#i mean i’m having SOME fun but STILL!!!!! it’s the principle of the matter!!!!!

[iinmysights]

i’m in the fucking trenches

#Ravage.txt #dl #‘oh i haven’t made art in a while. LETS DO SOMETHING REALLY FUCKING HARD!!!! :D’ <- AN IDIOT #i mean i’m having SOME fun but STILL!!!!! it’s the principle of the matter!!!!! #rn gumroad is seriously testing my patience bc the app won’t download n the website refuses to accept me changing my pass bc i forgot it #I JUST WANT!!! NEW BUSHIES!!! TO PAINT CAEDES WITH!!! #i’ll resort to fucking defaults if i really need to but i’d rather NOT!!!!!! #i’m really trying to push for a bit more realism with this one bc i haven’t been happy with all of em and i think i tried to jump into havin #g a style way too fast n as a result ended up putting a stick in my bike wheel on the path to developing ym skills. so i essentially hit a #road block where my hands didn’t know wtf to do (didn’t learn proportions etc) while trying so so hard to stick to the grove i had cut for #myself so i gotta like do a hard reset basically. at least i think that’s what i’m doing idk i’m not very smart #would really like to finish xem tonight but i’m already tired so i really don’t know ://

[apocalypse-shuffle]

MICHAEL MYERS | THE SHAPE (Carpenter/Akkad Continuity)

────────────────────

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Dating (or just coexisting with) Myers (Michael Myers x Fem!Reader)

Headcanons

NSFW-ish, 18+, minors dni, black!fem!reader, brief mentions of sex, canon typical violence

mainly going off the continuity of the first two films because I don’t want to talk about magic.

Pic Source: John Carpenter’s Halloween (1978) & Halloween H20

The man is using up all your resources. Does he let you feed him, not yourself, but he does eat your food (and then demand seconds so you have to make a big pot).

What’s yours is his (but what’s his is not yours) whether you like it or not.

Michael doesn’t speak, nor does he communicate through any surefire nonverbal means, so being with him is like constantly playing the most deadliest game of charades.

You’d been prepared for non verbal, what you hadn’t been prepared for was a heavy dose of malicious stonewalling. Michael almost wants you to fuck up and give him a reason, wants to see how far he can push you before you inevitably screw up and piss him off.

Every once in a while (after he’s significantly warmed up to you) you’ll get a grunt that you have to listen really hard for as he tries to get your attention. Any other time he’ll just be there, won’t announce his presence or anything, all of a sudden someone’s just breathing down your neck or something’s shifting in your peripheral vision and making your instincts go haywire.

Half the time Michael won’t even ask you to do something he’ll just carry you off to what he wants and set you down in front of it.

Michael communicates with his eyes the most though, it’s imperative that you learn how to interpret the different purposeful shifts of his eyes, the furrowing of his eyebrows behind the mask, and the stilted movements of his body.

Now, since you’re black you’ve gotta be extra careful. You being the person the real estate people were able to con into moving into the Myers house was definitely not why all eyes were on you.

Sure some people shake their heads at you for disturbing a house with that history, though none of them bother to actually tell you about it, but most people were just wary of you “on principle”.

You were black, this was a prominent residential street filled predominantly with white families who: “don’t want any trouble”. If you’re with Michael you’ve got to be careful because people are watching you hard already and will jump at anything just to justify their unreasonable wariness about you and get your ass out of town.

Soon as Michael starts killing again certain people immediately start pointing fingers at you. They claim it’s the house (maybe you were possessed or something) but you’re all more than aware that even if you’d moved into a different house with a less violent history you’d still somehow be suspect number one.

They were unfamiliar with you, and didn’t like the look of you, and you didn’t smile enough, and gave off a bad vibe (ie: was minding your business), and “These killings didn’t start back up until after she got here.” Nevermind the fact that you’d been living in Haddonfield for months before Michael showed back up.

There is no ignoring the extra problems Michael brings at your door. If anyone spots him coming into the house, and you don’t end up dead by his hand, you’re both going down by the cops.

The second he shows up and won’t leave, you accept the inevitable, you’ll be labeled an accomplice no matter how the actual situation plays out.

Personally I’m writing you taking the path of least resistance. You’ve accepted your faith, now it’s time to have fun.

I firmly believe that the only way you can stay alive with Michael is if you’re actively keeping him interested. The second he gets bored of you it’s over so you need to become a new obsession of his.

Keeping him interested can happen in a lot of different ways but sexually satisfying him is a pretty good bet. (This will only work if he’s feeling lenient enough to allow a relationship to form between you two though.)

Initially reacting a little abnormally to his appearance will allow a level of intrigue to form in Michael that will ultimately end up giving you a shot at continued life.

You’re not scared, or at least reacting how people usually do when they’re scared? Why? Everyone’s scared of him. *Interest piques*.

When in the mood he’ll want to figure you out, to test your limits after your first meeting, so use that to your advantage.

Sex with Michael is very one sided until/unless you push for otherwise, but will always be intense (it’s not always rough, but no matter what you’ll be trembling at the end). At the beginning Michael will also be incredibly clumsy, he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing so if you’re gonna initiate then you better use your voice and instruct his ass on what to do if you want to have a good time.

Mild Detour: You wear waistbeads? Cool, I do too. Michael doesn’t give a shit. They’re pretty and instantly catch his attention once he’s actually able to see them, but that just marks the beginning of the end for you.

If you have waistbeads let me tell you something, he’s using those bitches like they’re a pair of handlebars. You’ll either need to have a backlog of beads, a girl on call, or the strongest waistbeads known to man, okay? He will be manhandling your ass wherever he needs you to be. It’s snap central with Michael; you’re being snatched one second and in the next the sound of little glass or wooden beads hitting the floor is reaching your ears.

Just in general if Michael wants anything sexual he’ll quicker physically maneuver you where he wants you to be until you get the hint than utilize any true acceptable form of communication. He could communicate properly mind you, he just finds it more fulfilling not to.

Non sexual ways to keep him interested enough in not killing you for encroaching on his space are if you meet his necessities and he’s in a mindset to care. There are times where in some movies Michael just has no problem living in a sewer when he could otherwise just kill someone and utilize their house and resources or secretly live in someone's house. He has options is what I’m saying and he seemingly doesn’t take advantage of them by choice so it’s hit or miss depending on iteration and mood whether Michael will deem basic care a priority enough to keep you alive as long as you provide him with it.

A delicate balance must be found between the two of you if you value your life. You’ve got to be assertive enough with him for him to be interested enough in you not to immediately kill you, but you cannot insult him or order him around. Ordering him around just reminds him of Loomis and you don’t want to remind him of when he was in the psychiatric facility.

The mask is off limits. Touch it without permission or attempt to take it off of him and it’s an immediate death sentence.

On the plus side though as a single black female he’s a great burglary deterrent and - once he likes you enough to regularly stalk you during his off time (ie: not October; that whole month is just one big trigger for him alongside any sight or mention of Loomis, Laurie, or Jamie) - Michael is also excellent assault and harassment deterrent as well!

The first night he sees you being harassed or assaulted, Michael splits the person’s skull open in front of you and you almost pass out from the strain of keeping in the highest, most terrified scream of your life. It’s horrifying and you're splattered with blood by the end. Michael is completely unphased in comparison, letting the body thump to the ground before casually walking off.

The obsession does pose an issue with your dating exploits however. A lapse in judgment you only allowed once after Michael’s bitch ass left the severed hand of the person you’d gone out on a date with in your bed (and that person subsequently turned up ‘missing’ afterwards of course).

You didn’t leave him out anything but some fucking oats for the rest of the month in revenge, but the fucker hadn’t even blinked at the bland splatter of food you’d laid out for him. Next time you’d go for something spicy (if you were feeling bold that is).

“You Time” is also impossible with Michael breathing down your neck for the majority of each month. Especially if you don’t want to engage sexually or “romantically” with him this is going to get wholly on your nerves. You want to read, play a game, masturbate, take a peaceful nap, or even take a bath without knowing he's waiting right outside of the door? Ha. Too bad, because you’ve got a six foot something obsessive asshole of a man insistent on breathing in the air that you breath out, and vise fucking versa at this point.

Michael and you are locked in for life if you’re still alive after that first encounter, and whether that means until one of you gets taken down or until Mikey Boy gets pissed enough at you to murder you himself is anybody’s guess.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!

This one was fun, I enjoyed writing this🧡.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it! this is a sideblog tho so I won’t respond.

#michael myers #the shape #black!reader #black y/n #an apocalypse-shuffle halloween special #michael myers x black!reader #michael myers imagine #slasher x black!reader #x black!fem!reader #the shape of haddonfield #john carpenter’s halloween #michael myers x reader #slashers x black!reader #slasher imagines #x black reader #slasher headcanons #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slashers #michael myers smut #michael myers headcanons #headcanons #18+

[blues824]

i was just watching the movie tangled, and i couldn't help but realise how similar flynn and mammon are (if you look it up, they both have the same mbti of estp, which explains their similarities lmao). but i was wondering if you could do the om brothers with an mc like rapunzel (magical and long hair, personality, etc)? thank you, if so! <3

Fun fact: When I was younger, I didn’t watch a lot of Disney. I was more into Tim Burton films, and I still am! My Disney obsession only started a few years ago, and when a few Tim Burton films came onto Disney+, I couldn’t help myself.

Also, I took a few liberties and decided to do a mini-fantasy!Au here where the brothers act as the thief/Flynn, but with a twist for each brother. Another thing, Satan here reminds me of the prince from Into The Woods…

Since these scenarios turned out to be longer than originally planned, I will give you the three brothers I think fit best with this.

He was just trying to steal something for Prince Diavolo. You see, the crown had a gem that could save the lives of their people. He saw the tower as he was being chased by the Royal Guard and hid in there. Then he was hit with something made of metal.

When he came to, he noticed that he was stuck in a chair. He was tied down with what looked like… hair? He looked around and saw a silhouette in the tower’s window. There was also a chameleon that was perched on his shoulder. Now that he thought about it, his ear felt weird.

“Who are you, and how did you find me?”

Lucifer

“My name is Lucifer. Might I ask who you are and why I’m tied up?”

“Y/N. You didn’t answer my other question: How did you find me?”

“I was being chased and found this tower. I decided to climb in and hide.”

“You don’t want my- You know what? Never mind. You’re tied up because you are a trespasser and I don’t know who you are.”

First impressions aside, you actually get along just fine. You both worked out a deal where you would return the crown in turn to see the lanterns. He is slightly amused by how gullible you are and how you try to hide it. You try your best to break his walls down and get him to be more casual.

He’s glad that you don’t partake in the whole “damsel in distress” stereotype. If the whole frying pan situation didn’t give it away, you are quite different. You utilize what tools you have in order to survive, and he respects that. 

The amount of times you turned a dire situation into a fun experience is too many to count. Usually, people as bright as you would dim in such gruesome places. No, you wouldn’t let that happen to yourself. You would stick to your principles no matter what.

You tend to see the beauty inside of everything. You won’t let anything get you down or defeat you. When Lucifer was in your tower, he saw how you maximized all of the space you had by filling the walls with your art. You also picked up many hobbies and could be described as ‘book-smart’. 

When you both make it to the lanterns, he’s sad because this means you both would have to leave each other. But he would never admit it. He stares into your eyes as you both lean in closer and closer, but in the distance, he sees something.

He rowed the boat to the shore to see what was going on. He sees some of the demons that he partnered up with to steal the crown and goes over to give it to them. He was prepared for an ambush and had his dagger in hand. These demons showed such great promise in Diavolo’s court… such a pity.

What he didn’t expect was for you to be gone when he got back to the boat. He looked all over the island, getting more and more worried as more time passed and he still didn’t find you. You couldn’t have gone that far, could you? 

Then he remembers: your mother. She must have taken you back to your tower! He started the long journey back to your tower on Maximus, who was also worried about your wellbeing. What took a few days the first time took maybe an hour.

When he was at the base of the tall building, he called your name. He received no answer and started climbing. He got to the window and dropped in, where he saw you tied up with your own hair. He was then stabbed by your mother.

After the whole ordeal of Lucifer cutting your hair and your hair causing your ‘mom’ to trip and fall out of the window, you noticed that his breathing was becoming labored. You knelt by his side and tried using your hair, but the magic was gone. You started crying and crying. You loved him. You grew to love him.

Then, with the magic that remained in your tears, Lucifer’s wound started to heal. Once it fully healed, he pulled you into a sweet kiss. The amount of relief you felt was immeasurable. Then you both realized what you had to do.

You, after reconnecting with your parents, talked to Prince Diavolo. He was the ‘acting King’, so he would have jurisdiction over the court. You told him that marriage between you and Lucifer would benefit both kingdoms, and Diavolo was all for it. He wanted to see his trusted advisor happily wed, so he granted your wish and let you both live happily ever after.

Mammon

“Who the hell are you? And why am I tied up?!”

“Answer my question or face the consequences, thief.”

“I am the Great Mammon. I was being chased and I found this tower and decided to hide here.”

“I am Y/N, and you’re tied up because I don’t trust you. Now, here’s what’s going to happen…”

He found this totally unfair! You just caught him off-guard! You had an unfair advantage! Now he has to take you to go see some stupid lanterns just so he can take the crown to Diavolo and get a big reward. If you just gave it to him, you both could go separate ways and never see each other again.

I’d say he’s also glad that you can handle yourself. You are actually saving him more than he saves you, so yeah. He’s concerned with how gullible you are. Y/N, don’t you know you could get hurt if you’re persuaded so easily?!

However, he likes how you can brighten up any situation. In the pub, you were able to convince all the demons inside to chase their dreams. They even helped you both escape the Royal Guard! Maybe you weren’t so bad after all!

He has noticed how you see beauty in the simplest of things. When in your tower, he saw all the paintings on your walls. You seemed to be obsessed with the lanterns. Through your hobbies, you have saved him and yourself numerous times.

He gets stressed when you both get to the lanterns. He will make up every excuse to stall and spend more time with you. You see, he grew to love you and he didn’t want to go separate ways after this. When the lanterns were released, you both leaned closer and closer, but he saw something in the distance.

He rowed the boat to the shore and told you to stay where you were. He gave the crown to the demons he worked with and called quits, but they said differently. He was ambushed and tied to a boat and headed towards the island where the Royal Guard was expecting him.

When he came to, he was arrested on sight. He was being walked through the prison when he noticed a few of the demons that ambushed him were also there. He pushed up against the gate and yelled at them, demanding your whereabouts. They fessed up, and he immediately grew worried.

When the demons in the pub and Maximus helped him escape jail, he immediately mounted the horse and rushed to your tower. That was the only place he knew you’d be, and he was going as fast as he could.

When he was at your tower, he called your name. After receiving no response, he opted to climb. He got to the window and jumped inside, where he saw you tied up. Then, there was an immediate stabbing pain in his stomach and he fell to the ground, writhing in pain.

After the whole ordeal of Mammon cutting your hair and your hair causing your ‘mom’ to trip and fall out of the window, you noticed that his breathing got slower and harder. You started crying. This was the first person you ever fell in love with, and you were not about to lose him.

With your magical tears, Mammon’s wound started healing. Once it closed, Mammon looked up at you and pulled you into a kiss of gratitude and relief. Once you both pulled away, you both knew the next course of action.

You talked with your birth parents (you were still the heir to the throne) and with Prince Diavolo about the matter of you two being wed. Your parents immediately accepted after seeing how he made you happy as well as him being the one to bring you home. Diavolo said yes because he wanted to party at the wedding, but also because Mammon matured through this journey.

And you both lived happily ever after.

Satan

“My lady, my name is Satan. I was being chased and found this tower and made the decision to climb into it. May I ask for your name and why I’m tied up?”

“My name is Y/N. Now, imagine someone breaks into your house and you don’t know them, but you have the element of surprise. Wouldn’t you take that opportunity?”

“Touche. Now, would you care to let me out of these confines?”

“Not yet. I have a few conditions…”

Well this was certainly not expected. You were threatening him to take you to go see some lanterns? Didn’t you know they come out every year for the heir’s’ birthd- oh. He had never pieced pieces together so fast. And you didn’t know?!

He’s always wanted to be the one to save the person in distress, but he finds it cool that you can handle yourself. You both share the work that comes along the way, and you both come to the unspoken understanding that you both have had many opportunities to stab each other in the back but you both have invested too much time and effort into this.

He would be both concerned and amused by how gullible you appear. But he’s also impressed with how you use that to your advantage somehow and you make a dire situation appear more bright. You’ve changed many lives and you didn’t even know it!

He guesses that being locked in a tower for 18 years might induce your creativity. He’s seen the art on the walls of your towers during his brief stay there. Plus, you weaponized a frying pan. You’re very clever, and he appreciates that.

He is deeply saddened by how ‘quick’ you both made it to the kingdom of Corona. That means you both will have to separate. Don’t you know his dream isn’t complete without you? When you get into the midst of all the lanterns, he leans in closer and closer until he sees something suspicious on the land.

He rows the boat to the shore and starts exploring. He had his dagger out when he was ambushed by the demons he partnered up with to get the crown, so he was prepared. He anticipated their every move, so it was an easy win for him.

What he didn’t anticipate was your disappearance. He came back to the boat and you weren’t there. He did see another set of footprints in the dirt, though… your mother was here. How else would the demons have known your location?

The person that kept you locked up in the tower for 18 years was taking you back? Not on his watch. There was no way he was going to let her take you away from him, or from your actual parents again. He called Maximus and rode like a bat from Hell to your tower.

Once he reached it, he called out your name, but he received no answer. He resorted to climbing up the tower, and when he reached the room, he was stabbed immediately. On his way to the floor, he saw you tied up

After the whole ordeal of Satan cutting your hair and your hair causing your ‘mom’ to trip and fall out of the window, you noticed that his breathing became labored. You knelt by his side and tried using your hair, but the magic was gone. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go! You wanted to see the lanterns with him again and again!

As more and more tears spilled from your eyes onto him, you noticed that Satan’s wound started healing. You have never felt so happy in your life. When he could sit up, he pulled you into a deep kiss. When you both pulled away, you both looked at each other in mutual agreement.

After reconnecting with your actual parents, you brought up how you wanted to be married to Satan and they agreed to allow it. After all, he brought their child to them! Then you both approached Prince Diavolo and asked him for his blessing as well and he gladly accepted! The amount of joy on your faces was enough to persuade him.

And you both lived happily ever after.

#obey me shall we date #obey me #obey me x reader #obey me! #obey me lucifer #obey me lucifer x reader #lucifer x reader #lucifer #obey me mammon x reader #obey me mammon #mammon x reader #mammon #obey me satan x reader #obey me satan #satan x reader #satan

[eelhound]

"Physicists are more playful and less hidebound creatures than, say, biologists — partly, no doubt, because they rarely have to contend with religious fundamentalists challenging the laws of physics. They are the poets of the scientific world. If one is already willing to embrace thirteen-dimensional objects or an endless number of alternative universes, or to casually suggest that 95 percent of the universe is made up of dark matter and energy about whose properties we know nothing, it’s perhaps not too much of a leap to also contemplate the possibility that subatomic particles have 'free will' or even experiences. And indeed, the existence of freedom on the subatomic level is currently a heated question of debate. Is it meaningful to say an electron 'chooses' to jump the way it does? Obviously, there’s no way to prove it. The only evidence we could have (that we can’t predict what it’s going to do), we do have. But it’s hardly decisive. Still, if one wants a consistently materialist explanation of the world — that is, if one does not wish to treat the mind as some supernatural entity imposed on the material world, but rather as simply a more complex organization of processes that are already going on, at every level of material reality — then it makes sense that something at least a little like intentionality, something at least a little like experience, something at least a little like freedom, would have to exist on every level of physical reality as well.

Why do most of us, then, immediately recoil at such conclusions? Why do they seem crazy and unscientific? Or more to the point, why are we perfectly willing to ascribe agency to a strand of DNA (however 'metaphorically'), but consider it absurd to do the same with an electron, a snowflake, or a coherent electromagnetic field? The answer, it seems, is because it’s pretty much impossible to ascribe self-interest to a snowflake. If we have convinced ourselves that rational explanation of action can consist only of treating action as if there were some sort of self-serving calculation behind it, then by that definition, on all these levels, rational explanations can’t be found. Unlike a DNA molecule, which we can at least pretend is pursuing some gangster-like project of ruthless self-aggrandizement, an electron simply does not have a material interest to pursue, not even survival. It is in no sense competing with other electrons. If an electron is acting freely — if it, as Richard Feynman is supposed to have said, 'does anything it likes' — it can only be acting freely as an end in itself. Which would mean that at the very foundations of physical reality, we encounter freedom for its own sake — which also means we encounter the most rudimentary form of play.

Let us imagine a principle. Call it a principle of freedom — or, since Latinate constructions tend to carry more weight in such matters, call it a principle of ludic freedom. Let us imagine it to hold that the free exercise of an entity’s most complex powers or capacities will, under certain circumstances at least, tend to become an end in itself. It would obviously not be the only principle active in nature. Others pull other ways. But if nothing else, it would help explain what we actually observe, such as why, despite the second law of thermodynamics, the universe seems to be getting more, rather than less, complex. Evolutionary psychologists claim they can explain — as the title of one recent book has it — 'why sex is fun.' What they can’t explain is why fun is fun. This could.

I don’t deny that what I’ve presented so far is a savage simplification of very complicated issues. I’m not even saying that the position I’m suggesting here — that there is a play principle at the basis of all physical reality — is necessarily true. I would just insist that such a perspective is at least as plausible as the weirdly inconsistent speculations that currently pass for orthodoxy, in which a mindless, robotic universe suddenly produces poets and philosophers out of nowhere. Nor, I think, does seeing play as a principle of nature necessarily mean adopting any sort of milky utopian view. The play principle can help explain why sex is fun, but it can also explain why cruelty is fun. (As anyone who has watched a cat play with a mouse can attest, a lot of animal play is not particularly nice.) But it gives us ground to unthink the world around us."

- David Graeber, from "What’s the Point If We Can’t Have Fun?" The Baffler, January 2014.

#david graeber #quote #quotations #play #fun #pleasure #ontology #physics #quantum mechanics #uncertainty principle #free will

[aziraphales-library]

Hi! You guys do amazing work. Thank you so much for your efforts! I've had a lot of fun going through your amnesia and memory loss tags, but I want more! Specifically, can you recommend any stories where Crowley loses his memory and Aziraphale has to put in a bunch of effort to woo him without being able to just say they were together. Maybe a human au?

Hey, thanks! We do have a lot of fics on our #memory loss and #amnesia tags, but as the demand is for more, and it is one of my favourite tropes, here are some where Crowley suffers memory loss and Aziraphale has to help him through it...

Remember This by Mizmak (G)

Crowley loses his memory after bumping his head—and Aziraphale has trouble explaining not just who they are, but what they mean to each other.

Have We Met Before? by mikripetra (T)

“Aziraphale!” grinned the archangel Gabriel, violet eyes glowing with malice and glee. “Well you’re looking…demonic.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale answered. “Rather.”

“Just thought we’d stop by and say hello,” Gabriel said with a grin. “We wanted to greet the only other agent on Earth, even if you are on the other side. I don’t think we have anything to worry about. You were never particularly threatening.”

“Gabriel!” reprimanded a familiar voice, filled with affection.

Crowley’s face appeared in the doorway, long red hair draped across his shoulders, golden eyes and round pupils looking at Aziraphale with nothing more than politeness. “He doesn’t mean that. I’m sure you’re very threatening. Really. I’m shaking in my boots.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

Personal Demons by CrossingTheBoard (T)

Crowley has been severely messed with by hell. Aziraphale is trying to help him out even though Crowley has no idea who Aziraphale is, and no idea who or what he himself is.

Lost And Found by GayDemonicDisaster (M)

When Crowley goes missing, his angel goes to pieces. Thus begins a journey of rediscovery. Unable to destroy the demon with holy water, Hell had tried a different tack. They kidnapped Crowley again and stole his memories, then dumped him to fend for himself. Aziraphale attempts to help him rediscover who he is. Prepare for much angst with a happy ending.

hearts and thoughts fade away (I swear I recognize your breath) by Melime (M)

Due to a clerical error, Crowley is cursed by Hell, losing his memories of the past six thousand years. Now, Aziraphale has to regain his trust and find a way to cure him, but the only way to do this is by confronting his own prejudices regarding demons' capacity to love.

A Matter of Life and Death by HolRose (T)

It is the day after the world didn't end and our heroes have failed, yet again, to tell each other how they feel. Before they get a chance to do so, the agents of Heaven and Hell come to take their revenge working on the principle that what they can't kill, they can still punish. Aziraphale finds himself destined to rejoin his Regiment and then finds himself on trial, where he is forced to tell the whole of Heaven how he feels about a certain demon. Meanwhile, Crowley is back on Earth, with no memory of his companion of 6000 years. Will our favourite supernatural duo manage to get back together? With the help of some very determined cherubs, and a fan club cast of thousands, there are beings up there who want to help them try.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #memory loss #amnesia #mod d

[novafire-is-thinking]

Sooo

What website are we moving to when tumblr “removes the outdated choice of the feed being only posts from people you follow” and “collapses reblog chains to do away with long posts” and “will switch to emails if a user has push notifications off”

I’m already copy pasting my existing posts into documents for preservations sake but if the update comes and it’s truly awful I think a lotta people will agree on wanting to move sites

The question is where

Okay, so I’ve been reading over and analyzing the Tumblr update post since I woke up to your ask, anon. And I have thoughts.

For those who aren’t interested in what I think about the coming changes, the site I recommend is Pillowfort.

About Pillowfort:

Pillowfort is a new blogging platform currently in open beta with over 140,000 registered users. The founders of Pillowfort want to create a site that takes the best features from popular blogging platforms while aiming for a site that is user-friendly, community-friend, efficient, and fun. We’re passionate about providing our users more privacy and more control over their content, while offering better ways to hold conversations.

It’s kinda small, but it has potential. A lot of Tumblr users (including myself) have already headed over there and created accounts as a backup plan if Tumblr ends up nuking itself, although I personally doubt that will happen.

Now, time to ruffle some feathers:

I personally have very few issues with the actual proposed changes. However, I do have concerns about how far they will go with those changes.

Something I’ve noticed is that, of all social media sites, Tumblr has the highest concentration of “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” folks. And there’s nothing wrong with that, necessarily.

However, the reality is that the internet and internet culture are constantly evolving.

What tends to happen is that as companies get bigger and eventually sit close to the top of an industry, they become beholden to the majority if they want to stay relevant.

It makes me think of how celebrities and politicians who make it to the top have to say all the right things and strive to meet certain mainstream expectations at the cost of true individuality/being genuine/making a difference, if their goal is to stay relevant and popular. That same principle applies to the business world.

Now, I don’t claim to be an expert in matters of business, but there are things I’ve learned over the years from observing business practices and people in general. I’m also fascinated by the why behind what certain businesses do what they do, so here are my thoughts no one asked for:

Like any company, Tumblr cannot possibly care about what every part of the user base likes AND what works to keep the overall user base alive.

Numbers and data speak louder than the protests of what the data determines to be the minority. The data could always be wrong, but there’s no way for them to tell for sure. They will make changes based on the hard data unless they find sufficient proof that it’s inaccurate.

Tumblr’s vision for the future takes priority. A good company makes every action count toward that vision.

Sometimes company visions change, especially in response to changes in an industry or mainstream culture. This means that those who were on board with Tumblr’s previous vision will likely leave. And Tumblr is okay with this because the data says they’ll still have the support of the majority.

Like any company that wants to succeed, Tumblr would not be making any of these changes if they thought it would cause the site to fail. Something (the data, other sites’ success, etc.) is telling them that they can make these changes without killing the site entirely. Whether or not that ends up being true is to be determined.

Now, to speculate about the proposed changes anon mentioned:

Stagnation is death. Without bringing in and providing support to new creators and users, Tumblr will die. The key is finding a balance between the current user base that wants things to stay the same and bringing in and keeping newcomers.

“Get creators’ new content in front of people who are interested in it” sounds to me like users will still have control over how much new content they see.

Currently, we have the separate “For You” page that already shows new content from Tumblrs we don’t follow. However, it’s very easy for the For You page to go unnoticed and to be forgotten.

I think the best course of action is to switch things around:

As the default for new users, show posts from Tumblrs outside of their follow lists in their main feeds in addition to the stuff from Tumblrs they follow.

Give all users the option to toggle this off and see little to no new content in their main feeds.

For those who choose to see very little new content in their main feeds, move the new stuff someplace else while keeping it accessible.

The solution is as simple as providing options and honoring individuals’ curation of their experiences.

I actually agree that reblogs and replies are highly confusing to most people. It’s difficult to follow a reblog thread when unrelated reblogs all end up bunched in one place. Manually clicking through to try to read all the different reblog threads is not fun. I’m all for eliminating the confusion and frustration.

I have a hunch that collapsing reblog threads won’t be as devastating as many people are thinking it will be. Tumblr would never get rid of something so vital to the site’s culture and success if they didn’t have something better in mind. (Whatever they have in mind for addressing points 1-4, specifically)

As for emails being “forced” upon us if push notifications are turned off, I doubt this will end up being more than a small annoyance.

“Identify opportunities for personalization within our email messages” tells me that Tumblr will be giving users control over what they receive and how frequently. This is no different than what a lot of other successful companies are doing.

Closing thoughts:

I’m not taking a side or saying all of the changes are good. Heck, I’m not happy about some of the changes, but personally, I’m willing to see what awaits and to adapt.

This is not to say people who end up leaving are wrong to do so and that those who end up staying are better (or vice versa). This is not a post about right or wrong action. These are merely my thoughts on what is happening and why.

Tumblr is doing what they think will work while keeping in mind their guiding principles and the future vision for the company.

Companies change all the time. Typically, those that adapt are the most successful.

People generally want to find a company—or in this case, a website—that aligns with their personal values and desires. If Tumblr ends up not being that website anymore, there are other options—like Pillowfort. Their vision is bound to align better with some people’s desires.

People have every right to be angry about Tumblr’s changes, but anger can only do so much.

I leave anyone who’s read this far with Tumblr Staff’s reply to the algorithm rage:

#tumblr update #tumblr changes #personal opinion

[whatisthismandoinghere]

So the Wagon Train episode “The Bob Stuart Story” is one of my favorites because I love the bit of backstory we get on Coop. It’s really good but I also got some beef with it 😂

I guess I should preface this a little bit. I know westerns really play up the back shooting bit and that they treat it like a cardinal sin, but there are times when it’s your only option. So I don’t necessarily hold true to that line of thinking and I honestly don’t know how controversial that is but I mean if you’re in a life or death situation and your potential killer turning their back on you is your only opportunity to get out of said situation, you take it I hope this makes some kind of sense I obviously don't mean that you should just go around shooting people in the back for fun though, there are times where it is a dirty move, but anywho onto the matter at hand

I do not care for Stuart, at all. And it’s not just because Coop is one of my favorite characters and he’s the one that shot him in the back I know I’m quite biased but I promise that ain’t it this time lol Yes range wars were a messy business and so was being a hired gun in one but Coop explained that when he saw the marshal coming that he was turning to tell his men to put their guns down Now while Stuart didn’t necessarily know that, it didn’t give him the right to shoot Coop in the back. It’s the same principle with law enforcement today (AND THIS IS NOT AN INVITATION TO DISCUSS THAT, THIS IS A POLITICS FREE POST, PLEASE DO NO START THAT HERE) but if you’re too scared to do your job, law enforcement isn’t for you. If you’re too afraid that someone’s gonna shoot you and you’re trigger happy at the slightest movement, then you shouldn’t be here Stuart had no right to assume what Coop was gonna do and he could’ve killed him

I also hate that since Coop had to unfortunately shoot his friend in the back he’s supposed to magically understand Stuart now. That’s not how this works. These were two completely different situations. Coop saw that his friend (I can’t remember if it was Felix or Thomas) was about to shoot Stuart who was defenseless at the moment because his gun had jammed. though I will argue that Stuart wasn’t worth saving and I would’ve just let him have it but I digress Stuart on the other hand had no idea what Coop was up to during that range war. Yes he could’ve been telling his men to fire, yes he could’ve been reloading his rifle, but he also could’ve been putting his gun down, or he could’ve been telling his men to do the same (which we learned was the case). With that many different possible circumstances you can’t just follow the philosophy of “shoot first, ask questions later”

Chris made me so mad in this episode too. Coop made the decision to be an adult and make him aware of the situation and Chris flat out tells him that he’ll side with the lawman until he can be convinced otherwise. And he said that right to his face And then two seconds later Chris is like “if it’s a life or death situation, Coop is the man I want in my corner” you can’t have it both ways pally. And the little lecture he gave him at the end about how no man is perfect, well yeah, obviously, that doesn’t excuse Stuart’s actions though!! Coop still has a right to be mad at the man who shot him in the back!! I really wish everyone would just stop trying to convince Coop otherwise and maybe take a minute to listen to his side of the story. Coop told Chris, “He (Stuart) hasn’t done anything to change my mind, Chris.” and he’s right, nothing has changed between them, Coop was just doing his job as the scout for the wagon train. He doesn't owe Stuart anything, whether that be respect, or forgiveness, or whatever

All of that complaining aside, I do really like how this episode explores a piece of Coop’s background, and it’s a really interesting one. It really adds another layer to his character and it’s a good bit of writing

#wagon train #cooper smith #my ramblings #i've noticed there's barely any wagon train content here #so i'm doing my part and contributing 😂

[aeoki]

High and Low: At World’s End - Chapter 9

Location: Inside the Rental Bus Characters: Tetora, Tomoya, Hinata, Mitsuru & NEGI

Season: Autumn Writer: Akira

< A few hours later. >

NEGI: “Sorry. Let me rest for a bit.”

“I’ve been driving the entire time so I’m exhausted… And it looks like the idols are drained from exhaustion and car sickness too.”

“Which means it’s going to be free time for you guys. You can do whatever you want but just don’t go too far, okay?”

Mitsuru: Woohoo~☆

Wahaha! I feel great! The horizon goes on for miles and miles! Australia’s big and flat and it’s great for running!

Tetora: Mitsuru-kun, it’s dangerous to just jump off the bus like that~ Well, it doesn’t look like there are any cars passing by here, though.

Mitsuru: There’s not really anything here, let alone cars.

Tetora: You’re right… We’ve been told we’re cast in this ridiculous TV show called “High and Low”, so I didn’t get my hopes up thinking we could go around seeing famous tourist attractions.

To be honest, I heard people talking about it so much that I lost interest, but now that there’s nothing around here, I kinda want to see something.

Hinata: There’s way less stuff to film than I thought. We’re just sitting in a bus the entire time.

Is this okay? Anzu-san filmed a little while we were on the move but is this really something that will entertain the viewers?

Tetora: Hmm. Well, it’s our job as idols to make it into a “fun show”.

But it’s not that easy, huh… I’m a little tired so I’m gonna sleep inside.

Hinata: Ahaha. Tetsu-kun, you were looking after Sora-kun and Hime-kun the entire morning, after all. Thanks for that.

Tetora: Osu. You scratch my back and I scratch yours. One for all and all for one.

No matter how much “RYUUSEITAI” changes or breaks down, I want to believe that it’s right for us to stand by those fundamental principles.

Hinata: That sounds tough~ At least for us in “2wink”, we don’t have to worry about carrying our upperclassmen’s legacy or whatnot so it’s a lot more comfortable.

Tetora: Ahaha. In my eyes, things look way harder on your side since you don’t have a model to follow.

Tomoya: Don’t talk about serious stuff like that when we’re taking a break… Do it outside, okay?

Hinata: Ahaha. You were so cheerful this morning, but I guess even you’re tired now, huh, Tomo-kun.

Tomoya: Yeah… I thought I was used to weird situations because of the Masked Pervert, but I’m just really carsick.

NEGI: “Sorry, that would be my fault. I thought everyone wanted me to step on it, so that’s what I did.”

Tetora: Ah, thanks for driving us! Umm, should I be calling you NEGI-senpai…?

NEGI: “Yeah. Well, whatever’s fine.”

“I gave a simple explanation before we left, but you can just treat me as if I’ve got something like a split personality.”

Tetora: Right… I was actually curious about something else, but you’ve got a proper driver’s licence, right, NEGI-senpai?

NEGI: “Yup. I’m definitely not the kind of person to drive illegally. It looks like it’ll be a pain in the neck to get caught by the police overseas.”

“Besides, I wouldn’t be able to hire a vehicle if I didn’t have one in the first place.”

Tetora: Ah no, I’m not saying that you seem like the kind of person to drive without a licence, but even though you’re our upperclassman, you’re technically still the same age as us, right?

NEGI: “In Australia, even someone who’s the same age as my little brother can get their licence.”

“Some time ago, 'Uncle' gave me my ID and said he gave it to me so I could live anywhere in the world. Looks like I was able to put it to good use this time.”

“I did the paperwork, got the licence and was able to hire a car.”

Tetora: ………?

NEGI: “But the thing is, I did sneakily practice a little on my own but I’ve basically got little to no experience. My driving will be a bit rough around the edges no matter what, so I hope you’ll be a bit understanding on that part.”

Hinata: Well, to say the most, no one said you were a good driver, though~♪

NEGI: “I figured. Sorry. It would’ve been better if we had another driver apart from me, but we don’t even know anyone in Australia. We’ve got no connections.”

“It took everything in my ability to hire a vehicle with my poor English and gesturing.”

“But the person working there had a weird reaction… They looked at me and looked pretty surprised.”

“I wonder why. They reacted like they knew me or if I resembled some celebrity.”

“Before I could ask them for details, they practically shoved the vehicle in my face and chased me out.”

“Thanks to that, they didn’t check my ID because it was suspicious or anything, though.”

Tetora: ………?

NEGI: “Whoops. Sorry, I’ll take a nap. If I spend any more energy talking then there would have been no point in my stopping the bus.”

Tetora: Ah, right. Good night.

NEGI: “Night. …My brother might wake up while I’m sleeping, so don’t do anything un-called for and just let us rest, okay?”

“Even if I’m asleep, if he moves about then it won’t be resting.”

Tetora: Okay?

NEGI: “Zzz… Zzz…♪”

Hinata: They're asleep. They're kinda weird, oddly enough.

Tetora: Ahaha. Last year, the idol course was known to be a nest of oddballs, but I guess there are some weird people in the “producer course”, too.

Well, this person’s really helpful so I think it’s fine to treat them like they’re our ally.

Hinata: Idols and producers are supposed to be allies in the first place, right?

It’s normal for ES idols to compete for power so that’s pretty obvious, no~? ♪

← Previous Chapter ᠂ ⚘ ˚⊹˚ ⚘ ᠂  Next Chapter →

#high and low

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

Oh God, I was just saying last week how I don’t go on Twitter because an hour on there can make me angry about like five different things that don’t matter. I listen to my CBC podcasts every day, where I get the actual news from sources as reputable and un-sensationalized and conscious of journalistic integrity as I can possibly find, and that’s still very upsetting, makes me angry about all those things that do actually matter. I do my best to do my civic duty of being informed, and therefore angry, about genuine issues, and do not have the energy or the responsibility to also get angry about whatever bullshit is on Twitter.

That’s how I normally see things, it really is. But I made the mistake of jumping on Twitter in the last couple of days because it was really annoying me that the normally reputable CBC news was giving the coronation so much attention, and I wanted to see some comedians talk shit about it. But I came across this and I think I might be mad about some shit that doesn’t matter again.

God damn it, Adam. God damn it. I realize I don’t really get to be surprised by this, given that he accepted an MBE last year. But I figured that was different, you can accept an award without endorsing the organization that gave it to you. I mean, you can’t, it is a tacit endorsement and someone with perfect integrity would turn down an award from a corrupt organization, but realistically, most people won’t do that, and I don’t think I have enough integrity myself to judge people for that. And Sandi Toksvig’s got an OBE, so I can’t start hating everyone who’s accepted honours.

Also, I thought he did deserve it. Adam Hills has done a lot to advance the cause of disability rights, and not just by being a high-profile disabled comedian who uses his platform to give attention to other disabled comedians, writers, and athletes as much as he can. He’s also raised awareness about a lot of issues, campaigned for causes that matter, raised money, contributed to increasing the profile of the Paralympics and disabled sport in Britain. He did a lot of that stuff for many years and when it was announced that he got this award, I thought it’s nice to see that recognized, even if it’s through less-than-ideal means.

Obviously the real reason I can’t be surprised by this coronation thing was their incredibly painful post-queen death episode last year, where they went so far beyond all the other shows that toed the line of national mourning enough to avoid getting in trouble with the Daily Mail. Last Leg was the only comedy show I saw go way beyond that, an almost completely uncritical veneration of the queen and the entire monarchy.

And honestly, it has coloured my views ever since. I tried to get over it and just enjoy the show anyway, but it wasn’t quite as much fun anymore. The season of The Last Leg that aired earlier this year had its ups and downs, it had a few really strong episodes that I completely enjoyed. But a lot of its average or below-average episodes, which I might have previously enjoyed anyway just because I really like the hosts and the format and the show overall, didn’t have that goodwill from me anymore. Adam Hills specifically no longer has that goodwill from me, because he was always the one I respected for how politically engaged and opinionated he was, and that is slipping away fast.

This fucking Twitter/Facebook post might scrap the last of that respect, I don’t know if there’s coming back from this. Not even because I want to boycott The Last Leg on principle or whatever (I’m quite sure The Last Leg does not give one fuck whether I watch it), but because the hosts’ likeability carries a lot of that show, and if I don’t like them anymore, then I won’t be able to enjoy it even if I try. They’ve aired 300 episodes and I’ve watched them all and enjoyed many of them, but I might be about done with it.

God damn it, Adam. Why did you have to be like this?

[xseildnasterces]

dance macabre.

Lets see how much I can write before M calls me in half an hour. I cannot remember if I wrote this yesterday or not, but because even if I did I will write it again because I’m so excited! M and I finally got approved to go to Abu Dhabi in October for a conference. I cannot wait. I am slightly annoyed that they will not allow us to fly business (the principle of the issue because other people get to fly business for conferences, but I digress). Either way, we are going and I am excited about it.

Anyway, back to being home… and Download! Download was so much fun. We stayed in the RIP area again this year and I honestly cannot see myself going back to normal camping after experiencing RIP for the last two years. Another change to the normal schedule, my mum and sister came! I had such a great time. Download really is my happy place. No matter what is going on in my life, nor what is getting me down or causing me stress, Download just gives me the time I need, and freedom to just ‘be’. I always feel this way. I feel so relaxed and happy there even when I am on my own. It’s also one of the only places that I don’t feel anxiety. I can wander around alone, shop, watch bands and just hang out alone and still feel perfectly fine. Download is only just over, but I am already excited and ready for next year - because of course I have already bought my ticket. This year was the 20th anniversary of Download, and it was the busiest I have ever seen it. I must admit that I hope that it isn’t as busy next year when we go back to the usual three days instead of four. It was so busy that I never even managed to enter the onsite co-op because the queue was almost constantly an hour along, as was the march stand. There was just so many more people than usual, and traffic on the way was insane. Some people were waiting in traffic for over 7 hours! Thankfully it was only 2 for us, but even still, I had never experienced traffic like that on the way to Download ever before. The reason is was so crazy is because, as mentioned already, it was the 20th anniversary and because Metallica were playing it was four night (Metallica played two nights - do not get me started on that). I’m never a big watched of headliners, and this year was the same. I did watch all of BMTH which I honestly thought was amazing. So much better than when I saw them at one of my early years at the festival, I watched some of Metallica because everyone else was watching them (but only for one of the nights, I went back to the tent on the other night), and then watched a little of Slipknot before heading to the Guest Area to hang out and drink hot chocolate on the last night.

Despite the crazy amounts of people and all the extra TV screens, barriers and whatever else, I still managed to get the barrier - on my own - for Within Temptation, and Placebo, for which I was super happy about. I also got to see Erica and Ghost for the first time, both of which I loved so much. Ghost were so fun and I danced like crazy. My arms were hurting after the last night and my feet felt like they were about to drop off, but as always, it was more than worth it and I wouldn’t change a thing. I don’t think I can ever explain to people just how much this festival means to me and how much joy and happiness it brings me. 

I ate far too much rubbish food, spent the first evening and start of the second morning throwing up into the tent bin - which was horrendous, and started with what seemed like the worst cold I had ever experienced, but that didn’t take away from the weekend. I loved having K and my mum there and I love that my mum enjoyed it so much. It was also nice that she had access to disability platforms etc because of her medical condition. I think this made it better for her as standing for so long can be difficult for her these days. 

The weather was also insane. The Saturday and Sunday were so hot that we all spent time back at the tents trying our best to find any tiny bit of shade that we could in order to not die. It was actually unbearable a lot of the time. So many people fainted, got heatstroke, didn’t drink enough water or were just passed out somewhere. I skipped a few bands too because I couldn’t cope with standing in direct sun any longer - thankfully it wasn’t anyone that I was really wanting to see, because if that had been the case I would have stood in the sun regardless! God knows how much water I drank that weekend, nor how much money I spent on it.

Regarding the ‘cold’ that I appeared to get, it appears that the Download lurgy has struck down numerous people, all of whom, like me, are currently on antibiotics for it in the hope that it will go away. The weather made the dust horrendous and breathing that in for numerous days clearly did not do anyone's lungs very good. It seems to have greatly irritated my sinuses and everything else and because of my compromised immune system, my doctor just wanted to be sure that I had antibiotics to get rid of anything that was causing problems. I have been on them for 4 days so far and I don’t seem to be any better… so that will mean another trip to the doctor in a week's time. Oh well, let’s see what happens!

[Blog title: Dance Macabre - Ghost].

#ghost #download #downloadfestival #life #life update #me #personal #diary #journal #danec macabre #dance macabre #feelings #thoughts #thought #download festival #festival season

[palbabor-writes]

Practicum

Pairing: Shigaraki Tomura x Fem!Reader

Warnings: SMUT/18+ only, unbalanced/unhealthy relationships, student/teacher sex, tw.dubcon, tw.sub/dom dynamics, brat taming, fingering, masturbation, a table is pretty roughed up in this, so pls hold a brief moment of silence for it    

Words: 12,857

“So, you just want me to read from the book?”

“Yes.”

“And...answer questions?”

“That’s what I said,” Shigaraki smirks, already reaching toward his bookshelf, tugging the heavy Intro to Biology text out and shifting it into his large hands.

You bite at your lip again and pass your gaze from his amused expression to the bland cover of the textbook, debating your next move, trying to walk yourself through all the ups and downs. It’s too simple; too easy. It’s not like him. He’s got something else in mind, why else would he fucking look like that? It’s not a bad look. No, it’s a look that makes your stomach flip and head spin.

“Stop being so suspicious,” Shigaraki scolds, drawing your wandering attention back to him. “I don’t bite, that is, unless you want me to.”

Notes: the title was selected because it’s got the word cum in it. ahhh, the things that crack me up. anyhow. 

this is part of the BNHA Degeneracy server’s 9 to 5 collaboration! i had a ton of fun participating in this and thank you guys for making this so freaking awesome! special shoutout & thanks to @albinoburrito​ & @kugutsuu​ for their beta edits! this was a departure from what i usually write about and i appreciate all of your notes and help!  

Practicum prac·ti·cum /ˈpraktəkəm/ noun a practical section of a course of study

It’s your senior year, they said. Live a little, they advised. Stop and take a breather, you’re practically home free! Take some easier classes. Focus on what’s in front of you, it’ll be over before you know it! On and on and on. 

Spring semester is almost here. You’ve applied for graduation, the cap and gown ordered, and you have a shiny class ring sitting on your pinky. It’s in the bag. Just breeze through four more classes and you’re out. Well, it would be an easy shot, if you hadn’t put off this one class. 

It always popped up, so it’s not like you could plead ignorance. Your advisor warned you, each quarterly meeting, that you needed to get it out of the way. Take it seriously, he cautioned, clacking out his notes, typing down that you’d failed to heed his sage advice, again. If you wait too long, you’re not going to get the professor that you want.

That was the other problem. You’re a procrastination superstar. If there was some kinda award for putting off assignments, you’d have won it ten times over. You liked the heart pounding race to the deadline, the sleepy boasts that you’d tackled the project within hours of its due date. 

It’s a stupid habit. Every semester you promise yourself that you’ll do better. You won’t wait, you’ll tackle things one assignment at a time and turn them before the hard cut off at 11:59 pm. Who the fuck did you think you were kidding? Certainly not your friends, or your advisor. He could read you like a book. Hell, he’d even sent warnings. 

‘Don’t forget about the deadline for senior registration!’

‘You don’t want to be on a waitlist. You especially don’t want to take one of the harder professors. These are freshman level classes, they’re designed to flunk undergrads. Don’t forget (Y/N), chew them up and spit them out tactics are employed.’ 

But you had. You’d set an alarm on your phone, then neglected to give it a title, so you’d only chuckled and smacked the chirping into silence that morning, snoozing the all important deadline away. 

Fuck. 

Most of the classes for biology are wait-listed. No, scratch that, all the classes for Intro to Genetic Biology are wait-listed. You opt into the waitlist for all of them, just in case, and a week later your phone alerts you that one has an open seat. Actually, it has several open seats, too many open seats to be natural. However, you’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth, so for now, you’re enrolled in BIO 1208: Principles of Cell and Organismal Physiology - For Non-Science majors. 

Perfect.

Yeah, no. You’d looked up the professor, since the whole open seat thing was still giving you the heebie-jeebies, and your heart dropped. You’ve heard of him, most of the student body has. His classes are notoriously small. Not because the university limited them, or planned for smaller class sizes. No, his classes are tiny because he is infamous for failing students. 

Most, when they realize they’re scheduled for his bio classes, frantically drop, taking the withdrawal and praying for better luck next semester. Others, brave souls who think they can come out unscathed, attempt to grit their teeth and push through. But, by midterms, they’re war torn and haggard, shaking their heads and praying for a ‘C’, at best. Fewer still, pass.

This pedagogy isn’t a sign of good teaching; quite the opposite, in fact. You don’t want your student body failing. Yet, year after year, Professor Tomura Shigaraki keeps teaching the same Intro to Bio class. It boggles the mind, but you’ve never had to worry about it. Well, until now. 

When you’d received the notification that you’re enrolled in the B section and spied the name Shigaraki under the professor listing, you’d scarfed down your suddenly flavorless lunch and dashed up the steps to the student advising hall, praying there was some way you could wiggle your way out of this growing disaster.

“I’m pretty sure I told you to take it earlier and to take it in the fall when there are more freshman level classes available. I swear I said that to you. And, AND, I even sent you emails, several times if my sent inbox is to be believed, to NOT forget when senior registration ends.” 

Your advisor is peeved. You don’t blame him. He’s right, this is your fault, but there’s gotta be some kinda loophole. Something, fuck, anything, that can pull you from this mess. 

“I know, I know! I’m so sorry. You’re right. But, I mean, can’t I just hold off for another week? See if the waitlist clears?”

The man that you’ve known for four years, that’s seen you progress from freshman to senior, steeples his long fingers and purses his lips, likely debating on a tactful scolding, or a firm rebuttal. He takes a deep breath and you can’t help but sink into the soft cushioning of the chair, your nose wrinkled and brow furrowed, mentally preparing yourself for the worst.

“Do you know how many students we require to take BIO 1208?”

“No,” you gulp, nibbling on your lower lip nervously. 

“Over 7,000. Do you want to hear the statistics that would need to shake out in your favor for you to miraculously avoid taking this specific class? Nothing is going to open for you, it is this class, or no class.”

You sigh, and your advisor nods, pushing his horn-rimmed glasses up his nose. “Well then, I suggest you brush up on your study skills. Find a classmate that you can compare notes with, join a study group, go to the student union and ask for a tutor. I would hate to see you back here for the summer semester. You’re scheduled to walk the stage this spring and you’ve worked hard for this, so don’t fuck it up, okay?”

You’ve attended this university for four years, but the first day of term always gives you the jitters. It doesn’t matter that you know your way around, or that you know ten professors by name, and bump into several friends on the way to your next building, you’re always buried in your phone, checking and double checking the next class’ room number. 

Despite all that caution, you’re lost.

In your defense, it’s your first time stepping foot in the Graduate & Research building and the whole concrete block is a fucking maze. There must be a basement because the numbers don’t match up with the floors and they seem to jumble further every time you round a corner. Like what the hell? How can this next room be GR 3.03.05 when this is clearly only the second floor and GR 2.03.11 was right down that other hallway?

Exasperated, you lean against the nearest wall and tug your phone out again. Shit. Class started ten minutes ago. 

Part of you wants to call it a day, end the search here and try again on Wednesday. Maybe take a few extra minutes to scout out the building next time and have some idea of where you’re going before the start of class. 

Ugh, why is this so stressful? 

It’s the first day of classes. Surely Professor Shigaraki won’t mind if you’re a few minutes late; besides, if you’re lost, others must be too. 

You tuck your phone back into your pocket and resume the hunt. Two hallway turns later, you find your mark.

Your hand pauses beside the heavy wood, and you take a steadying breath. Again, why are you so nervous? Just go in and take a seat, it’s easy, stop freaking out over nothing. 

The door groans open, hinges protesting the sharp push, and you stumble into a darkened room. The low glow of the projector doesn’t help your blurry vision. Ah, shit, it’s one of those older rooms, so it’s built like a bad movie theater. Oh well, better get to a seat before he spots you. 

Swiftly, you make your way toward the raised steps of the aisle and the second row of chairs, plopping into the first one you reach that’s empty. You’re too busy fiddling with the zipper of your backpack to notice that the speaker has stopped his rasping preamble, but as you pull your laptop out the ominous weight of that heavy silence hits you and you toss a hooded stare toward the front of the lecture hall. 

Immediately, your eyes land on the professor’s and you feel a low shiver shake up your spine. 

He’s watching you. 

The gleam of the overhead projector makes his red eyes flash, and he openly scowls at your gaping expression, his lips curling into a dark sneer.

“Well, thank you for joining us, Miss…?”

He’s waiting for your response and you squeak out your last name, mindlessly rubbing your moistening palms against your thin skirt. 

“Ah, Ms. (L/N). Now that you’ve graced the class with your belated presence, may I continue?”

“Uh,” you gasp out, your mouth dry, tongue sticking to your teeth, “I’m sorry. I got–”

“I didn’t ask for an explanation, or in your case, an excuse. Or are you now attempting to disrupt this class purposefully?”

“Wha– I-I’m–” your words stumble to a halt, voice failing under the intense glare that he’s giving you. “No,” you finish lamely, ducking your head, nails digging into your sweaty palms. 

“Thank you. Do me a favor, stay after class.” His voice is gravel, threatening and low. You don’t like the edge in his tone. It makes your skin prickle and your knees knock. He sounds like the kind of guy that you don’t want to run into in a dark alleyway, or a classroom, for that matter. Even so, it’s not your fault, and despite your feelings of unease, you can’t tamp down your need to protest his unreasonableness. 

“But, professor, I didn’t mean to–”

“If I need to repeat my insistence for silence, I’ll make things easier on both of us and fail you now.”

Stunned and fuming, you bite your tongue and lean back into your chair, crossing your arms and blinking back mounting tears of frustration. Great, just great. It’s the first fucking day of class and it looks like you’re already on his shit list. And for what? For being late on fucking syllabus day! What an ass. 

You look over at him as you defiantly finish setting up your computer, hoping each pull of a zipper or screen reboot will grate under his stuck up skin. He’s not inordinately tall, or old. In fact, he looks like he might only be in early 30s. He has long white hair that’s pulled back into a low ponytail and, from what you can make out in the dim lighting, some kinda skin condition on his forehead. That, or he’s prematurely wrinkled, and let’s be honest, if he’s gone through life with that big of a stick up his ass, he deserves each and every pull on that mottled skin of his. 

You linger in your seat when class is over, lips pulled into a thin line and legs crossed. Finally, when the last student has left the room, professor Shigaraki flips a switch beside his elevated podium, filling the lecture hall with a sharp, fluorescent light. He pauses by his raised computer system and clicks off the overhead projector, blanketing the massive room in an uncomfortable silence. 

“Since you missed the part of class where I go over the syllabus, I’ll give you a brief rundown. Under no circumstances will I tolerate tardiness. If you do it once more I’ll mark you absent and three absences knock you down a full letter grade.”

Glumly, you cross your arms and peer up at him, finally able to get a good look at his face. Your first observation was correct. His skin is sharper around his forehead, but his wavy white hair does a pretty decent job of covering up the imperfections. He has two scars: one nicks across his right eye and the other splits down his rough lips, parting the skin and granting him an even more foreboding appearance than his already gruff demeanor does. He’s dressed in a dark pair of jeans and he’s wearing a low slung v neck shirt. It’s a brilliant red and it brings out that otherworldly glint of his red eyes. Shit, you think bitterly, while he’s not conventionally handsome, he’s not exactly hard on the eyes either. 

You shake your head against these unproductive musings and curtly snap out a clipped, ok.

“What was that?” Shigaraki scoffs, tilting his head at your sullen figure. “Speak up.”

“I said,” you bristle, eyes narrowing and chin lifting, “Okay, I apologize for interrupting your lecture, it won’t happen again. But, in my defense, if I’m allowed to do that in this class, I’ve never been in this building before, and it’s not like–”

“You’re a senior, right?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Then you’ve had four years to figure out the layout of this university. The excuse of ‘being lost,’ isn’t an option for you. You know the buildings and you’re fully capable of turning up early to sort out the rooms.”

You let out a long sigh and look away, mumbling vague protests. This guy is ridiculous. You’re not a science major and it’s not your job to know the ins and outs of each building. How fucking stupid. Who does he think he–

“Speak up. I won’t ask you again.”

You bite your lip and look back at him but he’s moved in that distracted moment, silently stepping down from his raised platform and is now leaning over the first row of chairs, looming over you. You can’t help your sudden flinch as you sink further into your chair, away from him.

“If you’re gonna complain, Ms. (L/N), I’d much rather hear it. Don’t you think It’s rude for you to mutter under your breath about me? You don’t see me doing that to you.”

“Fine,” you blurt out, turning away from his insistent, and all too close, gaze. “I was saying that I’m not a science major. I get that I’m a senior, but you can’t seriously expect me to know every nook and cranny of this campus.”

“No, but I can ask for you to be a little more thoughtful. I put time and effort into my lessons and I won’t have you undermining them by bouncing in here with those legs and that flouncy little skirt.”

You’re about to counter his little haughty speech on politeness when you finally process that final comment he’d breathed out. Flabbergasted, you raise your head back to his, but he’s already moving away, snatching up his shoulder bag and waving you a curt goodbye as he presses open the squeaky door. “Next class is at 10 am sharp, so be on time Ms. (L/N).”

You’re still slumped in your seat when the door glides shut again, your eyes wide and jaw no doubt comically unhinged. 

Wait. Did…did he really just say that?

Obviously, for the next class, you’re early. You’re so early that you’re the first one in the lecture hall. You select a seat toward the back and fiddle with your computer, checking your messages, adjusting your brightness, replying to old emails, anything to keep your head down and attention occupied. 

The door opens and, despite your best efforts, your head flies up, expectant and tense, ready to meet those red eyes of his head on, to show him you’re here and he better… oh. It’s not him. It’s two chattering freshmen. One of them gives you a quick smile, but they both quickly take their seats, a few rows over, and continue their soft conversation, leaving you to fall back onto your earlier distraction tactics. You twiddle with your phone and shoot off a few texts, change your wallpaper, accidentally close an app you meant to leave open, and then the lecture hall door reopens.

He steps in slowly, completely ignoring you and the other scattered students, opting to sort out a few papers and set up his login on the school computer. The minutes tick by and you can’t seem to jerk your eyes away from him, suddenly fascinated by his languid movements. He looks more relaxed than he did on Monday, looser and fluid, completely in his element. True to his word, at ten am on the dot he begins class. 

Professor Shigaraki has an interesting voice. It’s low, calculated, bordering on a rasp. It’s one of those tones that makes you want to lean forward and listen up, even though he’s only discussing cellular biology. Which isn’t exactly the sexiest topic for that shockingly dulcet timbre of his. 

Wait. Sexy? 

Your pen falters against your notebook, and your eyes drift up to his frame. He’s switched the lights off again and the shine of the overhead projector is the only illumination in the hall. His white hair gleams in the dim lighting and his long hands animatedly illustrate his points, elegant fingers opening and closing, gesticulating about the intricate nature of the human genome. You’re so focused on watching his movements that your elbow partner has to push the slip of paper onto your collapsible desktop. You blink at the sheet, your pen nearly clattering from your hand, and you twist to peer at the unfamiliar student beside you. 

“It’s the attendance sheet and, um, I think you’re the last one,” they whisper, careful to lean away after they finish their explanation, not wanting to draw professor Shigaraki’s ire. You maneuver the paper under your pen and scribble down your name, biting your lip and silently berating yourself for your poor selection in seating. Great, now you’ll have to take the paper down to him after class. What if he talks with you again? Shit. 

At 11:25, class ends. You collect your things and plod down the steps, the attendance sheet clutched between your fingers. He’s just snapping the projector light off when you reach his podium. 

“I, uhh, have the attendance. You want me to just leave it here, or…”

“I’ll take it,” his hand is extended toward you and those red eyes are fixed on you now. It’s not the same disgruntled stare he’d given you on Monday. No, this look is a little more curious. Again, you’re taken aback by your reaction to him. He’s not even saying anything, just patiently waiting for you to deposit the sheet into his open palm, but there’s something about him that’s making your heart race. 

Maybe it’s those eyes of his. 

They are an unusual color and they have a strange intensity to them. Right as they narrow, the vermillion shining under the sharp lights; you press the paper to him and he pulls it from you, studying the names that are listed. 

You want to say something. Maybe toss him a quick, friendly, goodbye. Or apologize for the other day? Ugh. What can you even say? ‘Gosh, so glad I was on time today! All that fascinating information about the genetic code! So glad to be here!’ No, that sounds stupid and a little patronizing. Besides, why do you want to talk with him at all? He’s an ass, remember?

“Did you need something?”

His question snaps you out of your stupor and you numbly shake your head at him, already lowering your gaze, but his exhaled chuckle makes you pause, your fingers curling around your backpack straps.  

“I know I upset you the other day, but I appreciate you taking the effort to correct your mistake.” 

“Oh,” you breathe, your eyes finding their way back to his. “Yeah, well, like you said, I’m a senior. Gotta take responsibility for myself someday.”

“Ah,” he smirks, that long scar on his lip quirking upward. “Seems like you’ve got some determination after all. You might be more interesting than I gave you credit for.”

“God,” you scoff, popping out a hip and crossing your arms at the bemused leer on his face. “Just come right out and say you think I’m a bad student, why don’t you?”

“Don’t worry,” he amends, tucking the attendance sheet into his shoulder bag and snapping the clasps closed. “There’s plenty of time for you to end up right back at square one with me.”

He’s already halfway out the door by the time you right yourself from the shock of his last comment and you follow him, a string of low curses falling from your lips. 

The spring semester always flies by, and before you realize it, a full month has bled away. You’ve kept that same seat in Shigaraki’s class and at the end of each session you head down to his little platform, attendance sheet outstretched. Each day of class has a different ebb and flow. Sometimes he chats with you and it’s gotten easier to talk with him, both of your eyes holding and lingering, lips raised into calculating smiles. Sometimes it almost feels like he’s flirting with you. Other days he only spares you a curt nod, his white hair curtaining his expression from your curious gaze. You’re not bothered by these silences, not when you’ve got your secret weapon. 

The days that you like best, the ones that you plan, sorting through your closet until you’ve found the perfect choice, are the days when you wear one of your skirts. You’d even gone on some skirt shopping sprees as of late. On those days he doesn’t just make some sort of fleeting eye contact with you, no, on those days he stares. 

At first, you’d tested out your theory, staggering your outfits, careful to not screw up your suspicions with a hasty miscalculation, but as they say, the third time’s the charm. How did he expect you not to notice? He never bothers to hide those sharp ogles and recently you’ve made a point of dramatically gathering your things when you wear these cute little ensembles, bopping down the steps so his eyes have to work to follow the line of your hips and the long paths of your bare legs. One rainy afternoon you’d worn over the knee stockings, that came to an abrupt halt over the plush skin of your upper thigh, under your mini skirt and he’d practically leapt over the podium to grab the sheet from you, his eyes hooded and dark, almost wild.

“Test, on Friday,” he warns, eyes finally rising to meet your bemused expression. “Don’t stay out too late tonight.”

“What makes you say that?” you ask, brushing at a rogue fold in your skirt, luring him back to your legs. 

He scoffs at you, that jagged scar arching into a smirk. “Humph. You’re dressed up. Most of the students just wear the sweats, or pjs, and call it a day.” 

“I like to put a little effort in all that I do,” you retort, grinning up at his vermillion stare. 

“Yes, so I’ve noticed. You certainly look the part…and you’re keeping up with the workload of this course.”

“Ahhh,” you crow, clapping your hands excitedly. “Are you saying I might get an ‘A’ in this class? Be the first time someone’s done that in a while, from what I’ve heard around campus.”

Shigaraki sneers and tuts out an inaudible reply, leaning a little closer to you, making you inadvertently fall back a step. “Don’t push your luck.”

“Awe,” you pout, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m doing ok on all the quizzes and the classwork.”

“So far,” he taunts, his pearlescent hair falling over his broad shoulder.

“Tch. Don’t be like that. I’ve been studying.”

“Sometimes it takes more than that.”

“Oh?” you smile, raising your chin. “What else should I be doing, professor?”

“We’ll know that after Friday, won’t we?”

God. 

You’d felt so confident when you’d turned in your test and that stupid, horrible, sexy little quirk of his lip scar that he sends you, when you’d handed him your papers, carries you on some strange, half aroused cloud all weekend. Maybe, just maybe, this class won’t be so bad after all.

The tests are handed back the following Friday, passed from row to row so everyone can fish out their papers and marked Scantrons. Yours, since you still occupy that final seat on the back row, is the last. Biting back a grin, you flip it over, so ready to see that A, that grade that you worked so fucking hard for, that… wait.

The gross flash of red across the top of your paper leaves you reeling, your breath catching against the back of your throat. It’s not a terrible grade, well, it wouldn’t be, but there are only three tests in this class, so it’s going to plummet you down to a B. One more fuck up will leave you with a C, or worse, an automatic failing grade. 

No. No, no, no, no. 

You can’t afford a bad grade, you honestly can’t even let yourself slip to a B. Your fucking cap and gown have just come in and with them that cord that you can wear around your neck at graduation. The one that marks you as honors cum laude. Fuck. You’re already pulling one B, in one of your other classes, because you’ve been focusing so much time and effort on this one. Another B will strip that cord from you, leaving you barren, with a less than ideal GPA. 

God fucking damn it.

You glare up at Shigaraki, who’s busy taking the rest of the class through a review of genetic mutations, but you can’t hear him anymore, too incensed, too overwhelmed to even care about what he’s saying. The test crumples under your fingertips, the paper shaking in your hands, and you seethe, your teeth biting your lower lip to pieces. 

It’s not fair. You’d paid attention. You’ve taken all the notes. Read all the chapters. Drilled and studied till your eyes had drooped, heavy with exhaustion. You’ve done it all right. Plus, he’d been so fucking flirty, so open with you. You’ve never chatted with a professor this way, never gone out of your way to wear clothes they like, that make them watch you, their eyes hungry pinpricks as you walk to them, mindful of the luscious sway of your hips. 

No. Fuck him. Fuck this class.

Before your elbow classmate can leave, you ask for them to hand in the attendance sheet. You barely hear their response, too busy slamming your laptop into your backpack. As you storm past the podium, you can feel his eyes on you. The distant sensation of his gaze makes your flesh prickle, but you ignore your involuntary reaction and shove your way out the door. 

“(Y/N), you can’t switch classes this late. It’s almost midterms. Besides, I don’t think anything has opened up and if you’re going to drop it, you’ve gotta get the signature of the professor,” your advisor tells you, blinking at your stony expression over his thick glasses. “I don’t get it. Why do you want to drop it? Your grades are alright and it’s just one test. You can always try–”

“Gimme the paperwork.”

Shigaraki’s office is on the top floor of the research building, tucked away down another winding and weaving hallway that once again requires your careful inspection to navigate. When you finally hit the right set of doors, you slowly make your way forward, counting the numbers up as you pass. His door is wide open, a yawning cavern that’s filled with the distant light of a lamp. You brush a hand down your skirt, smoothing away any wrinkles and steadying your nerves. 

You’d tossed on the skirt this morning, before you’d gotten the grade, and you hadn’t thought to go home and change, too consumed by that simmering rage bubbling within you. And now, like this fucking class, this skirt felt like a mistake, something stupid and vapid that you wished you had time to change out of. He’d told you he liked your attire, liked that you put effort into your outfits. At the time, you’d been so thrilled and excited that he’d complimented you, but now you wish you were confronting him in baggy jeans or lazy sweats, anything that would turn that avid gaze of his away from you. 

Lost in thought, you waver beside his open door, nibbling on your lips and tugging at your clothes. It’s now or never. No point in putting it off. What’s the worst that can happen? What can he do now? Or, a darker side of you whispers, what do you want him to do to you? What? That’s a stupid thought, you scold yourself, lifting a hand to the wall and rapping against the beige paint, announcing your presence. 

When the sound fades away, swallowed up by the empty and darkened hallway, you poke your head around the corner, searching for him. His head is tilted quizzically, and he blinks twice when he spots you, that all too familiar smirk lifting his lips. 

“Ah, Ms. (L/N), what can I do for you?”

His voice is softer than usual and your name sounds like honey, his tone resting on the syllables and consonants for a beat, almost as if he’s savoring their lift, their sound. You can’t help but swallow heavily at his appraisal. Suddenly this may be a terrible idea. 

Ugh. Get a grip (Y/N). 

“I-I need you to sign this withdrawal paperwork,” you finally reply, digging in your bag and tugging out the thin leaflet, holding it out to him. He’s silent after your demand, meditatively threading his fingers and peering up at you, his red eyes bright. 

“Step inside and shut the door behind you,” he instructs, his gaze never falling from yours. Despite the simplicity of his request, you can’t help but bristle at his imperious tone. Why does he always have to sound like that? Like he’s seconds away from taking control of the situation, or of you? He’s always one stupid step ahead, and no doubt he’s going to try and talk you down. Or, he’ll sign it and say that he always knew you were a screw up, someone who only did things halfway, who could never match up to his lofty expectations. Humph, the sooner you’re outta here and out of his class, the better. So, you obey, closing the door and petulantly flopping into the unsteady chair that sits in front of his low desk. 

He maintains that uneasy quiet, his red eyes whisking over your disgruntled face, waiting, watching. Unable to take this strange standoff, you push the university paperwork toward him, sliding it as close as you dare to his bent elbows. “I would like to withdraw from your class,” you repeat, lips setting into a thin line. 

“Why?” he asks, cocking his head so his loose white hair falls a little further down his rough brow. 

“Something came up.”

“Hmm, I can try to work with a new schedule, if it’s your job, or home life,” he counters, eyes narrowing as he sharpens his observations of your brittle expression. 

“It’s not that,” you smart, crossing your arms. Great, he’s going to make this difficult. 

“Then I suggest you tell me what’s on your mind,” Shigaraki replies, mirroring your movements and leaning back in his chair. 

“I don’t think this class is working out for me.”

He exhales a soft laugh at your lie, and you watch that tiny mole at the edge of his chin lift in his quiet mirth. “This is a freshman level course and you’re a senior. You’re in my class because it’s likely the last pre-rec that you need to take before you graduate.”

“Um, yeah. But–”

“And now, you’re wanting to drop it because of one poor grade.”

You grind your teeth and fix him with a stark glower. “I–”

“There will be two other tests. If you read your syllabus, you’d know this.”

“I read the syllabus. Your tests are worth a stupid amount of points and it only takes one of them to tank my grade.”

“Frankly, you did better than most of the class. You only need to work on practical application. I said that the written portion would be a major component of the exam. I also provided you with a review and a rubric. So I’m not sure–”

“Your grade drops me to a ‘B’, and that ‘B’ pulls me from the honors list. And… well… I thought that…”

“Oh? What did you think?” he presses, his voice suddenly dropping to that lower octave it had drifted into when he said your last name. 

“I thought I’d get a better grade,” you spit out, turning your head and biting at your lip again. 

“Why?” he counters simply. His obtuseness is making your blood boil.

“What do you mean, why?” It takes all of your will to not slip a ‘jackass’ into that question. 

“It’s not a hard thing to answer. I graded you fairly and according to my rubric. Why exactly do you feel you merit a different grade than the one you earned?”

You fall into a frustrated silence. You can hear your heart pounding against your ribs and you want to scream at him, to leap over his desk and shake him until his teeth fucking rattle. Your shoulders are rising and lowering disjointedly and his vermillion eyes are honed in on your face, shifting over your pinched expression with a distant interest. You can feel tears pricking at your eyes and you hastily rub a fist over them, brushing away any rogue drops of moisture.

“How can you ask me that? You think I didn’t notice you staring at my legs? Or that you always had something to say to me when I was wearing a skirt? What was I supposed to think, huh? I fucking thought shit like that was gonna help, ok? God, I’m so stupid. I can’t… fuck.” 

Shigaraki arches forward when you finish, a deep sigh leaching through his parted lips. His teeth snap together when you look up at him, your eyes gaining back some of that earlier defiance, and he gives you a quick grin, clearly pleased by your shift in attitude and pushes your paper aside, fixing you with a dark look. “Here’s a thought, since you feel you’re so different, I’ll make you a deal. I’ll give you a chance to make up the score.”

“I don’t care about the score anymore. I wanna drop your class,” you snap, but it’s a halfhearted barb. Something has changed in his demeanor. He’s dropped the concerned professor act and is leaning so close you can hear his steady intakes of air. He’s only a few inches away; if you want, you could touch him.

“I doubt you want to attend a class in the summer. Besides, they won’t let you walk if you haven’t finished your freshman level courses. And you can’t tell me you don’t want to graduate, to earn that cord that lets you into the honor cum laude. So stop pouting and hear me out. I think you’ll like what I have in mind.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever like anything about you,” your voice is sharper than you mean it to be, but the challenge makes Shigaraki smile. As it crosses his cracked lips, it pulls that scar up and it makes those eyes of his glow. He looks like the cat that’s got the cream and you’re not sure how to respond, so you cross your legs and wait for him to make the next move. 

“You sure about that? Well, I’ll have to change your tune then, won’t I? But that can wait, lemme tell you what my requirements are. I’ve got a copy of the textbook in here. I’ll have you review some of the major concepts, you’ll read the passages aloud so I’m sure you’re on the right track, you’ll hand the book back to me, and then I’ll verbally quiz you over the material. If you answer them correctly, I’ll bump you to an ‘A’ on your test.”

You have to actively work to keep your mouth closed. “So, you just want me to read from the book?”

“Yes.”

“And… answer questions?”

“That’s what I said,” Shigaraki smirks, already reaching toward his bookshelf, tugging the heavy Intro to Biology text out and shifting it into his large hands. 

You bite at your lip again and pass your gaze from his amused expression to the bland cover of the textbook, debating your next move, trying to walk yourself through all the ups and downs. It’s too simple; too easy. It’s not like him. He’s got something else in mind, why else would he fucking look like that? It’s not a bad look. No, it’s a look that makes your stomach flip and head spin. 

“Stop being so suspicious,” Shigaraki scolds, drawing your wandering attention back to him. “I don’t bite, that is, unless you want me to.”

Your eyes boggle and you have to clench your thighs tighter, your stomach churning, you feel light-headed and you can feel your core fluttering with your sudden arousal. “Wh-what did you just say?”

“Stop gaping at me like that, you’ll make me blush. Now come on.”

Your jaw snaps closed and you shake your head, trying to clear your mind from your whirling emotions. He takes this reaction as a surrender and stands, stepping toward a marred table that rests a little ways away from his desk. He licks his thumb pad and flips through a few pages before finally settling on an appealing section. Once he places it on the table, he twists back to you and crooks a finger your way. “Come here,” he orders, his voice deep and languid. Obediently, you rise on unsteady feet, hands tugging at the length of your skirt, careful to keep it pressed down as you walk toward him. 

He makes space for you to stand in front of the book and shifts back, one hand resting on the table, propping him close to your bent figure. You look up at him, but he only nods his head toward the table, a wicked smile curling the corners of his lips. Blink a few times but finally, the words clear and you can see the block of text that’s in front of you. It’s passages on DNA encodes and RNA proteins, hefty stuff, things that you had to make flash cards for. This isn’t going to be easy. If anything, he’s picked some of the harder concepts, the ones that take steady knowledge in the foundations. Flustered, you look back to him, but he’s moved. He’s leaning against the wide window beside the table, a dark mark against the glass.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, a laugh bubbling in his tone.

“There’s no way…” you stammer, shaking your head at him. 

“Want me to throw a curve in?”

“I should ask what kinda curve, but knowing you, it’s likely gonna be something terrible.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he rumbles, stepping away from the window and leaning close to your stiff form. “It just takes an open mind and some enthusiasm on your part.”

“Enthusiasm?” you question, trying your best to withstand his closeness. You can feel the heat radiating off of his broad shoulder and if you tilt a little nearer, you could graze against him, or feel his breath on your skin. 

“You’re right,” he amends, his forearm contacting your side. You startle at the touch, a gasp falling from your lips, but you don’t pull away and you can’t stop staring up at him, your eyes wide. “Obedience is a better word. From here on out, whatever I tell you to do, I expect you to obey it, although it’s not exactly, ah, school approved.”

“You want me to suck you off or something?” you sneer, hoping to stumble him off his guard, even if it’s only for an instant. Too bad he’s always one step ahead. 

“Don’t be vulgar. Think outside of the box, (Y/N). Do you think I’m going to go for something so short sighted when I could have you bending to my will? Obeying every little demand that I make? I’d much rather see if that skin of yours tastes as good as it looks, then simply have you on your knees. No, I want you to fucking scream for me while I stuff you full of my cock. But first, you need to put in some work. You should know that by now.”

Oxygen is suddenly very hard to come by and you can feel your mind hazing over as you stammer up at him, your mind flitting from word to word disjointedly. Shigaraki grants you a wolfish grin, and he dips his lips beside your ear, whispering over those tiny hairs that rest against your tender skin. “I’ll make this part easy. Nod and I’ll give you the first set of instructions.” 

What did he say? Nod? What happens when you nod? Fuck, why are you letting him do this? Is your grade really worth it? Are you that desperate that… that… 

Shigaraki is whispering other promises over you as you war with yourself, speaking his words gently, slowly, his breath hot as it fans over your neck. It’s like you’ve fallen under some kinda spell and before you realize it, your traitorous head is bobbing up and down, letting him know you want him to keep going.

“Perfect,” he sighs, his lips grazing over the shell of your ear, jerking a shiver from you. “Now, lean forward and put your hands against the table.” 

You do as he says, but he’s not satisfied with your positioning, his fingers wrapping around your wrists and yanking you forward, jutting your ass out and pressing your chest down, maneuvering you until your nose is right above the pages of the textbook. “There we go,” he rasps, pulling away so he can admire your splayed form. “Hmm, your legs are too close together. Spread them.” Knees trembling, you obey, gasping when he runs a palm against the curve of your thighs.

“You’ve got such nice legs (Y/N), so let’s put them on display, shall we?” His fingers search against the top of your skirt and they still when he reaches his prize: the zipper. When he pulls it down, you let out a sharp squeak of protestation but he silences you with a swift pinch to your side. 

“Now, now, don’t be like that. You nodded, remember? Besides, you could have left when I told you I’d give you a curve but you couldn’t help yourself could you? You want me to keep going and to do that, I need you to take this skirt off. No, don’t move. I’ll get rid of it for you. Why don’t you focus on the task at hand, hmm? Aren’t you supposed to be reading for me?”

You arch away from his fingers and he chuckles at your impudence, one large hand hooking under your chin and pulling you toward his face. His red eyes blaze as they find yours, the dark pupils threatening to swallow up that deep vermillion. “Let’s start with the second paragraph. If you do well, I might grant you a reprieve.” 

Jerking your face from his grip, you twist back to the text, trying, and failing, to ignore his inquisitive fingers, unable to resist sighing as he works one up your inner thigh. He pauses when no words fall from your lips and you grumble out a few low curses before acquiescing to his silent demand. 

“The flow of genetic information in cells from DNA to mRNA to protein is described by the Central Dogma, which states that genes specify the sequence of mRNAs, which specify the sequence of proteins. The decoding of one molecule… the… the… molecule… by spec-specific…”

He’s slipped your skirt down over the swell of your ass, but he’s taking his time, flexing out the front of the material and dipping his fingers over the bump of your lower stomach, kneading into the delicate flesh that’s stretched out for him. You can’t help the twitch of your spine and you involuntarily wiggle, palms slipping forward, dragging you further along the tabletop. Shigaraki chuckles above you, running his rough lips over the back of your neck.

“You’re so sensitive. I’ve barely touched you.” 

He circles his hands back to your skirt and edges it along, lowering it sharply on one side and then giving the same treatment to the other. You’re doing your best to keep up with your stammering readings, but it’s difficult when he keeps sighing and running his long nails across your newly bared skin. Finally, he works the skirt down and it thumps against your bare ankles; the fabric tickling your skin. 

Meanwhile, his other fingers skitter against the elastic band of your rapidly dampening panties. Once he hooks the lace under his hand, he yanks them along your legs, trailing them sinfully slowly, ensuring that they glide down the billow of your thighs. His teeth nip at your ear when you stumble to a halt in your recitation and your hands tense over the grains of wood beneath them, your nails pinching into your palms. “If you stop, I stop,” he warns, his head bumping against yours, his sharp nose pressing against your pulse.

“You’re not exactly making this easy,” you grumble, doing your best to ignore his renewed pets and strokes. 

“Stop complaining,” he smirks, leaning away from your head to peer at your newly exposed flesh. “You better pay attention to what you’re reading or you’re not going to pass the questions I’ll be asking you.”

“Yeah, yeah, ow!” you squawk, whipping your head around to glare up at him. He fucking pinched you again! This time, he’d slipped his hand between your spread legs and tweaked your inner thigh, painfully. 

“Read,” he repeats, running those guilty fingers upward, lingering beside the heat of your cunt, careful to not get too close. When you start on the next sentence, one of his hands tugs up the fabric of your shirt, snaking upward until he’s thumbing against the wire of your bra. Once again, you falter to a halt and exhale a wavering breath. 

Goddamn it. This review is no review. You’ll be lucky if you can even recall what a cell is if he keeps this up. You hear his ominous intake of air and quickly resume your recitation, mumbling something about RNA and mRNA differences. 

Wait. Didn’t you just…  

“Looks like you’re having trouble listening to me. I told you to read aloud, not to repeat the same passages over and over.”

“Hey, at least I’ll have a firm grasp on those. You should ask me something about that s-section… ah–”

The hand that was resting under the cup of your bra has made its way underneath the lightly padded material, and his thumb and index fingers have trapped your peaked nipple between them. As soon as your snarky comment left your mouth, he’d twisted the bud, squeezing it until it throbbed. 

“Pay attention,” he commands, shoving your bra upward, freeing the globes of your breasts and cupping both of his broad hands under them. Your abused nipple stings and the mixture of sharp pain and jarring arousal goes right through you, stoking that coil that pulsed within your core, and sending a tacky flush of your essence down your spread thighs.

The next few words are a struggle. The text keeps blurring and your breaths are coming in fast and heavy. Shigaraki is still feeling you up, keeping his lips close to your ears, rasping sharp commands to you and dealing out lightning fast rounds of pinches and squeezes each time you falter. 

“I–I can’t… I don’t even know what I’m reading anymore,” you bemoan, your hips pressing against the edge of the table, legs trembling as you attempt to keep them apart. He’s deliberately ignoring your throbbing clit and a desperate edge is creeping into your voice. 

“Are you always this whiny? Fine. I’ll give you a moment to read without any distractions.”

Thank God.

True to his word, he slips away from your back and you’re left shivering against his sudden absence. Despite your quaking, you’re determined to make the most of this chance and you quickly read out the paragraphs that are on the second page. As you ramble down to the last bit of text, you realize you can’t hear him anymore and when you finish the last sentence; you start to really wonder where he’s drifted off to. A tense silence follows your completion of the material and you arch up on the tips of your toes, jutting your ass out and stretching the stiffened muscles of your lower back. 

“Didn’t say you could stop reading, and judging from all of your complaints, I don’t think you got some of those earlier concepts, so I’d suggest doing a quick review,” he taunts, the sudden rasp of his voice startling a low gasp from your lips. 

He’s close; somewhere behind you and to the left from the sound of it. You try to twist around, your chest lifting from the table, and when he notices, his hands return, creating a rough pressure against your neck as he forces your body back down. His weight plasters you to the surface, scraping your partially exposed stomach and tender breasts over the nicked wood. Shigaraki is merciless in his swift correction, his breath puffing out angrily behind you. “Didn’t say you could move, either.”

Stunned, you freeze. Your arms are arched awkwardly, but he keeps his weight against you, flattening your breasts and forcing your back to arch into an awkward bend. Fuck, you think, how are you supposed to stay like this? Your legs are already aching and if he shifts away again, he’s likely going to expect you to maintain this absurd pose.  

“Yes,” he groans, his voice catching against the word, “Good girl. Now, stay just like that.”

Damn it.

“Go on, read the first part again,” he instructs. 

“The entire genetic content of a cell is known as its genome and the study of genomes is gen-genomics. In eukaryotic cells, but… but not in p-prokaryotes, DNA forms a complex with histone proteins… with histone proteins… sub-substance… of…”

His teeth have latched onto your neck, and he’s sucking bruises into your tender skin. He’s still pinning you to the table, but his hands are widening their explorations. He’s started dragging a fingernail across the puffy folds of your cunt, teasing against the dripping and swollen flesh, chuckling when you buck against his hold. 

“You always seem to lose it when you get to cellular modulations.”  

“I–I–It’s not… I can’t help that you keep…” you whimper, your fingers curling under your palms, head shaking back and forth. You can’t think. He’s not being fucking fair, and you can’t even string your goddamn words together. Shit. “Y-you’re not being fair,” you accuse, falling on the only thing that keeps running through your mind, your splayed feet shifting uncomfortably under you.

“Not fair? Not once did I say fairness would come into this arrangement,” he lifts himself off of your back and leans beside you, one arm planted beside your crooked elbow. His fingers trace over the curve of your ass, cupping at the thickest part of you and squeezing. 

“But don’t worry, I’ll make sure you get a little satisfaction out of this arrangement. I bet you look good when you cum. And you’ve been working so hard to get my attention these last few months. So careful to do what I tell you. Looking at me with those big eyes of yours, all wide eyed every time I catch you looking at me. And don’t even get me started on your lips. You’re lucky I didn’t fucking bend you over after class, especially when you started wearing all of those cute little skirts for me. Ahhh, don’t moan like that, I won’t be able to help myself if you do. Let’s see how you’re doing, shall we?” 

Without warning, he slips his longest digit into your cunt, groaning loudly when he’s sucked into your welcoming heat. Your pussy, hungry for any kind of scrap, ripples around his intrusion, clamping and pulling, desperate for more. 

“Fuck,” he groans, his weight falling against your shoulder. “You’re soaking.” His elegant digit pushes deeper and you roll your hips under him, urging him closer, sighing when he sinks to the last knuckle. As he pulls his finger back, he adds another, swiftly v-ing the two before curving them together as they slip back out, dragging a steady line of pleasure from your quivering cunt. Shigaraki whispers another round of awed praise against your ear, his voice dark and breathless. 

A third digit is added on another trip out, and it creates a ragged sensation within you. It’s close to what you like, but he’s stretching you too far and it’s starting to hurt. He either needs to speed up, or give you a little more pressure. If you can hump your clit against the edge of the table, maybe it’ll give you the friction that you need. When you mindlessly buck your hips, your thighs threatening to lose that spread, he stops, holding his fingers inside you, laughing as you agitatedly try to shift him back into his earlier rhythm.

“So eager. I’d say you’re ready for my questions.”

“W-what?” you gasp, wholly focused on making him restart the push and pull of his fingers inside you. 

“I’ll start you off with something easy. What’s the cell membrane?”

“W-what? The cell… ah–” 

“Answer me. Now,” he grunts, leaning forward, re-steadying you as his fingers pull outward, dragging against your sensitive folds and schlicking through your arousal lewdly, loudly. You moan and your eyes roll back, completely ignoring his demand as you fall into the haze of pleasure that comes after his movements. 

His free hand travels up your neck and he tangles his fingers into the tendrils of your hair, yanking and jerking at the strands, demanding your attention.  

“I said, answer me.”

“Shigaraki–I–fuck. I can’t even… ugh… think right now!”

“Do you want the grade, or not?” he questions, his voice tense. “Answer correctly and I’ll give you what you want.” 

“I–I don’t think I can,” you whine, pressing your hips back as he thrusts his fingers forward again, curving them upward, searching for the spongy pad of nerves that rest against the front of your pelvis. 

“Oh? What happened to wanting that A? What about your graduation? You gonna let me fuck up your entire college career? I can do it, you know. I’ve done it to so many simpering freshmen. I fail kids left and right and you’re no different, (Y/N). 

The university lets me ahh–there it is! God, you’re so fucking wet. 

Where was I? The university can’t say no to me; they let me do what I want. I bring in too much money, too many tempting grants, and that’s all they really care about. So what’s it gonna be? Let me see that you can answer this basic crap and I’ll pass you. Or would you like for me to tie you down and force it outta you another way?”

He’s picked up the pace of his fingers as he rambles over you and a swift press against that newly discovered spot inside you has you falling to pieces in his hands, popping up onto your tiptoes and rutting yourself against the surface of the table. “O-ok, God, ok! Just–fucking repeat the goddamn question,” you pant, head slumping forward, forcing his fingers to tighten against your hair to hold you upright. 

“What is the cell membrane?” 

You wince your eyes closed, trying to rack your brain to focus on something other than the heavy pressure of the three fingers that are teasing their way across your dribbling pussy. He’s moving his presses with a lackadaisical, inconsistent rhythm now and it’s hard to fucking think. You can’t tell if his next thrust will be hard, or soft, or so rough that it’s bordering on that bittersweet line of pain. 

You shake your head, doing your best to ignore the mounting pressure that he’s building inside you and the ache of your neck and legs. Finally, after another sharp tap against that secret bunch of nerves at the front of your cunt, you latch onto a vague remembrance. 

“It… it’s a double layer of–of phospholipids that make a boundary between the cell and t-the surrounding… ugh… it controls the passage of materials.”

“Very good. Elaborate on the cellular wall.”

He’s unrelenting in his domineering treatment, twisting and frigging his fingers each time your breath hitches, and your arousal is leaking down your legs, making your skin stick and pull. It’s too much, you can’t! How can he even ask this? Words are falling from your lips incoherently, and all too soon you’re gasping out his name rather than reciting the answer. 

“Cellular–oh, fuck, Shi–Shigaraki–Please, keep–don’t stop! S-Shigaraki, God that… feels… ah–keep going!”

He ignores your request and pulls his fingers away, robbing you of that sweet pressure that he’s so carefully mounted within you. 

“I’ll count that one as incorrect. Your ‘A’ is swiftly becoming an ‘A’ minus, (Y/N)” he snarls, his teeth gritted, hands falling to the swell of your hips, wet fingers digging into your soft skin. 

“What? No! You didn’t give me enough… e-enough time! How can–can you expect me to answer that qui-quickly!”

“Let’s try another.” 

It hurts. That ache that he’s drawn out of you is starting to sting and throb and he’s being such a dick about it! You twist and grind under him, and he traps your disobedient hips against the rough siding of the table.

“I don’t–” you protest weakly, your legs trembling and chest heaving under his weight.  

“Do you want this? Wouldn’t you like to pass this class? To graduate with honors?” he growls, leaning closer, his hands braced against you, his fingers no doubt leaving bruises on the supple crest of your hips. 

“You’re such an ass! Yes! Fuck, please! I–I want it so fucking bad!” you cry out, your voice drifting into a sob as you croak out the last plea.

“Then answer another question. What’s diffusion?”

“D-diffu-diffusion is the process by which molecules move from an a-area of… of… fuck- of high concentration, to low concentration. Shigaraki!”

“I should count that as another miss, but you got the major concept correct.” He removes his fingers from your waist and yanks your ass toward him, keeping your overeager hips away from the fleeting relief of the sturdy table. “Pop your legs together,” he commands, one hand wrapping around your arched throat, squeezing until you obey. His other hand drops to that thatch of curls that rest between your quivering thighs and he gathers up your gossamer strands, rubbing against your clit for one hazy instant, sending a flash of spots across your vision.

“Mmm, now that’s a pretty sight. Good girl, don’t move,” he reminds you and you want to scream at him. Right before you can spit some frustrated vitriol out, he’s releasing your neck, his hands dropping from your skin and letting you fall back to the uneven surface below. Just before your chin contacts the wood, his hand is back in your hair, tugging you upward, holding you a few inches above the table. The sharp pain makes your scalp tingle and you unconsciously rut against the tempting heat that’s now plastered to your ass. He’s hard. You can feel the stiff bulge of his cock straining against the front of his dark jeans, pressing into the cleft of your posterior. 

“T-that’ can’t be comfortable,” you pant, twisting your head so you can look up at him from the curve of your shoulder.

“Oh? You worried about my cock?” he asks, his red eyes flashing down at you challengingly. You don’t bother giving him a verbal response, opting instead to grind your ass up, catching against the jut of his length, earning yourself a low groan. His lips curl when you repeat the motion and you realize you love watching that smug face of his drift into a look of tense pleasure. It makes his scar on his lip flush and those red eyes of his fall to a lazy half mast. He spies your arched brow and pleased grin and pushes himself off of you, leaving you alone and open on the table.   

“Keep pushing your luck. I’m more than happy to drop you back to a B.”

“What?” you scoff, teeth clinking together as you clench your jaw. “I didn’t move!”

“No, but you’re trying to take control of this and we can’t have that can we?” Shigaraki sneers. “Now, how shall I punish you?”

“P-punish me?” you stammer, a chill racing down your spine. 

“Ah, I know. This’ll really piss you off,” he twists from your strained gaze and walks back toward his desk. What? What the fuck does he mean? You can’t see him from this angle, not with the way your legs are stretched and back is lowered, but it doesn’t stop you from trying, your chin lifting upwards as you do your best to keep him in focus. 

Ugh. It’s no use. He’s slipped past your field of vision. 

Hearing is likely your best bet, so you shift your forehead back to the table and listen, straining your ears to pick up any morsel. Something opens and closes and you catch the sound of the wheels of his chair as they shift, squeaking across the floor, and the groaning of the springs when his weight is applied to the cheap leather. 

Okay, so he’s in his chair. Is he just gonna look at you? That’s not… wait… 

There’s a faint clicking sound. 

It’s both familiar and unfamiliar to your ears, but once the teeth slide over the last pull, you realize. It’s a zipper. 

Oh fuck. Is he going to jerk himself off? With a gasp, your head whips back around. He’s still positioned himself away from you, and you can only just make out the sounds that are accompanying the undoubted rise and fall of his fist. All you can see is a tiny sliver of his body, but you catch sight of the coiling muscles on his neck and you notice that his head is dipped forward, pearl white hair settling across the cut of his collarbone. The one red eye that meets yours is blazing and hungry, it makes every hair on the back of your neck stand up.  

God, he’s staring at you, watching you, getting himself off as you’re half naked and bent over a desk in his office, fully subjugating yourself to his whims and fancies for the sake of your grade. 

Damn it, (Y/N). This should not be a fucking turn on. You should be disgusted, but the flush of slick that drips down your thigh says otherwise. 

He lets out a choked moan, picking up the pace of his hand, letting you hear the click and slip of his palm as it strokes up and down his cock. A shiver echoes up your spine and your hips seem to have a mind of their own, grinding your clenched thighs over the dip of the table, easing the clenching pulsations that your cunt is shuddering through you.

“Look at you, so desperate for my touch that you’re humping the fucking table. Such a dirty girl, and so disobedient. You’ve only answered a few of my questions correctly and yet your slutty little mouth and body keep pushing at me. Making me put you in your place. Let me ask you something, why should I go out of my way to fix your grade when you can’t even prove to me you understand the simplest concepts? 

Ah, here’s a thought. What if I told you I’ll wave the other requirements; no more readings, no more quizzes, but I won’t let you cum? What if I just get myself off? You’re putting on a such a good show for me! Why should I bother with seeing that you’re satisfied when that table seems to do the job for you? Sound good? Or would you like for me to come back over there and make you cum?”

“I–I don’t… I don’t want…” You can’t get the words out, your tongue feels leaden between your lips and you can’t think of anything but the steady itch that’s spreading from your clit. 

“Speak up,” Shigaraki demands, slowing his jerking fingers. The chair he’s sitting in groans as he leans forward, and his eyes wide as they take in the delicious sight that’s propped before him. “You don’t want to cum? Is that it? You’d like for me to get myself off and leave you there?”

“No!” you cry out, your fingers digging into the scuffed wood of the table. “I-I want you to make me cum.”

There’s a sharp clatter and you jump at the abrupt noise. It must be the chair you think, your heart pounding against your chest, waiting for Shigaraki’s next move. He only lets a few seconds drift by before he presses himself back to you. He leans his broad chest over your back, the front of his legs pushing against the back of yours. His exposed length is wedged firmly against the cleft of your ass and its tempting hardness makes you squirm under him, but he’s propelling you forward, pinning you against the rough wood, and you can only flail uselessly under his control. His lips skim over your neck and he bites into your skin, sucking and licking bruises as he inches closer to your pulse.  

You say his name pitifully, wantonly, and he lets out a shaky gasp. Something about your tone has shifted something within him and you can feel his cock swelling, dripping a rope of wet pre-cum down your shaking leg. 

He leans away, removing his sticky hardness from your ass. “Seems your priorities have shifted. You’re a little preoccupied right now, aren’t you?” he asks, his voice gravel scraping against your overwhelmed senses. You let out a weak moan and he snaps into action, his fingers pushing under your flattened stomach and tugging against the fabric that he finds. He yanks you upward, pulling your shirt up as he goes. His palms dip under your half lifted bra, and he cups at your breasts, massaging the rounded bulbs and plucking at your peaked nipples. Your head lolls back, and he sucks at your earlobe again, his breath warm and rasping as it passes by. 

“Hold still,” he commands. 

It’s not an easy position, this stretched upward arch that he’s forced you into, but it’s worth it when you feel his cock pushing between your tensed legs. He doesn’t thrust into you, opting to run his weeping tip against your slippery folds, pressing until his bulbous head is twitching against your pulsing clit. 

Goddamn it, you think as he stills, his lips smacking open-mouthed kisses over your shoulder, it’s not enough. You wiggle your hips back and forth and he abruptly exerts a firm pressure against your windpipe, leaving you sputtering and gasping. “What’s wrong? Not happy with this? Do you think you deserve something more? Do you think you’ve earned that?” He shoves you back against the surface of the table, his broad chest following the plane of your back, trapping you under his heavy form. 

You’d replied, you know you must have, but you can’t hear yourself anymore, your attention attuned to the warm length that’s pressed against your shuddering folds. You’d likely thrown in a please for good measure because Shigaraki rewards you with a quick peck to your shivering neck and his thumb, swirling it around your clit, creating a cresting ache that leaves you mumbling incoherently, a thin line of drool slipping from your parted lips. As he keeps that faint osculation up, your fingernails scrape over the wood of the table, your feet lifting you onto your toes, curving your back, and shoving your leaking pussy into his open palm. 

“Greedy little thing, aren’t you?” Shigaraki says, a breathy desperation lingering around the edges of his rasping voice. “But it’s just not enough, right?” 

You nod, licking up some of the excess saliva that’s built under your heavy tongue and crane your head back at him. His eyes are the first thing you see. They’re wild, ravenous and glinting with a roughness that makes you whisper out a soft whine. Fuck. It’s not supposed to be like this. You’re not supposed to want him this badly. Goddamn it. Now that he’s caught your gaze, he won’t let you look away, and he presses himself closer, his cock twitching and warm, the tip rubbing back and forth, keeping time with his circling thumb.

“You gonna fuck me, or not?” you finally ask, unsticking your lips and smirking up at his hardened face. 

“Tch. Don’t rush me,” he grumbles, removing his hand and teasing cock from your cunt, watching as your body convulses under him, your pussy quivering against the excess stimulation that he’s wrought over you. Your thighs burn, aching to break free from his control, to rub against that throb, that tingling that keeps shuddering outward.

“One more question,” he tells you, lifting his dripping thumb to his lips and sucking off the traces of your arousal. The sight of him licking his pink tongue over his gleaming knuckles almost makes you lose your balance, your arms shaking precariously under you. 

“A-another? Come on,” you pout, your eyes following the curve of his wicked lips, watching as his scar quirks upward, amused by your useless defiance. 

“Make you a deal, answer it correctly and I’ll give you my cock. Sound fair?”

“Ugh, whatever, just hurry up,” you snap, so impatient and turned on that you can hardly think. 

The tip of his cock presses against your sopping entrance, pushing forward just enough to part your dripping folds but stopping before he clears that first, tight ring of flesh. The promise of his dribbling tip makes you lose any semblance of self-control. You thrash under him, but he traps your disobedient hips against the rough siding of the table.

“No! Don’t stop! Come on Sh-Shigaraki–Don’t be such a fucking–ah–” 

“Do you want this? Do you want my cock?” he growls, leaning over you, his fingers squeezing down, no doubt leaving bruises in the supple crest of your hips. 

“Yes! Fuck, please! I–I want it so fucking bad!” you cry out, your voice drifting into a sob as you croak out the last plea.

“Then you better answer. What are cytosines?”

“They… they’re n-nitrogenous base… fuck… base that pair… that pair with guanine during D-DNA replication… I–please, please, Shigaraki! Fuck me! I want your cock! Fuck me, fuck me!”

Thankfully, he either takes pity on you, or can’t control himself anymore, his hips surging forward, gliding his thick length into your cunt and snarling at the mind numbing heat that waits for him. He keeps driving upward until he bottoms out, sharp hipbones grinding against the plushness of your ass. 

He’s not gentle with you, no he’s animalistic and raw, his thrusts papping into you with a terrifying strength. You would have liked something slower, something that lets you enjoy each imperfection and dip that raced along his cock, but this, oh, this is an exception because this is perfect. It’s not what you want, but it is what you need. 

The heavy fullness that he’s stuffing you with leaves you breathless, but you somehow manage to gasp out a string of nonsensical praises each time he drives back into you, overwrought by his roughness. 

This coupling isn’t kind, isn’t right, and is not healthy, for either of you. No, not with the way he’s using your shivering body, distracted with slacking that euphoric thrum that’s making his cock pulse and swell inside you.

But fuck it feels good and you can’t help but tremble with delight. These intoxicating thrusts of his ram him up against something that’s buried deep inside you, and each time he hits it another star of bright pleasure races through you. The familiar coiling of release is steadily mounting with each rapid fire rut he gives you and if he could just, ah, there’s something that’s… no, fuck, it’s, it’s not going to work. It feels good, but it’s missing one vital ingredient, one thing that he’s neglected to pay attention to, to notice. 

Your clit needs to be tweaked and rolled, and right now it’s pulsing away against the table, beating a sad tattoo into the grainy wood. Oh well, you think, head fuzzy, lost in the euphoria of his powerful cants, grinding your ass into his hips as he digs into another teeth chattering thrust. He’ll likely finish soon, and you’ll probably need to get yourself off later. It’s not something new, and it’s not like he’s going to care enough to focus on that, on you. This whole thing has been about control, so there’s likely no room for your own pleasure.

“What’s wrong,” he gasps out, his fingers lifting from your hips to curl beside your turned head. 

“What? N-nothing–I–” you pant, eyes rolling back as he hits that spongy patch of nerves again. 

“Tch. Hold on,” he interrupts, his voice rasping and breathy. He pulls himself out of you with a grunt and yanks you upward, hauling you onto the tabletop and flipping you on your back, bending your stiffened legs and bracing your knees against his lean forearms. 

He holds you apart, spreading you open with his powerful hands. You can see him properly now, and the sight makes your breath catch against the back of your throat. Fuck, he looks good. 

His long white hair is draped across his bare shoulders and his eyes are blazing pits of hunger, devouring the sight of you with those red irises. His jaw is clenched, and he glares down at you from his imperious height, his nostrils flaring as he drags in a quick intake of air. To your shock, he gives you a little time to acclimate to this new position, opting to languidly step forward, letting his slippery cock head press and tease at the dip of your opening. But right when you think he’ll move again, he stops, his eyes roving over the lines of your face. 

His sudden stillness makes you peer quizzically up at him and you scoot closer, your feet lifting from the table. The movement snaps him out of his stupor and he grabs your ankles, roughly pinning you back down.

“Keep still,” he snarls through clenched teeth, that scar of his lifting. 

You nod mutely and he rewards your unquestioning obedience with another powerful thrust, sinking his swollen cock back into your waiting cunt. He lets out a sharp groan and grabs at your hips, jerking you forward, already drifting back into that all-consuming rhythm he’d started earlier. His ruts are a little slower from this angle but, in no time at all, that familiar ache pools in your core, stoking and building at an alarming rate. The driving force of his hips soon has you blinking back spots and distant stars, and this time he adds the all important pressure of his thumb, circling the finger pad over your clit and dragging a broken moan from your quivering lips. 

“So that’s what you needed. You close?” he grits out, his lips set in a curled scowl. He’s lost some of that early control, his hips stuttering as they connect with yours, his power lessening, cooling, as he looks for your release. 

“I–I think–oh fuck, do that again. Yes! Just–ah!”

He angles your hips upward and gives your clit another quick oscillation, pressing down until you’re gasping. “There you go. That felt good. You’re getting tighter,” he laughs, looming over you, shoving your heaving chest downward as he jerks your hips into him, forcing your body to do most of the motion, making your shoulder blades scrape across the uneven wood. “Cum for me. Fucking cum on my cock, (Y/N). Cum and I’ll give you your A, I’ll give you whatever the fuck you want.”

Your spine arches as you break around him, your cunt greedily pulling him deeper, slipping him past the barrier of your tender cervix and earning you a weak shout of praise from Shigaraki. Seconds later, he’s pulsing and twitching against your walls, the warm pooling of his cum filling you up and spilling down your spread thighs. 

His head drops to your shoulder and the rough skin of his forehead sticks to your sweat dampened flesh. For a long moment you’re both still, each of you struggling to catch your breath, luxuriating in the tingling sensation of release. 

“I fucking hate you, you know,” you gasp out, your arms circling his back, fingertips etching vague patterns over his neck and shoulders. 

“Ha,” he snorts, “I’ll have to remember that. Don’t worry (Y/N), I’ll pay you back for that little remark next time.”

“Oh? Next time?” you chuckle, moaning as he twists out of your hold and pulls his softening length out of you. 

“I’ll fail you on every assignment if you try to keep away,” he threatens, his eyes falling to the gaping mess that he’s left behind. You cross your legs, denying him the satisfaction of leering at your dripping pussy. 

“Fine. But next time, fuck me on something softer than a damn table.”

tags: @spicy-skull​, @xwildskullx​, @yixxes​, @ghstmthr​, @rekoii​, @diaouranask​, @bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love​, @libiraki​ <--- i’m coming for you. you’re gonna have to read for this, lady. so, uh, i’m officially noneconing you here. 

notes: you made it! this thing is a monster & i’m so sorry i can never stfu

#shigaraki tomura #tomura shigaraki #reader insert #shigaraki x y/n #shigaraki x you #shigaraki x reader #bnha smut #9 to 5 collab #bnha degeneracy server #collaboration #tw: unhealthy relationship #tw: teacher/student #tw: dubcon #tw: bribery

[zafirosreverie]

Must be the eyes (Teacher!Agatha x Fem!Student!Reader)

Here it is! first part of the TxS au! Let’s get this party started!

----

"And who exactly was the villain then, Miss Y/L/N?" You gnashed your teeth when your teacher looked at you behind the frame of her glasses, with her piercing, stupidly beautiful blue eyes and a raised eyebrow.

You flinched a bit from her gaze, but you refused to back down, you never had and you weren't going to start now, no matter how hot your cheeks got or how close this damn woman stood to you.

Agatha Harkness, Westview’s University history professor, terror of the first years and your crush since the first class you had with her. Her blue eyes had captivated you from the first moment, as had her slightly wavy hair and mocking smile. Her sarcastic and dry sense of humor was also something you loved, plus she was incredibly smart and not afraid to show it. Beautiful, smart and taught your favorite subject. Yup, you were completely under her spell.

But you hated it when she argued with you in front of the whole class, especially for things like this. It always made you feel so small and helpless, even if you didn’t show it on the outside.

She had asked your class for an essay on Greek myths, and you had chosen Medusa’s. Miss Harkness had said that you should express your views, with clear and concise arguments, which took you most of the week to investigate. But it seemed that you had not been clear enough.

Either that, or your teacher really hated you and enjoyed challenging you in front of your classmates, expecting you to break up and argue with her, so she could send you to detention. Well, you wouldn't let her win that easy.

You forced a smile and looked up. She was right in front of your chair, looking down at you as she waited for your answer.

"Athena and Poseidon" you said confidently "They are the villains"

"Interesting posture" she smiled, but it was a smile that reminded you of the cheshire cat "Although that doesn't take away the blame for the lives she took, does it?"

"It wasn't her fault either," you said, frowning.

"Oh it wasn’t?" she asked. You suppressed a gasp when she rested her hands on your table and leaned forward. You could feel her minty breath on your face "And whose fault was it, Miss Y/L/N?" she asked.

"Men’s" you gulped "Those who went to look for her"

"Explain" she ordered. Her eyes never once left your face.

"They went looking for her. They tried to kill her, what was she supposed to do? Let herself be killed? Besides, it wasn't her fault that Athena turned her into that, she didn't ask to turn people to stone" you said, crossing your arms and leaning toward back in your seat.

Anyone would think that your gesture was one of challenge, considering that your face was neutral and your eyebrow was raised slightly. But inside you were screaming and having a panic attack.

Agatha smirked in her head at your attitude. She wouldn't tell anyone even if she was under torture, but she loved having these little discussions with you. You were the only student brave enough to argue with her, and you were brilliant in the way you did.

On the other hand, you were also incredibly cute and she would lie if she said that she didn't like to make you blush, your eyes lit up a bit and the red on your cheeks really contrasted beautifully with your skin. She knew it was wrong, that as a teacher she shouldn't find any of her students attractive. But she couldn't help it, there was something about you that just fascinated her.

Most of her fellow teachers had already noticed the strange dynamic she had with you, but they took it as a simple student/teacher rivalry, stemming from the fact that you seemed like a history prodigy, which presented a vast battlefield for Agatha, it was no secret that the woman was competitive, after all.

The only one who seemed a little suspicious of what was really going on was Wanda, the literature teacher. She had been one of the best students in the university and had returned as a teacher 5 years ago and because their subjects shared a field of investigation, she and Agatha ended up spending more and more time together, until they became good friends. 

It was fun having someone to judge and gossip about both the staff and the student body. But that also meant having to endure the teasing of the younger woman every time you walked by Agatha.

Of course, she had scolded Wanda for even suggesting that she was attracted to you, a student, and the redhead had apologized, saying that she was only joking, but she wasn't sure how long it would be before her friend became suspicious again. Not that the history teacher was that subtle with the way she looked at you.

Still, Agatha Harkness had certain principles, and she knew that she couldn't flirt with you as long as you were her student, so she was content to make you blush and nervous when she was around you.

“She broke Athena’s rules” she said, almost growling.

“Poseidon raped her. That wasn't her fault” you growled back. You cursed yourself for being so passionate about this. Your classmates probably thought you were an idiot for fighting a teacher.

"You seem quite determined to defend the monster," she accused, frowning. She pushed herself off your bench and turned to the rest of the class, letting you breathe for a second. "Not many people would pay attention to Medusa, a hideous and dangerous creature. But she seems to have won Miss Y/L/N’s heart" she said, making your classmates laugh and you blushed again.

"It must be the eyes" you mumbled without thinking.

Your teacher looked at you for a moment before smirking. Fortunately, it seemed like she didn't have time to keep arguing with you. Blessed heavens for that. You heard the ring bell and sighed in relief, starting to pack your things.

“Remember that the project is due for next monday” Ms Harkness said and you hear some groans from your classmates. You chuckled as you left the classroom.

“It’s not fair” you heard your friend Nick saying beside you “She didn’t give us enough time!”

“What do you mean?” you asked “I finished it three days ago”

“But you don’t count!” he frowned “you’re good at history! I can’t even remember my sister’s birthday!”

“Nick, you don’t have a sister” you rolled your eyes fondly

“And? I wouldn’t remember her birthday anyway”

You laughed and playfully punched his shoulder. You and Nick have been friends since your first day here and you were thankful for that. He was the only one who knew about your crush on Ms Harkness, which was a blessing but also a nightmare. He loved to embarrass you.

“So, what was that Y/N?” He asked suddenly

“What?” you frowned

“The whole Medusa’s thing”

“Well, she wasn’t a monster and-”

“No no, don’t give me a history lesson, I already had enough of that. I was talking about you and ‘Ms magical eyes’ almost kissing” he smirked as you coughed and almost tripped. 

“What?!” you hissed “The hell you’re talking about?!”

“Oh c’mon Y/N!!” Nick laughed “She was practically lying over you!”

“That’s not true” you crossed your arms

“It is” he crossed his arms too “Y/N,I love you, but you can be so blind sometimes”

“What is that supposed to mean?” you asked, a little offended

“Y/N, we all could feel the sexual tension between you two” he laughed and left you frozen in the hall. 

_____________

“No” Agatha frowned and crossed her arms

“Please” Wanda begged

“No, I’m not going to babysit a bunch of spoiled kids” the older woman said

“Okay, first of all, they’re college students, not from the kindergarden” the redhead frowned “and this could be an amazing opportunity!”

“For what? I already know about the Salem trials, love, I’m more than capable of teach my students about it without having to taking them there”

“But it would be more fun for them” Wanda argued

“I teach history, buttercup, it’s not supposed to be fun for them” the brunette smirked while the other woman rolled her eyes.

“We both know you don’t actually think that. You love your class and want them to love it too” 

When the other woman shrugged and started reading again, totally ignoring her, Wanda knew it was time for plan B. She kneeled in front of Agatha and gave her puppy eyes.

“Pleaaaase” she cried “I need another teacher if I want permission to do the trip”

“Then ask Monica” Agatha said, not looking up from her book

“She has a game next week with the basketball team” Wanda said “Besides, as the history teacher, your class is the most similar to mine, it just makes sense if we both go”

“I’m not going Maximoff, period”

Wanda sighed and stood. “Fine.Thanks for nothing, Harkness” she pouted and left the teacher’s room. 

Agatha rolled her eyes, she knew the other woman would get over it in a few hours.

____________

“I just say that witches are cool” you said as you and Nick walked through the hall

“They are Y/N, but visiting an old town isn’t exactly my idea for a good summer trip” he said and you rolled your eyes “Why don’t you go to Disneyland instead?” he joked

“Because I hate gigantic amusement parks” you said “And I really want to visit Salem, it was my dream since i was 9 and i read about witches from the first time. But you know I don't have enough money to do both trips. So, Salem it is for me”

Nick sighed “Alright, you do you, history girl” he joked “But try not to get cursed while you’re there, i don’t want my best friend to be a frog” 

You laughed and he put an arm around your shoulders. None of you noticed the brunette teacher walking out of the teacher’s room and who totally heard your conversation. 

_____________

Wanda jumped when her office door opened with a slam. She looked at a frowning Agatha, who had her arms crossed and let out a sigh.

“Alright, you win” the brunette said “We’re going to Salem”

The redhead smiled and quickly stood up to run to her friend and hug her tightly.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” she said.

“But!” Agatha said, gently pushing the younger woman to lock eyes with her “I pick the class we’re taking with us”

“Deal!”

#I really don't know what I'm doing ok #sorry if this sucks ;-; #i think I'm losing my writing abilities #anyway #x reader #reader insert #imagine #agatha harkness #agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness imagine #agatha harkness x y/n #agnes x reader #agatha harkness x you #request #must be the eyes #mbte

[kenbunshokus]

eggnemies to lovers

nami/vivi, zoro/sanji | 7k words  (best viewed on: ao3)

My (20F) Date (21M) keeps getting into fights with a cook at Baratie. submitted 6 months ago by u/throwawaypinwheel

(Or, the one where Sanji is a diner cook, Vivi is their waitress, and Zoro and Nami accidentally became each other’s wingman.)

Zoro glares at his plate as if his omelette has just challenged him to a duel. Nami tries her best to focus on the map she’s working on—this one’s a particularly difficult homework from her Intro to Coastal Navigation class—and pointedly does not look up.

“Holy shit,” Zoro mutters under his breath, poking at the offending egg, “Nami, I swear—”

“We are not having this conversation again—”

“I told you,” Zoro plows on, “that fucking cook is doing this on purpose.”

Nami takes a deep breath. Cartography is a delicate art, and Nami aims to be a professional. She takes her favorite pencil and elegantly traces over the coastline of Cocoyashi Village, poised and collected and calm. She’s not going to take the bait and ruin her map, no matter how much Zoro is sulking over an egg—

She sighs. “Zoro, I’m pretty sure there’s just been some mix-up with the orders.”

Zoro huffs at that, clearly disbelieving. “For the third time this week?”

“This isn’t exactly a five-star establishment,” she points out, and adds, reasonably, calmly, in an attempt to find some semblance of peace, “I doubt the cook of some no-name diner even knows your name.”

The words seem to have brought about the opposite effect, because now there’s a dangerous glint in Zoro’s eyes as he mutters, “well, he’s about to find out,” before standing up and shamelessly yelling, “ OI! COOK! ”

Nami drives the pencil through her map.

+

     r/relationship_advice

My (20F) Date (21M) keeps getting into fights with a cook at Baratie. submitted 6 months ago by u/throwawaypinwheel

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  My (20F) Date (21M) keeps getting into fights with a cook at Baratie.

submitted 6 months ago by /u/throwawaypinwheel

 I know this sounds really weird, but here it is:

This guy and I have been on a couple of dates. We’d been friends long before we started trying this going out thing, so he isn’t a total stranger to me, and I’ve long known him as a pretty calm guy. Chimes in once a week in the group chat, grunts a lot during conversations, you know — one of those quiet, meditating types. He’s only competitive when it comes to his favorite sport (he’s a professional kendo athlete), but other than that he tends not to care about what other people think about him. I’ve never seen him respond to anyone’s taunts or getting worked up by a stranger’s words.

Except at Baratie.

Any time we’re out he wants to go to this diner called Baratie down in Grand Line. I don’t really care about the food, but the tables there are big enough for me to do work (Maritime Science major here—lots of stationeries and large maps to work with). But that became impossible once he and this one cook started chirping at each other every time we went there. Date complained about his eggs one time, because he likes them a little runny and they were served hard. The cook responded by giving him scrambled eggs. When he brought it up again, the cook served him two hardboiled eggs. It was kind of funny to be honest, but my date wasn’t able to laugh it off. When we left, he was in a bad mood.

This is the crazy part: he keeps going back.

In fact, he keeps going back and ordering eggs and getting into fistfights with the same cook. It’s almost a ritual at this point. He orders runny eggs, the cook serves him some other version of eggs, and then they beat the shit out of each other. We never eat out at any other places now; it’s just Baratie every fucking week. Sometimes he even goes there without me. 

I’ve tried to talk to him about it a few times, but he keeps saying it’s a matter of principle. I’ve told him to just talk to the manager, but he just waved me off. Apparently that cook hasn’t yet made him the correct runny eggs, but it’s like he spends the week learning new ways of preparing eggs to piss my date off.

My question is — this is weird, right? Like, I’m not really concerned about the fighting part — he’s never been physical with me and I never once felt threatened by him — but what’s with the obsession ? They’re just eggs, aren’t they?

Is this indicative of something deeper? Should I reconsider going exclusive with this guy?

 +

 When Nami looks up from her map this time, Zoro has already stalked off to the kitchen. This isn’t new or remarkable in any way, except the fact that he almost ran into one of the waitresses, who immediately clutched her tray against her chest and watched his retreating back warily.

Zoro didn’t even spare her a glance. What a brute. Nami’s going to add to his debt later for that.

“Hey,” Nami calls out towards the waitress, waving at her to come by her table, “I’m sorry, uh…” 

“Vivi,” the waitress fills in with a polite smile.

“Right, Vivi—I’m Nami,” Nami replies, finding herself nervous all of a sudden, because up close like this, holy fuck is the waitress so pretty, with long blue hair and silver-sharp eyes. Nami clears her throat. “Uh, I just want to say sorry about his—his whole deal with your Cook. Zoro—that’s his name—he’s usually really chill, so I don’t know what’s happening here.”

Vivi thankfully chuckles at that, seemingly finding the situation more hilarious than threatening. Good. There’s also something about that laughter that makes Nami feel like she’s fourteen again, full of butterflies and all too small for everything, but she tries not to think too hard about that yet.

“In your friend’s defense,” Vivi says, “Sanji is usually really good with memorizing orders, so he’s totally messing with your friend on purpose.”

As if on cue, the cook’s voice—Sanji’s—rings out from the kitchen. “YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE, MOSSHEAD, I TOLD YOU THE KITCHEN’S OFF LIMITS FOR CUSTOMERS —”

Nami finds herself laughing with Vivi. “You know, it’s actually impressive that Zoro doesn’t get lost on his way to the kitchen anymore.”

Vivi raises her eyebrow. “Nami, the kitchen door is right there.”

“It’s Zoro,” Nami presses, because it’s always fun to see strangers learn about Zoro’s disastrous relationship with directions and maps for the first time. “One time, during our junior high sports festival, he got lost on the running track. For a hundred-meter race .”

That earns her another laugh from Vivi as she takes a seat beside Nami, body leaning forward in curiosity, “really? Is he short-sighted or something? Can’t he just—I don’t know, literally see the finish line?”

“Here’s the thing you need to know about Zoro,” Nami begins, and watching the way Vivi’s soft hair falls over the slope of her shoulder, bright blue and blinding despite the dim lighting of the diner, Nami somehow can’t find it in herself to be mad at Zoro anymore.

 +

 u/salveshine • 492 points  6 months ago

This seems like an obvious question, but I have to ask: have you considered going somewhere else for your dates? Most people don’t go to a diner for dates in the first place.

/u/throwawaypinwheel • 23 points  6 months ago

Well, as I said on the original post, it’s downright an obsession at this point. Asking him to go somewhere else doesn’t solve the problem since he’d just go there on his own on a different day.

Also, the waitress there is nice. She’s been keeping me company throughout this whole thing. She’s a godsend.

 +

 Vivi appears by her table as soon as Zoro disappears into the kitchen.

“Again?” Vivi asks by way of greeting.

“Again,” Nami agrees, scooting to the side of her bench to give Vivi space to sit. “It’s eggs benedict this time. Perfectly poached. I went to this fancy restaurant a few weeks ago, and they didn’t even make it this good.”

Somewhere from what presumably is the kitchen, Zoro’s frustrated voice echoes throughout the whole diner. “Now you’re not even serving me eggs anymore!”

“What are you—“ there is a moment of stunned silence before Sanji‘s reply comes, equally loud, dripped with utter disbelief. “Are you fucking serious? You thought this wasn’t made of—you’ve never seen scotch eggs before?”

“SHUT UP,” Zoro yells back.

Nami cranes her neck out of instinct, wishing to catch a glimpse of the scene from the window behind the counter—she’s never heard Zoro sounding so flustered before—but Vivi’s voice, small and low and far from the confident tone Nami has started to get used to, pulls her attention back.

“I’m sorry.”

It takes another moment before the words fully register in her brain. “Wh—for what?”

“I mean,” Vivi says, twiddling with her fingers as she mumbles, “this is supposed to be your date.”

“My date?” The question already falls out of her mouth before she realizes, oh. Oh. This is supposed to be a date, because her and Zoro are…well. Sometimes she doesn’t even remember that part—they’re certainly not acting the part, considering they’re hanging out with other people during these ‘dates’. Nami understands, rationally, that she should be mad about this; and yet— “It’s fine. I’m not that bothered.”

Vivi blinks. “You’re not?”

“Nah,” Nami says, waving her hand dismissively, feeling as surprised as Vivi looks. “Well, when it comes down to it, it’s still free food, you know? Could’ve been better—no offense, but a family diner isn’t exactly date material—but considering the menu and ingredients you guys have to work with? Sanji’s practically been making feasts fit for royalty here.”

“Well, I still think you deserve to be treated better during a date,” Vivi crosses her arms and—is that a pout on her face? “Don’t you feel a bit lonely?”

“No?” Nami replies, taken aback. That’s literally the furthest thing on her mind, because— “I have you, don’t I?”

Nami feels her face heat up as soon as the words left her mouth, because that sounded way more presumptuous than she intended. She meant to say, I have you to keep me company , like a friend , in a totally friend platonic way. Except they were talking about dates in a decidedly very romantic way and she should totally take it back—

Vivi beams at that, the kind that makes her look like she’s glowing inside her skin, and never mind, Nami’s not taking it back. Nope. She’s never taking it back even if someone’s paying her a million berries to take it back.

Vivi takes Nami’s hand from the table and holds it in both of her own, and Nami’s heart trips in her chest.

“Yeah,” Vivi says, the words sending a low hum under Nami’s ribcage. “Yeah, you have me.”

 +

 /u/mettlemental • 301 points  5 months ago

This is their ritual. Do not interfere.

/u/throwawaypinwheel • 279 points  5 months ago

You know what, I think you have a point. This thing between me and the waitress is also a ritual now, so we’re even.

 +

 “Shishishi!” Luffy laughs, eyes practically sparkling. “Sanji is so cool!”

“No he’s not!” Zoro pinches Luffy by the cheek to try to drag him away from Sanji. “I brought you here to defend me!”

“But Sanji’s the one making me delicious meat right now,” Luffy pouts, seemingly unperturbed by the potential disfigurement of his own face, gaze still rooted on Sanji—or, more specifically, the food Sanji is carrying on a tray. “What can you make, Zoro?”

Sanji lights up his cigarette, expression hidden behind his hands, but his whole body visibly puffs up like a peacock. Nami notices how the tips of his ears have turned red. “Finally, someone with taste.”

Zoro tries to grab the tray away from Sanji’s hand, and Nami watches Vivi masterfully maneuver between the messy cacophony of the trio, placing a tall stack of waffles in front of Chopper.

“This doesn’t make me happy at all!” Chopper says, his words nowhere near convincing, considering he’s saying it with the largest grin Nami has ever seen on a fourteen-year-old. “Did Sanji make this one, too?”

“He did,” Vivi says as she takes a seat beside Nami, as she always does. The table settles into a comfortable silence as Chopper digs into his waffles and Vivi absentmindedly plays with the salt shaker, observing the idiot trio from a distance.

“They sure get along fast,” Nami says as she takes out her cartography tools, and Vivi’s gaze sweeps between Luffy, Chopper, and the maps on the table.

“You’re not even trying to have a date anymore, aren’t you,” she points out.

“Nope,” Nami agrees, gesturing to Chopper with her pencil. “Chopper here wanted to try the waffle for a long time ever since I told him all about Sanji.”

“Please tell Sanji I love it!” Chopper adds around a mouthful of sugar.

“And Luffy’s been really curious about you two anyways.”

One table away, Luffy took the last bite of whatever meal Sanji just served, and dramatically announces, “this one’s better than the last one!”

“You always say that after every plate,” Sanji mumbles, but shoves another plate towards the kid anyways, clearly preening from the praises.

“It wasn’t even that good,” Zoro adds desperately, and scowls when Sanji chooses to watch Luffy eat another serving with the same gusto like he did the first one. “Oi—don’t ignore me, Shit Cook!”

It’s...fascinating. Nami never had a habit of watching Zoro—those activities are reserved for those fangirls in their university who barely know him—but she finds herself unable to look away whenever they’re at the Baratie. Whenever he’s with Sanji, to be precise. The chef seems to have brought out so many different sides of Zoro she’s never seen before in all the years she’s known him, and that’s saying a lot, considering she’s known Zoro for a decade.

Zoro has always been a steady presence in her and Luffy’s life ever since he moved into their neighborhood when she was shy of turning ten; he is strong-willed and loyal and eternally dependable, like a safe place they can always come back to. He can be a little hard to read, quiet and reserved as he is, but these days Nami knows where to look, the telltales hidden in the way he straightens his back and carries himself.

But with Sanji, Zoro is—he’s all those things still, sure. But he’s also— so much more. There’s suddenly this— kid, lively and boyish and so, so easy to read. Open book, heart on his sleeve. He grins and yells and throws his punches, and Sanji would take them in stride and return them as easily. This Zoro pouts when Sanji doesn’t pay him attention, and scowls when he does; and when Sanji makes him laugh, it’s a loud, open thing.

Sometimes it feels as if the Zoro she knew was an impostor all along. As if there was a pale imitation of Roronoa Zoro with a ghost of a smile, and he’d only come alive in the middle of a fucking diner.

And the worst part of it all is—

“You two?” Vivi suddenly mumbles, seemingly to herself. 

Nami tilts her head. “Yeah?”

“You were saying something about Luffy being curious about… us two ,” Vivi says. There’s an odd, pensive look on her face. “Are you talking about Sanji and…”

“You, of course!” Nami cuts in, perplexed.

“You told your friends about me?” Vivi wonders, and it’s baffling. Of course Nami told her friends about Vivi. Sometimes Nami thinks Vivi is all she could talk about. She’s hilarious and smart and a thousand times more interesting to talk about than Sanji and Zoro combined.

That’s a really weird thing to suddenly spring on someone though, so Nami instead says, “Vivi, you’re the best thing about these weekly visits, because that sure as hell isn’t.”

She’s pointing at the dumbass trio; somewhere along the way, Luffy has seemed to fall asleep, and Sanji is smiling at the boy’s sleeping form, looking very pleased with himself. Zoro is fuming behind him, arms crossed and chest puffed, like a child being forced to share his favorite toy.

Vivi laughs at the sight, shaking her head. “Well, boys will be boys.”

The words bury itself uncomfortably in the pit of Nami’s stomach.

Boys will be boys—which is why sometimes (oftentimes, many times, always) Nami thinks she’s much more easily enamored with girls. Nami supposes there is a certain charm in Zoro’s brutish ways, but she’s beginning to learn that it may not be for her—Nami appreciates people who can hold their own in a fistfight, but there is also strength in reigning yourself in despite the circumstances, the way she’s seen Vivi handle difficult customers with a firm tone, graceful and dangerous at the same time.

(What could this mean, then? For her, for them—)

Zoro and Sanji have started fighting animatedly again. Roronoa Zoro, his heart on his sleeve.

And the worst part is that Nami doesn’t even care.

 +

 /u/sorcatarius • 334 points  4 months ago

I usually appreciate it when OP updates their posts with recent developments because I’m one of those people who get easily invested in a stranger’s life story, but is it just me or do all of these updates seem irrelevant? Most of them are about the waitress. I feel like I’m learning nothing about the actual date here. Who’s dating who again?

/u/NeonRain15• 137 points  4 months ago

OP is clearly a troll lol.

 +

 They are sitting at a corner table in front of the door to the kitchen, because Franky and Robin aren’t even pretending they’re here for the food instead of a show. Usopp told them he would rather ‘see where the danger is coming from ’, but Nami suspects the real reason is something closer to morbid curiosity.

Nami doesn’t fault them. It certainly is hard to look away from what those two clowns are currently doing: Zoro is waving a spatula and a frying pan like he would his kendo swords, clearly breaking several kitchen-related OSHA rules in the process; Sanji puts out his cigarette against the counter—seriously, has nobody here heard of proper kitchen etiquette—and swings his leg in a drop kick.

There’s a loud CLANK as his shoe comes into contact with the pan.

Franky whistles. “That’s super awesome, bro!” He cheers, before turning back to the table with a lower voice, “Seriously, how have they not fired Sanji-bro already?”

“Other than the fact that he’s overqualified as hell?” Usopp asks in between spoonfuls of Sanji’s fried rice.

“Well, they do provide a wonderful source of entertainment for us customers,” Robin observes.

“Sure thing,” Franky replies, “but they’re totally destroying kitchen appliances right now, I mean, look at that roller. There’s no way any normal wood could withstand that —there it goes.”

“Let them be—what’s the worst that could happen?” Robin muses. “Other than a kitchen accident that leads to a gas explosion and the restaurant burning down to the ground, obliterating all of us in the process, of course.”

“Robin,” Usopp squeaks.

Inside the kitchen, the tables have turned—Sanji has somehow regained possession of his kitchen appliances, and he’s now teaching Zoro how to cook. They’re standing shoulder-to-shoulder, heads bent over the stove, and Sanji would occasionally wrap his hand around Zoro’s wrist to instruct him.

Zoro looks like he’s going to spontaneously combust. His eyes are darting between Sanji’s hands (still lightly gripping Zoro’s wrist), Sanji’s face (dangerously close to Zoro’s own), and Sanji’s lips (there’s something there, something he wants to do and Nami knows if she thinks hard enough she can put a name on it) —anywhere but the food they’re actually cooking. Zoro’s own face is now redder than the tomatoes lining up the kitchen counter.

Heart on his sleeve, Nami thinks. Open book, open book.

“I’m going to get some refills,” she announces, suddenly feeling like she’s intruding on something private and practically leaps towards the soda station. She could feel a pair of curious eyes on her back—Robin’s, no doubt—but she’s more distracted by another presence currently standing beside her.

“Hey,” Vivi says, voice light, teasing. She’s carrying a lot of cups on her, presumably the others’, and she bumps her shoulder against Nami’s playfully. Nami could feel the touch fizzle against her skin.

“Hey,” Nami replies, trying to pretend that the close proximity doesn’t bother her at all. “‘Sup?”

Vivi wordlessly helps her with the drinks, and they easily fall into comfortable silence, filling cups after cups, until Vivi nudges her again. “You know, Usopp was right about Sanji being overqualified.”

Nami fills Franky’s cup slower, wondering where the conversation is going. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah. You know, I have a secret,” Vivi says, tone playful, but when Nami looks up there’s something in her eyes. “Actually, I own this place.”

Nami stops filling the cup. “What?”

“I mean, it’s mostly on loan, and I’m not halfway done with the payments, but technically, yeah,” Vivi says, tucking her hair to the back of her ear in a nervous gesture. “I didn’t really want to tell anyone because it’s not like I wanted a special treatment from the patrons. And I am effectively a waitress here.”

Nami is suddenly reminded of all the instances when she called Baratie a no-name diner right to Vivi’s face, and feels her stomach sink. Holy shit, she called it a dumpster fire just last week.

Vivi must have noticed Nami’s mental breakdown, because she quickly waves her hand and laughs. “No, no, don’t worry about it—I know we’re still a work in progress. Especially ever since—”

Vivi trails off at that, suddenly looking unsure. She starts collecting all the cups, like she’s giving Nami a reason to back out of the conversation. “It’s kind of a boring life story, actually, I’m sorry for dumping that all to you out of the blue—”

“Vivi,” Nami says, placing a calming hand on her shoulder. She doesn’t usually do this; she knows, better than most, how heavy one’s past could be, and she hates it when people try to pry into hers. But Vivi is looking at her with sad eyes and unsteady hands, and suddenly Nami wants nothing other than to tell her, “I’ll drop this if you don’t want to talk about it, but remember this: I will always want to know more about you.”

She places her hand on Vivi's arm, for emphasis. “I will always want to support you.”

It takes a moment before her words sink in, and Nami could see the moment it does, Vivi’s eyes widening in surprise as her face breaks into a slow-starting smile. “Thank you, Nami,” she whispers, and it’s almost reverent.

Nami’s gaze falls onto Vivi’s lips, and suddenly it’s become very difficult to maintain a conversation.

She wonders how she’d look now, to an outsider. Flushed face and a stupid smile on her face, hands fidgeting with her own hair. Open book, open book . Could they hear, she wonders, the way her heart is hammering against her ribcage—would they find out—

Robin claps her hands together, snapping Nami out of her reverie. The whole group is already standing by the door, waiting for her, and god, how long have they been talking by the soda station again?

“Perhaps we can take the drinks another day. Time to go home, don’t you think?” Robin suggests. Her tone is light, but her gaze is heavy, and Nami has to resist the urge to curl into herself.

Zoro still stares at the kitchen, oblivious to the tension. “Yeah,” he says, almost in a daze. “ Shit — yeah.”

Shit, indeed.

 +

/u/Lanzifer• 975 points  5 months ago

This is a love story.

 /u/nashdezus • 307 points  3 months ago

I hate to break it to you but I think your boyfriend is in love with the cook. If this is fake you have written one of the greatest gay romances of this generation, if this isn’t fake I dunno what.

 /u/ParkNight • 399 points  3 months ago

Your BF needs to cut to the chase and invite the cook over to your place for some eggs and rough sex.

 /u/Cod3Man • 760 points  4 months ago

He has a crush on the cook & vice versa but they’re both living a lie so they fight because it’s the only way to release the sexual tension. Every different way of cooking an egg represents a different sex act.

 /u/jakubada • 523 points  3 months ago

Girl, not to wish ill will on your relationship, but you should bang that waitress instead.

 +

 “Have you ever heard of Baroque Works?”

Nami pauses. She places her pencil away, knowing that Vivi deserves nothing less than her full attention.

It’s only been a couple of days since the conversation she had with Vivi, but Nami can’t get her mind off of it. She’s been coming to Baratie every single day now after college, and it’s just so convenient that Zoro suddenly refuses to go. It’s simply harder to have Vivi open up when someone else is around, and not because there are other reasons. Like wanting Vivi all to herself. No sire.

She shakes herself out of the dangerous train of thoughts. “Baroque Works? Isn’t that the new restaurant chain down the block? It’s the one that’s taken over that other chain, right? Uh, what was it called—”

“Alabasta,” Vivi supplies, before sighing. “That’s the chain my family used to own.”

Nami blinks. “Wait, you used to own Alabasta?”

Running a diner on her own at her age is already an impressive feat in and of itself, but Alabasta is a whole different beast. It’s a nation-wide chain with dozens of restaurants, and owning the chain is probably equivalent to owning a small empire.

“Oh, no, I mean, my family did,” Vivi quickly adds, ever humble. “It’s not exactly anything impressive. My grandfather ran the business before my father did, and his father was the one who started it—it was passed down the generations, and I was simply born into it.

“As you said, Alabasta went down a few years ago because my father struck a bad deal with a ruthless businessman. It is clear now, in hindsight, that Crocodile was tricking us, but we were naive and perhaps a little too eager to expand. Baroque Works took over, and we were left with the only branch they deemed the least profitable—here.”

“And you renamed it to Baratie?”

“That was Sanji’s idea,” she says, a small smile playing on her lips; it is clearly a much fonder memory than what that businessman—Crocodile—did to her and her family. “At the time, Sanji just moved to Grand Line. His father had a restaurant back in East Blue with the same name, and he told me he would help me build everything back from the ground up. We would borrow the name, acting like we’re a branch of Baratie, and I can rename it back to Alabasta once I can settle all the legalities with Baroque Works.”

Everything slowly falls into place now—the way Sanji is clearly trained to cook dishes much more sophisticated than waffles and scrambled eggs, the freedom he gets to be able to mess around with Zoro, and his close camaraderie with Vivi.

Nami feels a pang of—god, jealousy, if she dares to put a name on it—towards Sanji; for being able to stand by Vivi’s side when she needed it the most. It’s silly, because Sanji has always been kind to her, and it’s not like it was Sanji’s fault that Nami didn’t know Vivi until recently, but the feeling gripped her like a vice anyway, heavy and suffocating.

Vivi seems to have taken her silence wrongly, though, because she looks away, almost shamefully. “You must think this is all stupid.”

“Of course not,” Nami immediately retorts without missing a beat. She thinks of Bellemere, holding her head high despite the judgments from the neighbors. She was alone and penniless, countless doors slammed close in her face just because she was a single mother; but none of that stopped Bellemere from sending Nojiko and Nami to the best school in the neighborhood

So Nami tells Vivi what she has always wanted to tell Bellemere, and what she knows to be true of Vivi, of any women in her life who has never backed down from adversity— “You’re amazing.”

Vivi blinks, cheeks coloring at the words. It takes her a moment before she can reply with a shaky, “Yeah?”

“Yeah? Vivi, you’re—” Nami turns her body to face Vivi fully, grabbing her by the arms, “—you’re the strongest, most hard-working person I’ve ever known. Most people in your shes would’ve turned tails and run.” 

Vivi flushes further. It’s the first time Nami has seen her flustered, really cute, actually. And the fact that Nami is the one who put that expression on her face —

“Are we intruding on something?”

Nami almost jumps from her seat, suddenly feeling like she’s five again, getting caught with her hand halfway into the cookie jar. Vivi is scrambling to her feet from her side, cleaning imaginary dust from her uniform as she stammers, “no, of course not! I’m sorry, sir—sirs , can I take your order?”

Nami looks up to see Jinbe laugh and wave at her, signaling her to calm down. Brook is standing right behind him, giving Nami a small wave. “What do you serve?”

Nami tries to return to her map as Vivi starts rattling off the menu, but Brook—wise, old Brook, with his soft voice and observing eyes, goes, “No Zoro this time around, hm?”

Her pen stills. There’s nothing accusatory in Brook’s voice—he would never, none of their friends would never. But she waits for Vivi to be off with their orders still before replying, arms crossed across her chest almost defensively. “What is it to you, old man?”

She realizes a little too late that it’s an awfully rude response, but Jinbe simply laughs. “Old men, aren’t we, Brook?”

“Certainly older than most,” Brook agrees, eyes shining in mirth, not offended the least. “Hopefully wiser, too.”

“Well, sometimes,” Jinbe says, turning to Nami, “old men like us have the fortune—or the misfortune, some may say—to have loved and lost.”

Nami isn’t quite sure where the conversation is going, but there’s grief carried by Jinbe’s voice, and what comes out is, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all long past, miss,” Jinbe dismisses, not unkindly. “More importantly, what I’m trying to ay is, you and Zoro might have been looking at the wrong places. Love, that is. But there is time to rectify this—isn’t that what you young people have? Time”

Nami sits still, stupefied.

She has the suspicion that Robin knows, but Robin has always had her ways. For Jinbe to notice? Jinbe, who would rather talk about his fishing trips than to gossip? How obvious has she been?

(Open book, the thought resurfaces, unbidden. Heart on her sleeve—)

“Though, Nami?” Brook suddenly says, snapping Nami out of her own reverie.

She suddenly realizes that it’s just the two of them on the table, Jinbe already wandering around after imparting her with some advices. She clears her throat, trying to get her bearings. “Yeah?”

“I have to disagree with our dear Jinbe, I must say. We have loved and lost, but,” he takes her hand and guides it to rest on her heart.

“To love,” Brook says, voice steady, sure as a day. “Is never a misfortune.”

 +

     r/AmITheAsshole

Realizing I am a lesbian while dating a guy. AITA? submitted 2 months ago by u/throwawaypinwheel

257 comments    share    save    give award    report

   Realizing I am a lesbian while dating a guy. AITA?

submitted 2 months ago by /u/throwawaypinwheel

I’m a girl who has gone through a couple of dates with a dude, but I’m falling in love with another girl. Like, I’m having a gay crisis right now. I’m not actually cheating since we haven’t decided to be exclusive yet, but he’s also a childhood friend, so it makes me wonder if this is a dick move? 

To make matters more complicated: my date? Friend? Sort of boyfriend? He seems to have fallen in love with someone else too, and it’s another guy, so he might be gay, too.

Yes, I know bisexuality exists. Can’t exactly speak about him but I think I’m not that, so it’s not like I can suck it up and date him instead. AITA?

  [deleted] • 725 points  2 months ago

Aren’t you the OP of that one viral post from r/relationship_advice about the Baratie cook?

/u/throwawaypinwheel • 2324 points  2 months ago

Yes, and that’s relevant, how?

 /u/alohci • -20 points  2 months ago

LOL you’re clearly a troll. This isn’t r/CreativeWriting, go write your romance novel somewhere else. I’m reporting you to the mods.

 /u/cheesus32 • 1739 points  2 months ago

This is better than most shit on Netflix right now

 /u/veloace • 1641 points  2 months ago

Communication is key, OP. Sexualities aside—which is a topic for another day—isn’t this essentially a case of the two of you wanting different things from the relationship?

 +

 Nami takes a deep breath and checks her phone for the time.

She sees the 1:00 displayed on the screen. Her appointment with Zoro is supposed to be on twelve thirty, which means she’ll have another 30 minutes as Zoro gets lost on the way to Baratie as usual. One hour was his record.

She takes another deep breath and sighs.

This is it. She’s going to tell Zoro the truth.

It’s rare for her, to be so nervous around Zoro, but in her defense, it’s not like there’s an easy way to say, “hey, sorry, this may come out of nowhere but I’m breaking things off between us. Apparently I’m a lesbian and I’m also in love with the waitress at the place where we’re supposed to be going on dates in. It’s not you, it’s me.”

...Nami really needs to work on her delivery.

Her heart stutters in her chest as the automatic door slides open and Zoro walks in with the grim determination of a soldier going into battle. Perhaps Zoro is more perceptive than she’s giving him credit for. She hopes so—it surely will make this whole sort of-break up easier for the both of them.

She has run her line over and over again in her head, but nothing has prepared her to see Zoro sit down across the table, bow down, and says, “I’m sory, but I don’t think this is working out for us.”

She blinks. Wait. Wait—“ You're breaking up with me?”

“Luffy thinks we’re having a fight because we’ve been acting weird around each other ever since we tried out this whole dating thing, and hell, Nami, he’s right—I’ve seen you less now,” Zoro plows on, oblivious to her shock. “And don’t get me wrong, you’re my best friend, and you’re still my best friend, and I want us back. The us that’s, you know, normal. Alsoimightbeinlovewiththecook .”

Oh.

That’s—oh.

Nami is pretty sure her mouth is hanging open stupidly now, but she can’t bring herself to care. “Holy shit,” she breathes, perplexed. “Reddit was right.”

Zoro finally looks up at that. “What’s red—” he seems to take in her expression for the first time since the conversation started, eyebrows furrowing. ‘Wait. You’re not mad?”

“Mad? No, Zoro, god—how could I be when you’re right?” She feels her body slumping into the chair, the weight she didn’t know she’d been carrying has suddenly been lifted. “We are terrible for each other. I have no idea what got us to agree to this.”

Zoro visibly relaxes. There’s amusement in his tone as he suggests, “the copious amount of alcohol?”

Right. They were in the middle of a drinking competition when the idea of a date came up. “You know what, in hindsight, it’s kind of crazy that we got this far with such a stupid idea.”

“I think I was running away,” Zoro admits, eyes unwittingly darting towards the kitchen. “I couldn’t—I had this thing, for the Cook, but I couldn’t bring myself to admit it. So I tried to make you an excuse for my cowardice.” He bows again. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no, dummy, don’t—” she kicks him on the shin, forcing him to stop bowing. “Stop being all bushido on me. I wasn’t any better. I’m—in love with Vivi.”

It’s Zoro’s turn to look at her in surprise. “What, really?”

It’s comforting, in a way, that at least she isn’t so obvious that Zoro would notice. “Yeah. You’re probably too preoccupied with your pretty blond to notice, but I’ve been pretty smitten myself. And I guess I have you and your little crush to thank for dragging me here in the first place.”

Zoro blushes at that, and it’s cute—not in a way that makes her want to kiss him, but definitely in a way that makes her want to tease him until the end days. God, how did it take her so long to realize she never loved him that way?

“‘Dragging” you, huh?” Zoro seems to decide to hone in on that, probably because he could burn himself alive from embarrassment if he keeps talking about Sanji. “This place is that bad for a date?”

Nami throws her head back and laughs. “You’re the worst date ever, Zoro,” she says, in between peals of laughter. “But you’re the best wingman I’ve ever had.”

 +

 “Going on a date again this time?” Vivi asks.

Nami looks at her—really takes her in, her smooth long hair and bright smile and long eyelashes. Holy shit, she’s staring at her eyelashes. She is so fucking gay.

She clears her throat. Focus, Nami. “No, actually, uh, can we talk? Like, super serious.”

Vivi immediately straightens up at that. “Of course. Give me a moment."

She rushes towards the kitchen, probably to tell Sanji that she’ll be occupied for a moment; something pulls inside Nami’s chest at the sight, knowing that Vivi would drop everything to be by Nami’s side.

When Vivi reemerges from the kitchen, she’s no longer carrying the tray and the menu. She takes a seat beside Nami and takes her hand. “Is everything all right?”

“Yeah, kind of, uh,” here goes nothing. “Zoro and I broke up.”

Vivi’s free hand shot up to cover her mouth in surprise. “Oh my god, Nami, I’m so sorry.”

“No, no, don’t be,” she rushes to clarify, before Vivi gets the wrong idea, “I did say we broke up, but that isn’t exactly right—I mean, we were never exclusive, Vivi. And I don’t think we were ever dating for real. Like, we’re gay.”

There’s a beat. “What?”

Okay, so Nami could  have broken the news much more smoothly than that.

“Zoro and I, uh—I’m gay. And Zoro never exactly put a label, but I’m pretty sure he never even dreamed of banging a chick, and—” she squeezes Vivi’s hand. She isn’t sure she’s doing it for Vivi or herself. “I know this is a lot, but I just—I think we were just very comfortable with each other, and since we are man and woman, we somehow thought we should date. Which is dumb, looking back at it, but we’d never fallen in love before.”

She thinks of Vivi—beautiful, fierce, kind Vivi, who carries the world on her shoulders. Vivi, whose smile lights up the whole room. “We didn’t know how different it was going to be, when it’s the real thing.”

Somewhere behind them, she can hear something heavy hit the floor in the kitchen, which means Zoro must have confessed right about now and Sanji must have dropped something from the shock.

Well, at least Vivi hasn’t dropped anything yet. 

“What I’m trying to say is,” she continues, finding newfound courage from the way Vivi looks at her—is that hope in her eyes? “Vivi, you’re the most wonderful, amazing person I’ve ever met, and you’re beautiful and pretty but I like you more than just that.” She takes Vivi’s hand in both of hers now. “Would you go out with me?”

There’s a moment as her words seem to sink in, and Nami feels her blood run cold—what if she read this whole thing wrongly? What if Vivi was straight? What if she was just trying to help out a friend, being the nice person she is?

But then Vivi’s face splits into a smile, soft and golden-warm, the white light of the overhead fluorescence illuminating her almost ethereal-like. “Yes, Nami,” she says, lacing their fingers together, “I would love to go out with you. But only on one condition.”

“Anything,” Nami says without thinking, because it’s true.

Vivi grins, and there’s a teasing edge on her voice as she says, “If you’re asking me on a date in a diner, count me out.”

“Oh my god,” Nami says, finally, finally pulling Vivi in for a kiss, “never again.”

 +

  UPDATE: My (20F) Date (21M) has left me for a Baratie cook (21M)

submitted 3 days ago by /u/throwawaypinwheel

 It’s fine though, I have a girlfriend (18F, beautiful, amazing, doesn’t get into fights with random cooks) now. Yes, it’s the waitress. Yes, you guys have told me so. I’d love to take the L, but I’m the one with a hot girlfriend here, so am I really losing in this scenario?

#namivivi #zosan #nami #roronoa zoro #sanji #nefertari vivi #one piece #my writing #// #vivi #zoro #op

[startanewdream]

heyyyy, i was wondering if u could write something about james and sirius finding out about harry telling snape "theres no need to call me sir professor" its just the most iconic line from the books and i always thought james and Sirius would be v proud of harry and find it absolutely hilarious if they found out😭🤣

Heeeey! Now, there is no way I truly could make justice for this perfect line, but please enjoy this short homage to one of the best scenes ever, set during Christmas of Year 6.

___________________

Being a parent (means no fun)

Harry is wrapping a gift in his room when James knocks on the open door, holding a pile of clothes.

‘Fresh clothes’, he announces.

‘Can you leave on the bed? I will sort it out later’.

‘Sure — late Christmas gift?’, James asks, distracted.

‘Yeah, I — yeah’. There is something in his voice that makes James pause. He looks at the gift Harry just finished wrapping. He doesn’t know what it is, but the tag reads Ginny in a flourish caligraphy he never sees Harry using.

Hmmm. If only Harry would admit it, he thinks, but he just presses his lips, not saying anything. They — well, Lily — had agreed not to mention anything about his crush until their son talks about it first.

Harry leaves the gift on his desk with a guilty expression, avoiding his father’s eyes, and goes to pick up the clothes in his bed. James sits lazily on the couch by the window, waiting patiently. They are alone in his room — if Harry is looking for the best moment to confess his crush, this is it.

But the minutes drag on without Harry saying anything and his hope diminishes; Harry seeks really concentrated on sorting his clothes between what he is going to take back to Hogwarts and what he will keep at home. When he disregards his dress robes, James finds an opening.

‘So, how was old Slug’s party?’

‘Hum, what?’, Harry asks, looking flustered for some reason. ‘Good, I don’t know. Luna was fun, but it’s not my kind of party’.

‘Slughorn has invited you to his little club?’

‘Yeah’.

‘I figured so. He wouldn’t lose the chance of collecting you’.

Harry shudders. ‘Everyone wants the Chosen One?’, he asks, in a feeble attempt at a joke.

James smiles anyway. ‘Mostly because of who your mum is. You think I love her? You haven’t seen how Slughorn worships her’.

Harry laughs now. ‘Yeah, I’ve noticed it. He keeps comparing me to her’.

‘Wow, that’s a compliment if I've ever seen one’.

Again Harry looks flustered. His lips tremble as if he is on the verge of saying something, but he turns his gaze away. ‘My grades have gotten better’, he says nonchalantly. ‘But then Slughorn is a professor a lot better than Snape’.

‘It helps when your professor doesn’t hate you on principle’, James agrees, making Harry grin. ‘How are Slug’s dinners? Ginny is a member too, right?’

Harry lets the sock he is folding slip from his hand. He dives under the bed and emerges with his ears very red; James presses his lips again. Sometimes it’s really hard to stay quiet.

‘I — I don’t know. Maybe I should… if only Hermione wasn’t — I mean, Ginny is a member, but I haven’t been in any of Slughorn’s dinner’, he admits, sounding really miserable with the fact.

‘No?’, James asks, surprised. ‘How come? Your mother used to love these dinners’.

‘Oh, I —’, he rolls his eyes. ‘Ron can’t go, so I usually schedule a practice for the same night, you know. If I am not on detention with Snape, that’s it’.

Another rolling of eyes, with more disdain this time. 

James sighs. Be the parent, he tells himself.

‘Detention, Harry? I know Snape is not —’

‘He hates me’, Harry notes indifferently. ‘Nothing will change it, why bother? And in any case, it was worth it’.

There is a glint shining on his eyes now, so mischievous that almost seems wrong to be on the eyes he inherited from Lily. It’s a much more marauder’s glint.

James saw it a lot of times in his reflection on the mirror, always on Sirius’ face and even in Remus’ eyes, as innocent as he pretended to be.

‘What did you do?’

‘Oh, first class of DADA. He tried to hex me, I defended myself, and he got snape-ish, asking me if I had heard him saying we should practice non-verbal spells. I told him that yes and...’

‘And?’, he presses when Harry stays quiet, smirking more than ever.

‘And he answered me “yes, sir”, you know, all bossy, so I told him there was no need to call me sir’.

James’ lips tremble. 

Don’t laugh, he orders himself. You are the parent. You can’t support him being cheek with a professor.

But it’s Snape.

Still, you are the adult here.

He is a git.

Since when does this matter?

He deserved it.

Of course he did, that’s not the point.

Harry’s answer was really good.

With Lily as his mother, what did you expect?

Lily will approve it.

No, she won’t.

Not out loud. But her son being sassy? She will be proud. Why can’t I be proud? Please? Just a little?

You are proud, you just can’t show it. You are the parent here.

Being a parent is not fun.

Took you 16 years to figure this out?

James closes his eyes, pinching his nose and urging himself not to show any emotion at all. 

Be the parent. Be the parent. Be the parent.

‘You will be all year in detention if you don’t control your tongue’, he mumbles, voice weak.

‘Snape doesn’t control himself, why should I?’, Harry asks, and when James opens one eye he sees his son crossing his arms.

Be the parent. 

‘Because it will make your life easier’, James says, raising. ‘Well, I’ll let you rest. We leave tomorrow morning to the Burrow’.

‘Okay’, Harry shrugs.

James walks away calmly , closing the door to Harry’s room. He goes to his own room, closing the door as well; he picks up his wand and casts a Silence Charm on the door.

Then he allows himself to laugh.

______________

‘And then’, James says, tears of joy escaping from his eyes, ‘he told Snape there was no need to call him sir’.

‘Oh, Merlin!’, Sirius cries, doubling over with laughter. ‘I wish I were there to watch it! The pure boldness!’

‘Can you imagine his face?’

‘Ohhh, he must have hated it! Cheek from a Potter?’

‘Don’t put this on me, it’s all Lily’.

‘What is my fault?’, Lily asks distractedly, entering the room. James’ smile dies. Ops. He doesn’t really want to share it with Lily — if she argues with Harry —

‘Harry’s cheekiness’, Sirius replies without any shame, offering her a goblet with eggnog. ‘He has James’ look, but your spirit’.

‘Tell me something I don’t know. Why this time?’

James throws a betrayed look at Sirius before sighing. ‘Lily, love, now don’t be mad, he already got a detention for it —’

She raises her eyebrows. ‘What Harry has done now?’

‘Well, you see, Snape was being his usual self —’

‘Oh, is the no need to call me sir, professor? He told me ages ago’.

James blinks. ‘You were not upset?’

‘Of course I was, I’m his mother, I had to be’. She drinks from her cup, that mischievous glint on her eyes too, complimented by the most kissable smirk James has ever seen on her lips. ‘But, really, I could not have retorted it better’.

James decides he can’t love her more than he does now.

‘Oh, James, Lily’, Sirius sighs, placing his arms around their shoulders, bringing them close and drying dramatically a tear from his eyes. ‘I’m so proud of you. You raised your son so well’.

[zackcrazyvalentine]

I'm saying this with my whole chest... I already know this has been done but this is my version

Twst hot takes: who'd they be irl school setting

Heartslabyul

Riddle is the teachers pet and snitches on everyone. Definitely an emily, was a bitch in hs and now works as a nurse/doctor now, "they say it all the time though... I thought it meant friend or something"

Trey either adopts you as one of his kids or is the senior thats has a freshmen s/o

Cater is a wannabe regina george, hops on trends, will cancle everything and anything, switches aesthetic often, sends SS on snapchat, "you wouldn't know who they are.. they're soo under ground" it's the fucking Beatles, "oh that on tiktok song", "don't wanna talk abt it 😥"

Ace post shit like "females these days😐... follow me on soundcloud", Will peak in highschool, thinks he exudes black air force energy but has dirty white van energy, "when 69 gets outta jail he's gonna get killed no cap 🤓", "cardi b isn't black either 🤓", wears burger King crowns, "dababy", "this song be bussin bussin for real sheesh"

Deuce is a teen drama bad boy that is just misunderstood, "nobody understands me", was bullied, left, came back and is the leader of a gang now, ironically he wants to either go into the army or become a police officer

Savanaclaw

Leona acts like he's from the streets but is from a gated community and dad is the mayor, thinks everyone hates him but is really popular, likes to use his status as mayors son to threaten ppl

Ruggie leeches of leona, the 'ol begging ass plate, always eating

Jack is the asshole dude bro, means well, 100% signing up for the military, used to be the no fun friend

Octavinelle

Azul "if you didn't like me at my worst and can have me at my best", "what he cheated on me with vs me", "#gatekeep #gaslight #girlboss"

Jade is the fake friend, blackmails ppl, everyone thinks he'll threaten to blow up the school

Floyd is the kid that know matter how many complaints the school gets the teachers can't do anything

Scarabia

Jamil unpopular twin, wird kid that wears hoodies in 80+ degree weather, emo phase, forced to help kalim, gets his license and everyone switches up

Kalim the popular twin, "if you're homeless just buy a house", doesn't study cuz he was partying and copies off of jamil, doesn't know he's the favorite

Pomefiore

Vil does part time modeling and make sure you know abt it, "take me back 😩", got popular on tiktok for doing nothing, will become a family blogger

Rook is the "where's my hug at?" Guy, saves everyone photos, "rookhunt took a screenshot of your story"

Epel is the homophobic gay kid, thinks he's the 'alpha male', responds to ppl calling him with "cry abt it", two faced

Ignhyde

Idia is a neckbeard borderline incle, tier 3 pokimane sub, bought gamer girl bath water, down bad, "females only play the Sims and minecraft while I play dark souls and csgo", nice guy switch up

Ortho wants to be like his big brother but he doesn't know how deep it goes

Diasomnia

Malleus will double text you and will do "am I annoying you 🥺" when you don't respond in 5 sec, "i don't fuck with anybody at school", I'm 14 and this deep, "mix your three most recent emojis"

Lilia is both the "seinor with a freshmen s/o and where's my hug at guy"

Silver is a pot head (don't @ me)

Sebek would be the homophobic and racist kid but is biracial and comes out as gay later on

Staff/other

Mc would be roger from American dad rando twsted guy: "if I walk through this door it's gonna be you?" Mc: "*wearing school uniform*There is a 99% chance that yes it will be me" rando twst guy: "ok *opens the door to see Mc in the concealer office looking over a file* Mc: "are you my 2 o'clock? please have a seat"

Grim is the schools unofficial mascot

Crowley the new principle that acts like he's been there for years

Crewel has sex with his students

Trein is the teacher your parents be like "he's still teaching?" He also wants to retire but the and makes it known he wants to

Ashton is either the gym teacher that means well or is the teacher that's married but is fucking another teacher/students

Sam graduated 5 yrs ago but has nothing better to do and hangs around school, if you have the money he'll buy it for you, "hey kid you wanna buys some drugs?"

Cheka is a sticky iPad kid, "my mom let's me eat those" when you have hot chips, cheka: "yeah my mama and daddy be fighting naked sometimes" twst guy: "okay where your parents at?, "my mom said I can play on your computer", "you got games on your phone?"

Chen'ya is the kid that skips school to hangout with friends at a different school, "they go to a different school"

Neige also modles but is more successful at it and has the brunette and blonde friendship but in reverse with vil

Farena is roger doofenshmirtz situation with leona, "why do these new aged kids stay in their rooms all day?", "i wanst the favorite! You were"

Not gonna lie..... a lot of this I didn't understand (JFC HELP I'M BECOMING MUCH MORE OF A BOOMER WITH EACH PASSING DAY)

BUT SEBEK, IDIA AND ACE ARE SO SPOT ON I'M LAUGHING SO MUCH

also.... pls..... I-I wanna be Trey's freshman gf koljgkjgflk

thank you for sharing!

#zask #twisted wonderland #funny #heartslabyul #savanaclaw #octavinelle #scarabia #pomefiore #ignihyde #diasomnia #twst staff #nrc staff #twst grim #cheka kingscholar #che'nya #alchemi alchemivich pinka #neige leblanche #royal sword academy

[imagineyourworld]

Never Date a Pilot

Poe Dameron x Genderneutral!Reader

Summary: When he hears that you’re going on a date with another pilot your best friend is anything but happy

Warnings: None

Masterlist

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“You’re going on a date with Jak Milson?” 

You put the datapad you had been working on down and looked up at Poe. Your best friend was standing in front of your desk, arms crossed in front of his chest and disbelief written all over his face. 

“Hello to you too, Poe”, you sighed. From the way he was looking at you you knew there was no chance you’d get back to work soon. “And yes, I am going out with Jak.” 

For a moment Poe just stared at you in silence, then he put both of his hands down on your desk and leaned closer to you. 

“Why?”, he asked. Just a single word and yet it had you riled up. Yes, Poe was your best friend, but years ago you had established one single rule for your friendship: You would not talk about your dating or sex lives, at least unless one of you had a serious partner and the topic could no longer be avoided, but so far that’s never been the case. 

“Do we have to talk about that now?”, you asked. You lifted your hands and motioned around the room. It was only when you looked around a second later that you noticed that although there were ten more desks in the room, all of them were empty. You were alone with Poe. 

“Worried your boyfriend is gonna come in?”, Poe scoffed. 

It was the tone rather than the words that made your gaze return to him. Sure, Poe could get mad, but even then he didn’t talk to you in that tone, especially not when he had no reason to be mad in the first place. 

You leaned back further in your chair and sighed. Apparently you had been right and this conversation would take some time. 

“He’s not my boyfriend, I’m just going on a date with him.” 

“Why?”, Poe asked again. 

Abruptly you jumped up from your chair, causing him to take a step back from you so your heads wouldn’t crash together. You walked to the other side of your desk until you were standing right in front of him. 

“I thought we agreed not to talk about dating.” 

Instinctively Poe nodded, but just a second later he shook his head. You rolled your eyes at your friend. Didn’t he see that you had a lot of work to do and didn’t want to talk about this? 

“So I have to abide by your principles and you don’t have to?” 

He stepped closer to you, so close that your chests were almost touching and you could see the tiny golden specks in his eyes. Usually being this close to him would make you flustered, but today it only made you angrier. 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“Did you know he’s a pilot?”, Poe asked just a fraction of a moment after your question has left your mouth. 

You stared at him, your mouth opening and closing, your hands forming fists so tight you could feel your nails biting into the soft flesh. 

“I did.” 

You didn’t add that that might have been part of the reason you agreed to go out with Jak in the first place. Being a pilot, having soft curls, warm brown eyes and an easy smile he reminded you just enough of the person you would rather go out with to maybe forget about the best friend you have been pining over for years and move on. 

All of the sudden the fight left Poe. He no longer stared at you with blazing eyes, but instead looked down at his feet, almost defeated. And no matter how much you just wanted to smack him a second earlier, now you longed to hold him until the worry lines on his handsome face disappeared. 

“Poe”, your voice was barely above a whisper, scared you’d say the wrong thing. “What’s the matter?” 

You reached out to capture both his hands in yours and gently rubbed soothing circles on his knuckles. “You know you’ll always be my favourite pilot.” 

Gently, but determined, he pulled his hands out of my grib, though his eyes stayed locked on his feet. 

“And yet you break your rules for another pilot.” 

His voice was so soft and quiet, it took you a moment to fully register his words. Once you did, however, you were even more confused. Hadn’t he said something about rules earlier as well? 

“Poe, would you stop speaking in riddles? What rules are you talking about?” 

Finally he looked at you again. By now his expression was no longer angry or sad, it was plain confusion. You realized you probably didn’t look much different. 

“Do you really not remember your rule about never dating pilots?” 

You couldn’t keep the laugh that burst out of you contained. What on earth was he talking about? Sure, you’ve never dated a pilot, but that was partly because Jak had been the first pilot to ever ask you out and partly because you didn’t want to date just any pilot, you had a specific one in mind. 

"I never came up with a rule like that."

“Of course you did!”, Poe exclaimed, a bit of the earlier fire returning to his voice and face. “Jean-Lyn’s seventh birthday party.” 

He said the words with such a conviction that he must believe them to ring a bell, but you just shook your head. 

“Poe, I barely even remember having been friends with someone names Jean-Lyn and certainly nothing that happened at their seventh birthday party.” 

If the situation were less serious you might have laughed at the way hurt, confusion and realisation chased across Poe’s face. 

“You really don’t remember, do you? We were playing a game or introducing ourselves or something, I don’t know, and we were supposed to say what we wanted to be when we grow up. I said that I was going to be a pilot and marry you, and I was one hundred percent convinced of both, but then you said that you would never date a pilot.” 

You knew you shouldn’t laugh, after all, Poe was telling you about a childhood memory that clearly meant a lot to him, but you couldn’t help it. 

“So you’re mad at me for something I said more than two decades ago? Poe Dameron, you are such an idiot.” 

You were still laughing when Poe spoke again, but his words made you quiet down quickly. 

“It’s not funny. Your words made me rethink my career countless times and if it weren’t for this war and the Resistance I would have quit flying years ago just to ask you out. And now I find out that you don’t even remember your own rule and are going out with a pilot that isn’t me.” 

Finally it dawned on you. You remembered Poe thinking about not going to the Academy, wanting to quit flying and become a teacher instead, glaring at anyone who got close to you, but never another pilot. 

A smile made its way to your lips. 

“You know, there’s a pilot I would rather go out with that Jak”, you told Poe. 

You didn’t know whether it was the years of friendship or the amused, yet loving and hopeful, expression on your face that told Poe you were talking about him, but he seemed to understand. 

“I never said anything about going out with you, I said I want to marry you.” 

His broad smile was matching yours and only grew when you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. 

“How about we go on a date first, flyboy?” 

Instead of an answer Poe put both of his hands on your waist and pulled you closer. 

“Under one condition: Your new rule is that you don’t date a pilot who isn’t me.” 

“I hate being told what to do”, you whispered against his lips. “But in this case I might make an exception.” 

Instead of an answer Poe leaned down just a tiny bit more until your lips finally met in a soft kiss that sent fireworks through your entire body.  

You had no idea why seven year old you said that she’d never date a pilot, because it was inevitable that Poe would become a pilot and there was no one else you’d rather date. 

-------

Is this cute? Is this stupid? All I know is that writing this was more fun than doing my assignment

#poe dameron #poe dameron x y/n #poe dameron x you #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron imagine #star wars imagine #star wars sequel trilogy #poe dameron fluff