Lan Wangji. And he tries really, really hard, starting by sincerely complimenting LWJ’s calligraphy and offering a pretty okay apology for his prior rooftop antics. Lan Wangji tells him to put his leg down but doesn’t tell him to go sit at his own desk.

Lan Wangji exhibits steely self-control as he resists this look, which would cause anyone else’s robes to spontaneously un-weave themselves into a pile of threads.

When Lan Wangji won’t look at him because he feels his apology was not sincere, Wei Wuxian becomes much more formally apologetic. First he says “sorry” two more times, and he starts prepping Lan Wangji’s ink. This involves grinding an ink stick against an ink stone with water, to make a pool of ink for the calligrapher to dip their brush into.

This is not Wei Wuxian being annoying and messing with stuff on Lan Wangji’s desk, a la Zhou Yunlan (Guardian). This is an act of service; a genuinely helpful thing to do if you know how to do it properly --which all of these young scholars definitely do--and an action that casts Wei Wuxian in the role of a servant or junior.

Then Wei Wuxian offers to kneel down (to offer a major formal apology), while giggling like an adorable dumbass. It's unclear if this is sexual innuendo, just being ridiculously unconcerned about dignity, being slightly into abasing himself for this beautiful person, or all of the above.

After taking a long moment to consider all this, Lan Wangji slowly and deliberately gives Wei Wuxian three seconds of the eye contact he’s been begging for.

Then Lan Wangji spoils the moment by dropping a silence spell on him.

Wen Can I Have Some Fun?

The Wen siblings hang out and talk about their secret villainy and then fret about how much it sucks to have a chronic health condition, which is pretty relatable TBH.

I know life seems boring now but just wait until you’re an itinerant zombie with nails in your head.

Wen Qing is a devoted older sister just like Jiang Yanli, although with less fainting and more scheming.

Good kitty.

Porno in the Library

Now, since this next scene ends with Wei Wuxian being a boundary-crossing jerk, let's start by remembering that Lan Wangji has magically gagged Wei Wuxian against his will three times now, as well as hiding his vulnerable family member behind a ward while lying in wait in order to attack him. So, you know. Teenagers in lust. They are both learning what is and isn't okay.

Lan Wangji steals a long glance at Wei Wuxian while Wei Wuxian is drawing.

Wei Wuxian is putting the finishing touches on a gift for Lan Wangji. The gift is a portrait of Lan Wangji with flowers in his hair. This boy is SMITTEN. I think he knows it, too; he just doesn’t think it’s a big deal yet.

Wei Wuxian, who is good at everything, is really fucking good at drawing.

When Wei Wuxian presents the drawing to Lan Wangji he says “this is my gift for you.” This is very good-mannered of Wei Wuxian; Lan Wangji had to supervise him for three days, so he is presenting him with a gift to thank him and say farewell.

Lan Wangji completely ignores him, which is really breathtaking, next-level rudeness.

Wei Wuxian isn’t bothered by this, however, and just embellishes the picture with an extra flower or something before offering it again. This time Lan Wangji takes in and is very very very pleased with it, as evidenced by his slightly widening his eyes and how carefully he places the drawing on the far side of his desk.

Also he gives Wei Wuxian some prolonged eye contact, and engages in what, for him, is playful banter, calling the gift “extremely boring” when Wei Wuxian prompts him to use more words than usual.

Then Wei Wuxian spoils the moment by pranking him.

Now - let’s look at this erotic-book situation. This is a boundary-crossing prank, yes, but it’s also an invitation to engage in some form of intimacy. For teens who have access to erotic images, looking at them together can be simple naughty fun. Or it can be a way of discovering and bonding over shared sexual identities and interest. Or it can prompt more direct engagement, up to and including having sex with each other.

Lan Wangji’s horrified reaction means that Wei Wuxian has to characterize this as a prank after the fact, but he might very well have intended it as an invitation to get horny together.

Either way, his response to Lan Wangji’s “shameless” comment is bound to make an impression.

Wei Wuxian is from the clan of "be free" and he just doesn't see why this is a big deal. And now he’s told Lan Wangji it doesn’t have to be a big deal. And through him, the producers are breaking the fourth wall and telling every viewer that this doesn’t have to be a big deal and that they shouldn’t feel ashamed.

Threats and rudeness and book destruction ensue, and Lan Wangji is left alone in all kinds of emotional disarray, with a bunch of torn up erotica to tape back together throw away.

Boys on the Rocks

Wei Wuxian brags about his prank to Jiang Cheng and bestie Nie Huaisang, telling them that he got Lan Wangji to cuss at him. He’s going to put a notch on his sword handle for this achievement.

Jiang Cheng is pissed at Wei Wuxian about this, like he’s pissed at him about everything all the time. Possibly he has already started the seedlings of his lifelong jealousy of Lan Wangji.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t realize that he’s essentially prepared Wei Wuxian to court Lan Wangji by constantly criticizing, hitting, and threatening him. After a decade of Jiang Cheng’s rough style of brotherhood, Lan Wangji’s elegant and refined hostility rolls off of Wei Wuxian like water off a duck’s back.

Nie Huaisang wants to make sure Wei Wuxian didn't rat him out, but isn't worried about the destroyed book because he has a whole external drive full of porn.

Several Brain Cells Trio

These guys do make some questionable choices together, but actually they are all really bright and effective in complimentary ways.

Jiang Cheng is growing into a strong future leader - authoritarian and dickish, yes, but also decisive and unflinching. Wei Wuxian is observant of things around him, always ready for combat, and thinks deeply and strategically about events. Nie Huaisang is a bottomless font of knowledge, sourced from books and from his own observations.

So when the Wen spy bird shows up, they spot it, drive it away, identify what it is, and understand that it’s a threat and that its presence has political implications.

They are all goofballs at times, but highly gifted ones.

Doo Doo Doo Lookin Out My Back Ward

Lan Xichen asks Lan Wangji if he’s found out who was sneaking around his the back ward and Lan Wangji hesitates before reluctantly saying “Wei Ying.”

Ok seriously - nobody calls him Wei Ying. Nobody refers to him in the third person as as Wei Ying. Calling him Wei Gongzi or Wei Wuxian would be totally normal. His own brother calls him Wei Wuxian. And Lan Wangji has only called him Wei Ying to his face when he was angry.

But now--immediately after the erotica debacle in the library--he is Wei Ying when Lan Wangji is speaking of him privately with his brother.

By the way, Lan Wangji's shoulders seem super wide in these robes, don't they? I'm not complaining.

Forgettable Disciple #1

Now we meet apparent nobody Su She, who sucks. He wants to take care of the water ghosts himself.

He is a no-headband disciple which is like - none of the juniors in the later timeframe go without a headband. The guys who got set on fire at the gate had headbands. One of the Lan Rules is “wear a headband.” Is there anyone else who doesn't rate a headband? This is a plot point later when it comes to the ice cave but for now it just seems that he's that one perpetual intern who never gets promoted and never learned embroidery.

Doctor Qing, Medicine Woman

[OP laughed way too hard at her own joke just now.] Wen Qing is helping Jiang Yanli, and Jiang Cheng is super happy to see her. When did he develop this crush? Because it's already in full swing.

Did Wei Wuxian just sneer when he noticed Jiang Cheng’s crush? Like macking on Lan Wangji is more appropriate than this?

I love you and I’m going to advocate killing everyone who matters to you

I’m a nosy jerk and I’m going to be your best friend for life, quite literally

Wei Wuxian complains about Wen Qing ignoring him and she gives him the prettiest, loveliest *sigh* death glare ever.

However when she sees that he's a little brother whose sister utterly dotes on him, she starts thinking maybe he's all right.

For the Yanli-Qing shippers, there is a tiny breadcrumb here, where Yanli says they met by the river bank. I don't personally ship my personal girlfriend Wen Qing with Jiang Yanli, but I support your ships wherever they may sail.

Continued in Part 2, right here

#fytheuntamed #the untamed #the untamed gifs #the untamed memes #wangxian #the untamed stills #the untamed spoilers #restless rewatch #restless rewatch the untamed #canary3d-original #my gifs #wei wuxian #lan wangji #wen qing #jiang cheng #nie huaisang

413 notes · View notes

itsclydebitches · 3 years

Note

About your last post... GEEE, it's almost as if the first chapter stands as best example of the author not thinking anything long-run and making things up as he goes, which makes any framing he tries to use kinda fall apart instantly. Endvaour suddenly being just Misunderstood~ is prime example. Or th There Is No Spy At UA that I think even the author actually forgot about. xD

Obviously everyone has a different idea of how stories "should" be written (Martin's garden technique, formerly celebrated, gets more and more heat as GoT remains unfinished), but I personally think that certain topics absolutely need to be planned. A bullying storyline (and an abuse storyline when it comes to Endeavor) is a sensitive subject, even more-so when the bullying is taken to such an extreme as Izuku's was. Which is where that planning — that reflection — comes in. If Horikoshi wanted Bakugo to primarily be the funny violent guy who everyone struggles to like but would, when push comes to shove, actually die for... he needed to just write that character. Not the character we got who isn't just rude, isn't just annoying, doesn't have just a little bit of an ego, but who does stuff like telling the minority-allegory kid to take a "swan dive" off the roof, or deliberately attacks him with an untested weapon with an intent to harm. There's an irrevocable disconnect here between how the story wants us to view Bakugo (a male tsundere, basically) and the actions Bakugo has actually taken throughout the tale. And that disconnect is constantly seen in the community as some fans reduce all that harm to "He made a few mistakes." A summary that in no way acknowledges the extent, breadth, and length of his actions. "Made a few mistakes" is also, like, cutting a couple classes and yelling at a friend once. Bakugo's "mistakes" are in no way equal to others' mistakes, both in the BNHA world and outside it. There's a continued desire to downplay Bakugo's choices — through both that misleading summarizing and emphasizing his age — and that's in part because the story keeps downplaying it too.

And that's why planning is necessary. You can't just toss out those first couple of chapters and then spend the rest of the story having characters react to a guy who doesn't exist. If Horikoshi didn't want to write a complex, nuanced look at a bully's redemption, he needed to plan to not write the Bakugo we got. If Horikoshi did want to write a bully's redemption, he needed to do a lot more work to plan that journey. Most fans who criticize Bakugo don't actually consider him irredeemable, despite what others continue to claim. We're well aware that he's a teenager that deserves to grow out of this. The problem is not him turning his life around, the problem is how that turn around has occurred. The redemption, many feel, doesn't match the crime. The extent of harm that Bakugo did is not balanced out by consequences, or growth, and what growth we have is terribly inconsistent, with Bakugo learning something and then segueing right back to the same angry, violent, "DIE!!" person we've always known. "But that's just his personality," some say. Yes, so the author needed to consider whether he wanted to give a character the trend of telling people to die in a presumed joking manner and have him seriously tell a kid to kill himself in his introduction. These things don't work together — or, if they might, that takes a great deal of care to unpack — and thus we see that lack of panning/reflection. On top of specific issues like the above, Bakugo's growth is inconsistent, insubstantial, and, as said, becomes the joke rather than a true, celebrated change to his character. Whether Horikoshi didn't bother to think through this journey or did, but didn't understand the need for that care, it amounts to the same. There are some topics, including bullying to this extent, that you can't just treat like a light subplot that you'll figure out as you go. I mean, you obviously can, but then don't be surprised when a lot of readers are really upset with that.

(See also: RWBY tossing in a racism allegory for fun. Same sort of issues. Some topics aren't there to include for the hell of it and hope you know enough to write it respectfully.)

#BNHA #My Hero Academia #anti bakugo #mymetas

44 notes · View notes

heroprose · 3 years

Text

aromatic;

a/n. forewarning for the usual vampiric shenanigans.

ship. hitoshi shinou x reader

summary. contemporary vampire au. (+ slight office au)

hitoshi shinsou despises you, you’re certain of this.

what you’re not quite sure of is where all the animosity stemmed from, especially since he seemed to conduct himself well enough with everyone else.

out of all your fellow colleagues, he treated you with the most transparent curtness, from promptly exiting whenever you entered the breakroom for a refreshment, to visibly retching the one time you tried to take an empty seat next to him during a conference (you’ll never forgive him for that slight).

it was really starting to grate on you. you were going to have to confront him about this yourself.

besides, you’ve no longer a choice in the matter: this unspoken tension had begun to affect the workplace, with people sometimes looking to and fro between you and him, confused to high hell why he always kept himself a good several meters away from you if he could-- not that you were complaining. social distancing can be quite mutually beneficial, after all.

and it wasn’t an issue you’d like to bring up with human resources either: that seemed a little too petty, even if he was literally gagging at your presence.

you did try to ameliorate the work relationship-- really, you did. but there’s only so many times you can crack a joke and be left hanging in that awkward silence before you stop altogether. you once thought it’d been something you said in poor taste that made him abhor you so, but unless he had a seething hatred for mild puns, that didn’t seem right.

and so what that you were a newer addition to the team-- you’d entertained the idea that maybe he had a thing against strangers, but hell, it’s been months and even interns get more conversation out of him than you.

although given his visceral reactions, you’re inclined to think it’s something about how you smell... but that’s just insane. you took your daily showers and used reasonable amounts of detergent in your laundry; and if you can take the pungency of axe body spray and the zestiness of dior’s sauvage on every man in the building, then he should be able to tolerate your own signature scent, which wasn’t even that bad... was it?

no one else complained about it though. and you’ve even asked around too, so you know you’re not wearing absolute funk. it’s an unfathomable situation.

today, however, you forewent the perfume. if it really was the fragrance, then this should leave no opening. you’ve tucked the bottle in your workbag instead, in case you needed it like a piece of evidence for his rude behavior, ace attorney style.

you waited until lunch break, where most of the other colleagues would leave the building for nearby restaurants or go to the cafeteria, before approaching him. it was best this way, lest it got weird; at least only few people would witness it.

hitoshi was currently invested in whatever it was on his computer, and if you were correct in his observations, he would pull out his own homemade meal shortly enough to eat at his desk. some days, he didn’t eat at all, which was surely unhealthy but you were hardly in the position to scold him considering your own bad habits. plus you didn’t want him to hate you even deeper.

you got to observe this routine over a good number of weeks and it was truly no easy feat, with his desk set in the far corner of the workplace far from the wall-length windows and him being constantly out and about on his own assignments.

with your workbag in one hand, you walk up to him with as much nonchalance as you could muster. “hey! not going down to the cafe today?” it’s rhetorical: you knew he wasn’t.

he hardly responds, eyes flickering up at you briefly and giving a greeting nod before returning to his work. “mm.”

you round the corner of the desk so that you stand beside him. leaning down slightly to squint at the screen, you deliberately put yourself in his space. “oh wow, the deadline’s so far away but you’re already working on this part?”

he began to open his mouth, only to clap a hand over it with remarkable speed. and he coughs, goodness, with shoulders jumping.

“oh my god,” you can’t help but say as you withdraw. could he smell it even from your bag? you weren’t even sure if it was the perfume or just you anymore. “okay, i’ll cut to the chase. can we talk? alone?”

you’d think he would think it over, at the very least, to give a semblance of polite reflection. “no,” is his immediate reply, spoken forcefully, so forcefully that a lone passing colleague even gives you two a glance.

“i was, uh, just leaving,” they say. “want anything?”

“i’m good, thanks,” you reply, bidding them farewell with a breezy smile before refocusing on hitoshi. he has already turned away from you, eyes blazing at the computer screen.

without another word, you reach over, placing a hand over his, and drag his mouse to click out of his report.

“what do you think you’re doing?” hitoshi demands, jerking away from your touch. and he’s angry now, genuinely irritated: you can see it in the way his jaw tightens. too bad you’ve been annoyed ever since you’ve been moved to this department.

“it was google docs, relax. your work is saved,” you soothe over. “now come with me. i just want to talk to you for five minutes, tops. please.”

he’s deeply conflicted for a heartbeat, but finally relents. “five minutes,” he echoes. you give him the space to stand up, clutching your workbag strap tightly in your fist. if he knew what this was about, he gave no mention as he walked openhanded behind you.

hastily, you lead him to the breakroom. with its doorless entrance, you assumed that the ventilation there would be moderately good, if it got too stuffy for him. then again, you wouldn’t of minded if he suffocated a bit either. admittedly, the entire floor was probably empty save for you two, so this dialogue could’ve been held out in the open but it didn’t hurt to have that extra layer of seclusion.

“i already know,” you say into the quietude, leaning against the counter. behind you, the coffee machine beeped every so often. someone should get that fixed. you cross your arms and look at him carefully. the vents are tinny above you two, warm air rushing out noisily.

“you-- what?” his dark eyes widen ever so slightly, and for once, his expression isn’t quite so tense with you. “what do you know?” he must’ve not expected you to be so direct. he takes his hand out of his pocket.

“you know what i’m talking about. why you treat me like, i don’t know, the plague?”

“i don’t do that.”

“you nearly threw up when you saw me.”

hitoshi stays silent. ha, gotcha! “i only coughed,” he relents eventually.

“whatever. and i know it’s not me and that it’s really all you because guess what? no one else has this problem. and i’m thinking you don’t want me to air out your business to everyone else because that would be...” weird, for one, but you didn’t want to ruin your own case. “doesn’t matter; in any case, there’s no reason to be rude over this.”

“alright. so you know. i avoid you because of your scent.” his voice is dangerously calm. “what are you going to do about me, then?”

“about you?” you repeat with a scoff, “oh, so i should report you? what would i even say? HR would laugh at me.”

he smirks, chin jutting out. “right.”

“so now i only have one question. wait, make that two.”

“go on.”

“how should we fix this? because obviously i don’t want our little dance to start affecting our work ethic. you can’t wave me away forever. it’s how i smell, right? do you have a recommended detergent or deodorant, or something?” you ignore the fact that you’ve technically asked three questions.

“none of that covers it,” he mutters and your jaw drops. “masks don’t help either.”

“no way. i smell that b-- you know what... moving on. we’ve got to compromise somewhere though. but not my perfume.” your hands reflexively ball up. there’s no camera, so if you did something unsavory, there equally wouldn’t be any real witnesses...

“your perfume,” he repeats, seemingly dissatisfied.

“yeah, no way. that’s my signature scent. go wear nose plugs or something, if it’s that bad. and i can’t believe you say scent and not body odor, like just call it what it is! damn.”

the coffee machine lets out its intermittent beeps. hitoshi just stares at you, mystified. then, he breaks into a snort, like he’s the one who can’t believe he’s having this discussion. “i understand. in that case, i see no solution.” whilst bringing a hand to the back of his neck, he starts to move, intent on passing you to exit the room.

you let out a frustrated noise. “you leave me no choice, hitoshi.”

intending on presently the bottle to him proudly, perhaps even spritzing him once for good measure, you jam your hand into your workbag to fish your perfume out. you grab onto the rectangular shaped glass, and pull it out with great gusto.

and it goes terribly.

to your horror, the bottle slips like butter between your fingers and sails, tumbling down to the floor right in front of you with a heartrending crash, glass splintering like ice. the beautiful blue lid goes spinning across the tiles, and like that, the whole room now blooms a gorgeous citrus, white floral scent. “oh nooooooo! shit!”

no longer minding him, you go to pick up the shards, bending down at the knees with a sigh. gingerly, you begin to clean up.

“hey, be careful. i’ll get a dustpan,” you hear him say and it’s one of the nicest things he’s ever said to you, but in your melancholy, you shake your head solemnly.

“no, no, i’ve got this. i’m just so-- OWW?” you wail without warning. you drop the wet shard you were grasping, still slick with liquid. “ugh, never mind. get the dustpan.” you bring yourself up on your feet again.

using your shoe, you kick the shards into a more cohesive, but wet pile. the clattering of the glass causes you some emotional pain. “terrific,” you mutter, watching blood bead up at across two of your fingertips. “well, at least i won’t be wearing that anymore. right, hitoshi?” you ask sarcastically. shaking your hand to rid it of perfume residue, you end up just flecking your blood droplets all over the floor. you glance up when you’re met with silence. “hitoshi?”

“nnngh...” a low, deep groan escapes his throat, and immediately he turns his cheek and takes several stumbling steps away. he grits his teeth, the vein in his neck growing more prominent like it’s physically paining him to pull apart from you. “you’ve got to be fucking kidding me...”

“you okay?” you close in on him. it felt almost backwards to ask such a query, seeing as you were the one bleeding. “maybe you should sit d--”

“get away from me,” he all but spits out, eyes squeezed shut. “you set this up, huh? figures.” stray hairs were falling into his face as he presses a hand against his temple and bit back another groan. “i was doing just fine before... so why... nngh.”

you purse your lips. “hey! what do you have against dolce & gabbana’s light blue eau de toilette? it’s a perfectly respectable, fresh, work-friendly fragrance! it was, at least!” you wanted to shout. but that didn’t happen, as your concern and confusion won over your sense of petulance. “set what up?” you ask, bewildered.

on closer inspection, he was not, in fact, okay at all.

for a second, you thought he was having an allergic reaction. that would certainly explain his avoidance of your body, and perhaps why even a deep black had replaced the cool purple in his irises when his eyes snap open to glare. his pupils were blown out despite the bright tube lighting overhead, and his mouth parts wide.

yet an allergy did not explain everything. as opposed to weak, however, hitoshi suddenly looked frightening.

because, instead, what came out of your mouth was a strangled, “uh, what the-- are those fangs?”

and indeed they were, confirmed as they descended upon your skin before you could even blink. at the very least, he had the decency to pant out a small but distinctively unapologetic “sorry” before his lips pressed around your bleeding fingers, tongue hot against the stinging cuts.

you hope fervently your coworkers take their leisure at lunch.

#shinsou x reader #shinsou hitoshi x reader #hitoshi shinsou x reader #bnha imagines #bnha x reader #why do yall still follow me wtf anyway here u go #tbf maybe shinsou prefers chanel no 5 #i think i wanted this to be more twilight adjacent but i dont know what happened

102 notes · View notes

blackwoolncrown · 3 years

Text

The (Sometimes Unintentional) Subtext of Digital Conversations

Different people have different ideas about what it means to sign an email “XOXO,” what you should use Facebook for, and how long you can wait before texting back.

Deborah Tannen

The meanings we glean in conversation are often, maybe mostly, not found in the words spoken, but in how they’re said, and in the spaces between them. Tone of voice, and cadences created by shifts in speed, volume, and pitch, let listeners know whether “Nice job,” is complimentary or sarcastic, or whether “Wow” shows that you’re impressed or underwhelmed. The literal meaning of words is their message, and everything about how words are said is the metamessage. Metamessages communicate how you mean what you say.

More and more conversations are taking place on screens—via texting, Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat, Twitter, email, and myriad other platforms. Some of these written conversations make up for the lack of voicing with conventions that mimic speech, like exclamation points, CAPS, and repetition of words or letters. I can be “so happy!!!!!!!” or “sooooo happy” or “SO happy” or “sosososo happy” or even “SOSOSOSOOOOOO happy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” Emoticons, emojis, and gifs help, too. But these visual signals are only the tip of the metamessage iceberg.

Human beings are always in the business of making meaning and interpreting meaning. Because there are options to choose from when sending a message, like which platform to use and how to use it, we see meaning in the choice that was made. But because the technologies, and the conventions for using them, are so new and are changing so fast, even close friends and relatives have differing ideas about how they should be used. And because metamessages are implied rather than stated, they can be misinterpreted or missed entirely.

Different generations are particularly apt to perceive different metamessages in the same words or actions. For example, a Sri Lankan woman living in London told me of hosting her sister and her sister’s teenage daughter. When the girl refused to go out after 3:00 p.m., because that’s when her friends back home got active on WhatsApp, the sisters perceived the metamessage, “I’m not really here. My head and my heart are elsewhere.” But I suspect the girl’s perspective was more like: “I’m here with you—that’s a given—but I also want to stay connected to my friends, and I can’t bear the thought of being left out”

I heard a great range of viewpoints on social media while interviewing over 80 women (ranging in age from 9 to 97) for a study of friendship. And my students at Georgetown University have helped me understand how they manage, and sometimes are tripped up by, the metamessages communicated over social media—and how habits and assumptions can differ.

For instance, when Kate Lucey’s sister had not given birth by her due date, she kept family and friends apprised of what was happening with her pregnancy by posting frequently on Facebook. In response, even distant relatives and casual friends posted well wishes and encouraging thoughts. Kate felt that these postings sent her sister a precious metamessage: Many people love her and care about her pregnancy. The posts strengthened her network of support. Kate was stunned to learn that her roommate perceived a negative metamessage in her sister’s use of Facebook. She said she would have been offended to be kept up to date about a pregnancy that way; she would think, “Geez, why didn’t you call?” Kate’s roommate reasoned that posting on Facebook is so easy that it means nothing. A phone conversation reflects and creates a meaningful relationship, whereas Facebook creates a false sense of intimacy, not a real relationship.

The impression that posting on Facebook is insincere because it’s too easy sounds a lot like the explanation a friend gave me (over email) for disliking “THAT DRAT ‘xoxo,’ which means nothing, just keys to hit.” This perspective–if something is too easy it’s meaningless or insincere—makes sense. Taking time sends a metamessage of caring. Yet I like ‘xoxo’ (or my personal variant, ‘xxoo’), and use it, though only with friends who use it first. I think xoxo fills a need: It’s a more affectionate way to close an email than “Best” but not as fervent as “Love,” which, in any case, some people don’t feel comfortable using with friends, though some do. Maybe it strikes some as fake because it’s a substitution, standing for “love and kisses” but not denoting it. Or maybe it seems too cutesy. Whatever the source of these impressions, deciding how to sign off a message becomes a challenge, since any choice you make will send metamessages that you may not intend or suspect.

I was shocked to realize that my students might be perceiving metamessages opposite from what I intend when I reply to their email requests and queries. One of them pointed out that when he emails professors, he begins with a salutation (“Dear Professor Smith”) and a greeting like “I hope you’re enjoying the weekend.” Only then does he explain his request—in detail—followed by a friendly closing, again about the weekend or the weather, before wrapping up with “Sincerely” or “Yours truly” above his name. (I recognized his description: That’s the way most of my students’ emails look.) The student then complained that many of his professors’ responses omit the salutation, greeting, full explanation, friendly closing, signature, and name. All he receives is a naked reply to his question, and usually a cryptic one at that. I realized that I do this, too–or did, before he, and others in class discussion, opened my eyes. I had assumed that dispensing with those formalities sends a metamessage of casual friendliness, more or less the way I use email with close friends and family. But students regard email as formal, so the omission of those niceties often strikes them as disrespectful, even rude. (Now I go back and add the trimmings before pressing SEND.)

It’s not surprising that professors’ and students’ practices would vary, given the difference in power and age. But even best friends can have very different ideas about appropriate ways to use social media. Noelle Miesfeld and Rachel Jacobson had been close friends since college, and they stayed in close touch after graduation, often having long telephone conversations, catching up. After a number of years, however, they began communicating more through texting. This meant more frequent conversations—often daily or even multiple times a day. So Noelle was surprised when Rachel registered a complaint: She’d been telling Noelle about a problem, and she felt that Noelle’s responses seemed too casual and brief to show real concern. Rachel missed her caring, emotionally supportive friend. They traced the trouble to their contrasting assumptions about texting. To Noelle, comforting closeness resided in the frequency of their exchanges. To Rachel, frequency didn’t substitute for the expression of feeling and detailed discussion of her situation that they’d shared in the past—the kinds of conversations that Noelle didn’t feel could or should take place through texting.

When deciding which platform to use and how to use it, as well as how to interpret communications you receive—or don’t receive—you have to know which platforms your friends tend to use and how they use them. Some will answer texts but not emails. Others don’t check their phones regularly, so you can’t rely on texting to reach them. The proliferation of platforms means more options to exploit but also more opportunities for your messages to be misinterpreted. How quickly does a particular friend usually reply to a text or email? What does the lack of an immediate response mean? So firm is some people’s expectation of a quick reply to a text that any lapse carries meaning. A student, telling me about a friend who, in her words, “stopped talking” to her, said, by way of explanation, “She’d text me back two days later.” To her, a two-day delay was tantamount to not talking at all.

Silence can be a deliberate communication. One woman said of a text she received from a friend, “I was so annoyed, I’m just not responding. I just didn’t answer.” Yet in other cases, silence doesn’t mean anything; it results from circumstances. A young woman thought her boyfriend’s delay in responding meant he was angry at her. It turned out his phone battery had run out.

Perceived metamessages of annoyance can snowball, whether or not they were intended. A student recounted in an interview a Facebook message exchange with a friend that, she felt, should have been straightforward but became complicated. She sent a message suggesting they go running later than planned. The friend messaged back, “I guess that’s okay. Fine, see you then.” That little opener, “I guess,” and the unenthusiastic “okay” seemed to imply that she wasn’t thrilled with the change of plans. So the student responded, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be difficult. I’m more flexible than I made it sound. I can actually just do one o’clock like we planned.” That set off a back-and-forth that went four rounds—“No no no let’s do the time you wanna do,” “No no no let’s do the time we said.” Hair-tearing exchanges like these are particularly common among girls and women because, as the student pointed out, they often worry about coming across as too demanding and hurting others’ feelings.

My student Holly DiClemente explained how her peers make creative use of digital features to avoid hurting friends’ feelings. One example is ghost reading—reading a message without opening it, by just reading the preview in the text app, or on your lock screen. If a phone automatically sends “read receipt” notices to let others know their messages have been opened and, presumably, read, ghost reading comes in handy to manage the implied metamessages. If you see from the text notification that a friend is asking if you want to hang out, and you don’t want to but you don’t want to hurt her feelings, you can open the message later and tell her you’re sorry you just got it. The “read receipts” feature can also be used to show you’re mad; it lets someone know you’ve read their message and are intentionally not responding—a visual virtual snub. But there, too, they might think you’re mad when you’re not. Maybe you saw that the message was long, so you put off replying until you’d have more time to read it, or to write a thoughtful response.

Metamessages—intended or not—can reside in just about any aspect of digital communication, even something as minor and automatic as listing recipients’ names when sending email. If you enter the addresses on the “to” or “cc” line, everyone who receives it can see not only who else is getting the message but also what order you put the names in. Two women I interviewed together, Lucy McBride and Annie Finnell, pointed out some of the resulting metamessages: “You feel special when you’re the first one on there,” Lucy said. Annie agreed: “You do. And you feel not special when you’re the last one.” Lucy added, “Because if you’re dead last, it’s like they were thinking, ‘Who am I forgetting?’” To avoid offending those whose names come later or last, you can put recipients’ email addresses on the “bcc” line. But that sends a metamessage, too. It’s what people do when the list of recipients is very long, so “It looks like you’re inviting all of Northwest Washington!”

Anytime there are multiple recipients, metamessages can get complicated. I was part of a group that used email to confer about a joint project. In one such exchange, a member of our group expressed well wishes to another about a medical condition, after which all the others chimed in, echoing the expressions of concern. I was puzzled. I didn’t know whether this flurry of well wishes was related to the ongoing medical challenge I knew this group member had been experiencing, or whether there had been a new and dangerous development I didn’t know about. I asked another group member, who said she was not aware of any new developments either, but wanted to express her general support for our ailing friend. I went ahead and sent my own well wishes, cc’ing only the one who first expressed concern. But then I worried that the others would think me callous and uncaring. I rather regretted having foregone the option of allowing—or forcing--everyone to overhear my well wishes.

Every word we speak is chock-full of metamessages telling others not only how we mean what we say but also who we are. It has always been that way; it’s the only way language can work to communicate ideas and negotiate relationships. With social media, we have ever more ways to do this—and ever more things to worry about, to make sure the self we’re displaying is the one we believe we are—or the one we want to be.

#texting #text #tech #social media #digital media #articles

20 notes · View notes

cyclesprefectpress · 3 years

Text

[image description: a proof of a font of handset type for letterpress printing, displaying every letter, symbol, and special character in the font. it's called "Sixteenth Century Roman," 24 pt., and is a rough-edged serif font with a deliberately worn look. end description.]

hello hello i am return from a deep dive into several reference materials that assumed a little bit more knowledge about how Medieval Latin works than i actually have, but, it was all exTREMEly inch resting to me. i am absolutely not a historian but here we are, a speedrun of my pinballing around trying to ensure that I know what the fuck im storing in my type corridor:

so 16th Cent. Roman, i already knew, was a font Paul Duensing designed based on this incomplete set of old Italian punches he acquired (punches, the first step of old school typecasting, where you carve the relief letter shape into the end of a stick of steel, and you uuuh punch that into the copper matrix, which is then the negative mould-shape you use to cast multiple copies of the lead sorts with hot metal; surviving punches are precious artifacts not the least because they are. they’re hand-carved!! often by the type designer themselves. historical and also wildly cool craftsmanship). these punches were all beat up and probably water damaged, fucky and rough-edged, so he re-did and filled in the gaps in the alphabet with similarly styled letters of his own. very cool. an extremely nerdy lil passion project of a typecaster in the 1960s, very typical of type people. we all find a Thing to obsess over, and sometimes it's reviving an incomplete set of punches from the 1500s that you found in, idk, it's usually a bucket in somebody's basement.

anyway it's got a bunch of ligatures and the long s, sure sure sure, but WHAT are all these gibberish characters with tildas and lines thru the stems of ps and qs and such—

Duensing's full font is in Mac McGrew's specimen book, great, i have that, except McGrew's book has complete proofs and a little bit of history for each font but doesn't always cover what each symbol in a unique alphabet is for, and i knew just enough about Latin to guess that they were abbreviations but not what each of them stood for. a little bit of searching got me this far, which is to say, "Abbreviation in Medieval Latin Paleography," a translation of an Italian essay on the subject from 1929. It is prefaced by the translators with gems like: "Take a foreign language, write it in an unfamiliar script, abbreviating every third word, and you have the compound puzzle that is the medieval Latin manuscript." Scribes writing in medieval Latin just tossed out letters they didn't care to deal with, constantly, and had stand-in special characters and abbreviations for syllables/words/particles and there were intuitive rules but way too many variations in time and place and person to make a reasonably-sized, static lexicon. amazing. hope all u paleographers are having fun over there.

the essay has a great big glossary of truncations and abbreviations and so on which clearly cover most of the figures in Duensing's font:

[image description: screenshots of the essay, with various symbols and the Latin syllables they abbreviated. an m with a bar over it, ex., stood in for men or mun. end description.]

ok! BUT this q with a little swoop off the end kept bugging me!! for all these dead-use symbols this essay is using handwritten samples, obviously, and there's clearly variation in execution and also typographers take liberties, and i just thought, sure my piece of type looks a lot like the quod here but it does link the staff to the swoop where the handwritten sample doesn't, and it could just as well be a fanciful ligature for qn which apparently can stand in for quando, and i have no idea which is a more common-use syllable likely to be cast in the font if you're only going to pick your top 14, and i just like to be sure about things.

SO. i went to double-check with Johnson’s Typographia. Johnson made like a thousand pages of printing manuals set in tiny tiny type in the 1820s which are rad as hell and tell you all sorts of things about how to run a shop and build your own press and cast type and going rates for work and employment and also, the alphabets/type case layout for whatever language or symbol set you might have to set type in, when handsetting type was mostly the only way to get stuff printed—English, Arabic, Chinese, Hebrew, musical notation, astronomical signs, aaaand it’s got a section for "Marks & characters used in the Domesday Book & other ancient records.”

[image description: a photo of a page of the manual, with similar but not always identical symbols for abbreviated use. many of these abbreviations are described as "a Domesday contraction." end description.]

and WHAT is a Domesday contraction, WELL, it's a contraction specifically from/prevalent in the Domesday book, a deeply boring and historically important tome about property distribution in England. It’s literally a survey. who owned what, in 1086. presumably mind-numbing. enormous, handwritten in Medieval Latin, EXTREMELY cool, go look at some images of it at least, very important to historians, economists, linguists, and a complete pain in the ass to set in type when that technology became available, having to cast any significant proportion of these variant characters in an alphabet. Johnson says, (in 1824) “It is an improvement of latter years only*, to have type cast to resemble the abbreviations used in the more ancient manuscripts; they being formerly rudely imitated, either from a common fount, or else were cut in wood for the purposes of any particular work.” wow that sucks. but in 1773 the government really wanted to be able to reproduce the Domesday Book in type, so a couple people tried to cut a set of punches for Domesday abbreviations and Joseph Jackson got it done and it only took 10 years to print an edited version of the manuscript. and then apparently all the type was destroyed in a fire in 1808. WOW that sucks.

but the point is, Johnson has a great big glossary of characters as they were translated into type in the making of the printed Domesday Book, and the Domesday punches were used or refrenced in the printing of other medieval latin works, which consequences a degree of standardization in the abbreviations used in those versions of the text that handwritten manuscripts never had or needed.

notably the Domesday quod looks even more different from my piece of type here which was pretty annoying, so what are the chances this thing is a quando, and anyway that's when my sister texted me back with better computer skills and a different search engine and found me a perfect match on the first try. it’s a quod. this National Diet Library digital exhibition has several different sample fonts, both black letter and roman, with quite consistent letter forms, if not choices about which abbreviations to bother casting.

*I don’t……exactly know what he means by this, since Gutenberg and contemporaries absolutely did cast many Medieval Latin abbreviations for their fonts nearly 400 years before this. His dismissal of “from a common fount” might be fair, since i think what he means by it is that you’d have a generic set of abbreviation characters which you would have to use in conjunction with whatever font was the main body of your text, and it’s messy to mix things that weren’t designed specifically to match. he may just mean that it’s new for his contemporary foundries to be casting all these expanded alphabets of abbreviations; Gutenberg didn’t have foundries to buy from and made his own type. he could include as many characters as he had the patience for. maybe Johnson is just a guy from the 1800s that didn’t have the internet and i shouldn’t jump down his throat for not knowing something. idk!! i have homework.

anyway that was my Friday!! feel free to correct me and/or suggest further reading if early typecasting is your Thing or. again. you just have better googling than me.

#letterpress #letterpress printing #handset type #lead type #typography #long post #:(( sorry #omitted: Johnson's scathing opinions on Almanacks and the people who read them #and ask you to typeset them #'''''the credulity of the vulgar''''''' alRIGHT bud #i guess if he was willing to set that whole paragraph in 8 pt.#or pay for it #it was at least an opinion he believed in very strongly.

16 notes · View notes