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xxblairexxss · 8 months

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Fluffy child

Pairing : Charles Leclerc x reader

Theme : Fluff

Word count : 2.1k

A/N : Not really sure about this one. Sorry if it’s not up to your expectation, anon!

Requested!

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"Baby, I need to go now!"

"Wait!" You yelled back and picked up your fluffy son in your arms before making your way to your boyfriend, who was all prepared to leave with his small luggage. "Teddy said bye!”

He cackled as you waved the fluffy hand while the cat was looking very unamused as he was forced to wear the shirt. "Where did you get that?”

It was a toddler size Ferrari shirt with the number 16 at the back that you ordered months ago. "From a random website! Isn’t it cute? He liked it!” You squealed and kissed Teddy’s cheek.

"I don’t think he likes it, baby. Look at the face. He’s definitely giving you a side eye.” You laughed at your boyfriend’s horrible attempt to copy the expression. "I need to go now. I love you."

"There you go.” Teddy rolled down on the floor as you crouched to place him down before wrapping your arms around Charles’ neck as he kissed you on the cheek. "I’ll miss you!"

"I’ll miss you more. Teddy, don’t get used to my absence; it’ll only be 4 days."

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"Yeah, definitely. I mean—" Charles’ attentiveness to the conversation snapped when his phone rang. A smile instantly lit up his face when he saw the heart emoji at the end of the contact’s name. He usually got a few pictures of Teddy, your cat, every day, more if he was away. There were more pictures of the cat himself than your pictures in his phone by now.

Scooting the chair a little further away from Lando and Alex, he swiped the answer button and brought the phone to his ear, anticipating your voice. "Hey, baby!"

"Charles, he's gone…"

He frowned, unable to catch the words. Your voice was shaking, and there were a lot of voices where he was currently. "Sorry, baby. I didn’t hear you. What was that?"

"Teddy’s gone…"

He heard you sniffle and choppy breathing, making his hand itching to hold you in his arms right now.

"Charles, where are you going?” Lando called out after seeing the Ferrari driver stand up abruptly.

"My room." That was all he said as he left the table and made his way to the driver’s room, away from anyone else so he could hear you clearly.

Teddyy was a kitten you found outside a library back when you were a student. He came to the family at an early stage of the relationship. Charles always preferred a dog, but you managed to change his mind, or maybe he was forced to change his mind because wherever you were, Teddy would be by your side. Even in bed. So he never really got to say no to the fluff of cloud. He was very vocal and proud of being a dad as well. In fact, people would always ask him about Teddy more than himself whenever he bumped into the fans. It surely felt like Teddy was slowly taking over the spotlight.

You woke up yesterday morning and headed to the kitchen to do your daily routine, which was to feed your child. There should be a mini-race between you and him about who got to reach the kitchen first, and he would have blasted out his vocal chords to alarm the whole apartment that he required food right there and then, but yesterday was different. He was just lying down on his bed, looking so weak that you had to bring him to the emergency vet. You stayed at the vet for hours up until he got surgery, alone and unable to ring Charles due to the time difference. It was 2 hours after the surgery that the vet told you he passed away due to the stress that the surgery caused. You were told he suffered from a disease that could be infected by a virus that was hard to detect, and it wasn’t your fault, but it definitely felt like it. You haven’t slept; you couldn’t look at his blue-coloured glass bowl without crying, and you needed Charles.

He didn’t say anything throughout the video call, which lasted for at least an hour. You were filling him up with everything that happened with your puffy eyes, messy hair bun with your knitted cardigan, and looking like a divorced housewife who couldn’t move on from their cheater husband.

"I’m all good now. A little sad," You sniffed and wiped the tears with your oversized sweatshirt sleeve that was a little darker in colour from being used as a replacement for a tissue. "but I’m good."

Charles smiled, his heart swelling from seeing the way you tried to play it off just so he wouldn’t have to worry too much. “Are you sure you are okay, angel? I can stay on the phone longer. They don’t need me until 3, at least.” His gaze went to the top left of his phone screen. It was 2:57 PM.

"No, it’s okay." You brought the phone closer and managed a smile after seeing the way he looked at you. "Good luck."

"I love you, precious. I’ll probably arrive by midnight. You don’t have to wait for me, alright?"

You rubbed your eyes, nodding to his question before waving as he ended the call. The brown, printed blanket was back clinging to your body as you turned yourself into a cocoon and scrolled through pictures of Teddy while F1TV was airing on your television with just a few hours to go before the race.

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Everything had to make the loudest sound when he needed to be quiet. The sound of his shoe against the floor, which was usually silent as the grave, had to be the loudest ever at this hour. The sound of something shuffling against the floor made him whip his head as fast as he could towards the hallway, as soon as he closed the door.

"Baby?"

The shuffling sound came faster and louder as he made his way deeper into the dark hallway and stumbled back as you threw yourself against him. Too fast that he didn’t catch a glimpse of your body coming.

“F—you scared me.” He breathed out, and his arm went around your petite frame. He didn’t turn on the light because you often fell asleep on the couch, and he would hate himself for waking you up, but every sound in the dark would be connected to a burglar. He would have thrown a kick if he hadn’t caught the lavender scent from your body wash as you crashed into him earlier. "I thought you were asleep."

"I was waiting for you."

The thumping sound filled the silence as he let go of the bag he was holding with his other hand as he held you when you started crying in his arms. "Baby…"

It felt like you had drained out every salty liquid you had left because you were dehydrated after soaking Charles’ black shirt with your tears. You were flushed red when he cackled at you as you apologised for the mess.

"You should change out of this." He jerked back as you tugged on the shirt.

"Don’t be silly. Baby, stop trying to strip me. This is an assault."

You tugged on it again. "Go and change! It probably has my snot on it."

"Okay, and?"

"It’s disgusting!"

"Just tell me if you want to see my body. There’s no need to make up an excuse.” You rolled your eyes and left the kitchen while Charles waited for the linguine noodles to cook.

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"Is it done?”

You looked adorable with the puffy eyes and his hoodie, which seemed to be twice the size of your body, but Charles refused to say it out loud because you would turn down the compliment as if he were making fun of you. "It’s done, but it’s mine.” He had eaten earlier on the plane, but he didn’t have to ask to know you hadn’t eaten anything. He knew you from the back of his hand. He also knew you wouldn’t say no to your favourite food, butter pasta, so even when you told him you weren’t hungry, he still ended up cooking the food just because he wanted you to eat.

"Can I have a bite?” You wished he didn’t hear your stomach grumble.

Your phone was placed on your lap as he feed you a mouthful so as you leaned in, and he caught a glance of a recent picture of you and Teddy on your screen. He hadn’t really gotten to ask why or what happened because it didn’t seem like you were ready for it. All he knew was that you had to bring him to the emergency room because he wasn’t responding well, and that was it. "Baby, what happened?"

"It was my fault.” You sighed, frustrated with yourself, as you pressed the bottom part of your palm against your eyes to stop the tears.

Charles placed his hand on your waist, and you felt him keep stroking his thumb against it while you tried to gather your emotions. "I should have known something was wrong when he didn’t really want to eat his food two days ago, but I thought it was because of the new brand of food that I recently bought. I’m such a bad mom."

He took the plate away before drawing you into his arms. "You were the best owner any cat could ask for, baby. There are some things that are beyond our control. It wasn’t your fault. We even bought him for a monthly checkup. We did everything we could. You weren’t neglecting him just because you couldn’t detect his sickness early. He was looking fine even before I left."

"I miss him so much..."

"I know, precious. I know." The screen of your phone lights up again from a light touch of your clothes. "How about you show me pictures of him that I haven’t seen?"

"Won’t it be boring?” You wiped your tears with your sleeves again as you went to your photo album and scrolled through thousands of pictures and videos of him throughout the year. "Have you seen this one?"

"Which one?" He pulled you closer as you laid on his chest.

"This one." You chuckled and clicked on the play button. "It was when I bought a new mouse toy for him, and he was so excited that he fell off the bed from chasing it."

He was listening to you attentively until you asked to go to sleep. Truth be told, he hadn’t slept at all, even on the plane on his way back to fight the jet lag. He nearly fell asleep standing while he was waiting for the block of butter to melt against the pan, but it was worth it to joke around, to lighten up the mood, to lend you his shoulder, ears, and shirt to soak your tears with because as he stepped into the house, he knew he had a responsibility as your boyfriend. Sleep could wait; he would be happy to watch the same video of Teddy just from different angles a hundred times if that was what made you smile.

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Charles squinted his eyes as he caught you walking back to the car with a paper bag of fruits on your left hand and something fluffy on your right. The door to the shotgun seat was opened as you got in, and the fluffy thing you were holding meowed.

He had a lot of questions, but he didn’t know where to start. He thought you said you wanted to drop by the supermarket real quick to get some fruits, and he just had to wait in the car. What was supposed to be 20 minutes turned out to be longer than that. He even had to call you to ask why you were taking so long and if you needed his help, to which you said no, and now you brought in a fluffy, moving animal as if it were part of the fruits.

"Baby, what…did you buy?“

"Oh!" You let go of the kitten and took out the small packets of everything inside the paper bag. "I bought strawberries! Blueberries and some bananas. I also got some marshmallows!”

"And what is that?” Charles arched his brow, eyes on the kitten on your lap.

"Which one?" You tilted your head.

“That..?”

“Oh! It’s a kitten!” You beamed.

"Ah, it’s a kitten! I wouldn’t have guessed. Y/N, did you think you could sneak in a kitten in the car and I wouldn’t find out about it?” He was so lost for words that he ended up chuckling.

"I found Boo on the side of the street!” You picked the kitten up and booped on the nose.

"Who is Boo? It has a name already?"

"Can we take her, please? Please, please! I can’t just leave her on the street. She was hungry too!” You cradled the kitten against your chest and tried not to make any eye contact with your boyfriend so that he would just accept his fate and drive home. “Look at the face! She reminds me of Teddy!”

"Well, she has a name already. Let’s just go home, Boo."

✧.* general tag list! @i83andrew @cltrlne @karmabyfernando @ohthemisssery @ru-kru @tastebaldwin @f1obessed @love4lando @shinrjj @ietss @leclerc13 @darleneslane @buckybarnessweetheart @xcinnamongirl @boiohboii @formula1mount @judespoision @alwaysclassyeagle @scenesofobx @mrsmaybank13 @vildetry06 @harriesgolden

If your usernames were crossed, meaning I can’t tag you! Let me know if you would like to be removed or to be added to the tag list! Or if I missed anyone!

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #f1 imagines #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagines #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #charles leclerc blurb #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc x y/n

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scaraaamouche · 2 months

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trios dont work. // satosugu x reader (business AU) (FULL WORK)

✦ Pairing: satoru gojo x suguru geto x afab!reader (she/her)

✦ Summary: trios dont work, and nine years later consequences hit

✦ Warnings: alcoholism, mention of death (mamagumi), passing out due to alcohol consumption, abandonment, clubs, petnames (sweetheart, doll, pretty girl, whatnot), dunno what else lmk

✦ A/n: im still sick, im still hurt, i dont appreciate hurtful things being said to me in my asks, but here you go, if its all a bit vague; im sick.

✦ Wordcount: 7272

✦ ATTENTION!!! do not copy. translate, remake my work, i do not give you permission to so dont do it. also GIF not mine, credits to the creator.

nine years. It had been nine years.

The first year felt unrealistic. It was strange. going from being side by side with each other almost 24/7 to no contact at all. [Name] didn’t know what she did wrong, just that one day Satoru and Suguru decided they didn’t want her in their life anymore.

She remembered everything of their last day together, every once in a while it would suddenly pop back up into her head, but in that first year, it replayed again and again; every day.

“Suguru!” [Name] had called out to one of the two teenage boys as she caught up to them “hi!”

Suguru flung his arm around the girl's shoulders, pulling her into his side as she greeted Satoru.

“Where have you been, doll? We were looking for you.”

[Name] laughed as she grabbed their hands and pulled them along. “Shoko and I accidentally forgot to sleep, so when I did fall asleep around ten I was doomed to wake up late.”

The two boys looked at each other and smiled, the little ball of sunshine walking in front still pulling them along.

“So four hours of sleep and already this energetic? you still gotta teach me that trick.” Satoru commented as he looked at her, shaking her head and rolling her eyes. She replied with a ‘real magicians don’t explain their best tricks’

After they walked for a while, they finally reached the top of a mountain, looking down on the city below.

The beginning of summer break celebration was going on, kids from their private school and from public schools in the city came together to celebrate. Many people crowded the streets, there was music, and they could see everything perfectly.

“look who knows the best spots once again”

They had spent the entire afternoon on the top of that mountain since classes were canceled due to the celebration, their fellow students were down there, having fun.

But as they were probably dancing and partying; Satoru took on the challenge to chase [Name] around the hill, she yelped and ran behind the other boy, clutching to the back of his shirt for protection as she heard the two boys negotiate.

“Don’t you dare Suguru,” she warned, wrapping her arms around his waist from behind. He placed one of his hands on hers and suddenly pulled her to the front. “Not you too please! ah!” she yelped, but the next moment she was giggling, she could never stand a chance against their tickle war. Ever since they found out she was very ticklish a few years ago it had become a thing for them to annoy her with. Whenever it was if she were sad, annoyed, angry, or if they felt like it, the boys would look at each other and [Name] would run instantly if she saw. (Which she most of the time didn’t and fell into their grasp giggling.)

Later at night they went back to the school, they had watched the sun set, then the fireworks, and then [name] and Satoru listened and looked in awe as Suguru pointed out constellations in the night sky. It was perfect.

At some point her eyes fell and she slept. The black haired boy looked down at her sleeping on Satoru's shoulder before giving a sad smile.

“She will never forgive us.”

“But at least we'll protect her.”

The next morning when [name] woke up in the room she shared with Shoko there was a little note on her nightstand.

‘you’re gonna be okay’ in Satoru’s messy and rushed handwriting. She got dressed and ran out of her room, looking for her best friends. what did Satoru mean with that she was gonna be okay?

She looked all over the grounds, the dining hall, library, common rooms, classrooms, the fields and gardens. Eventually she decided to also check their dorm. Girls and boys weren’t originally allowed in each other's dorm rooms, but since everyone was packing their stuff for summer the teachers didn’t care. So she followed the familiar path towards the boys their shared room. The posters were gone from their door, but they probably took those down first she thought. [name] knocked on the door, no reaction. She opened the door to find it completely empty except for the furniture that belonged to the school.

Graduation was next week, why were they moved out already? For the last few years they always did that together. Where were they? As she turned around and bumped into Nanami, he looked just as confused as he took in the empty room.

He looked at her, his mouth opening but no sound coming out. She knew what he was gonna ask, “They’re putting their stuff into the car or?”

She showed him the note in her hand and Nanami just got more question marks behind his eyes.

For a week she wondered where they were, she held hope they’d come knocking on her temporary apartment building her parents owned as she waited in the city for graduation. However; no knock came, no call, no letter or note, nothing. Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru disappeared from the radar.

When graduation rolled around word went round that Gojo Satoru and Geto Suguru would not be attending. They had waited for this moment for she didn’t know how long. Plans were made to go out with their other friends after, they had plans for the future! But now, instead of her two best friends cheering on her louder than anyone else as she held her valedictorian speech, her other friends cheered double as hard. They knew she’d been struggling this week. Shoko had crashed at her temporary apartment since she didn’t want to deal with her parents. Nanami also came by daily, and if they hadn’t been there, no one would’ve known what would’ve happened to [name].

The second year was still unbearable. [Name] worked a lot, saving money, attending college, going out with her friends on the weekends. She often found herself looking to her sides, expecting to see one of her two former best friends walking there. She always looked for them in crowds, she looked everywhere, but they were nowhere to be found.

In the third year [name] finally figured out her future. She was in her third year but decided to drop out. She saved a lot of money, and she was relatively well off so she bought a building in the busy city and within six months the place opened to a magnificent night club and partially a cafe two times a week. It took a lot of promotion, and a lot of patience until the place blew up.

In just the first year that it opened, she gained so much she paid off the entire loan of the building. It hit off with people her age, and at just nineteen [name] was going to become one of the youngest millionaires of her time, she just didn’t know it yet.

Her friends loved the place too, and they were immensely proud of [name] after what she had gone through a few years prior. She proved to the world that the only person she truly needed was herself and that she could do whatever she wanted to.

The second year after opening the fourth without Gojo and Geto [name] opened a second location of her club across the world in Los Angeles.

And now nine years later, and six locations in Tokyo, Los Angeles, Amsterdam, NYC, Paris and London [Name] had in fact become the fastest growing self made millionaire at her age. She lived in Beverly Hills, had her own place designed and built and she was living the life.

Now; in her bathroom it was still a calm Saturday night but she knew that in an hour she would be in her own club, observing the people as she sipped on her drink. Saturdays were the busiest; first day of the weekend but that also meant a lot of money.

“Scarlett?” [name] called out to her assistant who walked towards the entrance of the bathroom. “Take two weeks off, alright? Paid vacation of course, take your wife anywhere you want, put it on my bill. It’s summer and you haven’t been on a break since last year. It’s not up for debate.” She was fixing the last strands of her hair before turning towards the woman in her doorframe who looked a bit ill at her words. “Now, how do I look?” she gave Scarlett a smile.

“As beautiful as always. And… Are you sure you’ll be fine? I mean… Two weeks is a lot.” Scarlett loved her job, not because it paid well, or because her boss was very generous. She loved her job because her boss felt more like a close friend rather than a boss.

“You’re right, make it three weeks. You deserve it, you and your wife both. I’ll be fine, I know how to start a washer and dryer, I know how to do the dishes. What else would I need? Now, have fun on your vacation, you better send me pics, and have fun! I gotta get going now though cause I'm already late.”

Scarlett still looked a bit sick as she bid farewell to her boss, but at least she could finally take a break, which she was too shy to admit she actually needed.

[Name] walked through the front door of the club, she didn’t pick favorites is what she told others, but the location here in LA and the one in Paris were definitely her favorites of the six she owned. The music was beaming, lights flashing and the scent of alcohol and sweat hung in the air. Security guards nodded at her in a silent greeting as she made her way to her office, one of them trailing her for her own protection. Tonight was going to be a good night, she thought as she poured herself a drink, quickly drowning it before taking a glance at the paperwork that had been assembled on her desk during the last few days. She’d take it home when she left tonight. The security guard opened the door again and waited for her to lock it, after she gave him the signal he didn’t have to trail her tonight.

She walked past the VIP area, making some small conversations with people she’d seen before. There were new faces too, there always were. All different types of ‘em too. It was a safe space as well as a club. She stopped at Toji’s table, how he and her met was a long story. Everyone at [Name] her boarding school knew of the Zen’in family and their generations at the school, same as the Gojo family, as well as her own. She’d seen him here at the club one day a few years ago, standing at the bar and damn he looked familiar she had thought. It soon clicked in her head and she walked up to him.

“Zen’in?” she had called as she stood behind him.

“Fushiguro now actually, took my wife's last name.” he said as he turned around, looking at the young woman in front of him. “Wait,” he had studied her face, until his eyes landed on the obvious giveaway of her family “[last name]?”. She nodded and smiled in response to his guess. “Never thought I’d see one of you all the way out here.”

“Well, someone has to be the millionaire of the family.” Toji’s eyes widened as he asked for more details, giving an impressed grin when he found out she was the owner.

“You got it good, girl. I wouldn’t have suspected you to be the type.”

“Hello again, it’s been a while.” She sat down on the couch next to him, observing the people as they danced to the music. There were some empty glasses in front of him but Toji seemed rather sober.

“[Last name], you look good tonight.” he gave her a grin, it had been a few years since his wife died, the first few years were a mess for him, he was in here every night drinking away his grief. But over the years he had come to accept her passing and actually started taking care of his son again. Now he came every weekend, mostly just Saturdays since that's when his son was at his friends’ or godfathers house. “Thank you,” she smiled at him, smoothing out the satin dress on her body. “How’s Megs?” She hadn’t seen either of them ‘cause they’d been residing in Japan for a while. Toji smiled at the mention of his son. It took him too long to realize that the little boy was his light in life, his wife lived on in him and oh he was amazing.

“He’s fine, great actually. He graduated from Jujutsu High a few weeks ago…” as Toji said that an old but familliar scent hit [name] her nostrils and she immediately turned her head around but didn’t find what she smelled. “It was amazing to see him receive his diploma. To be really honest, a few years ago I thought I’d never be back at that place again after I graduated years and years ago myself.”

“He’s so grown up already, I can remember when you told me he just started.” [Name] turned her head back towards her friend with a smile that didn’t quite meet her eyes. “And to be fair, I don’t think I’ll ever return to Jujutsu High again, no matter the reason.” there was a reason- there were simply too many memories there that she had tried her hardest to forget. Those memories being the ones she just smelled.

The mixed scent of sweet floral yet strong cologne and a really overwhelming smell of pine and vanilla still hung faintly in the air.

It can’t be, she thought. Her mind was just playing tricks on her because Toji had her remember things she didn’t want to. There’s no way.

Yet when she bid farewell to Toji and walked towards the bar she smelled it again. The bartenders didn’t look up when she walked behind the bar and poured herself a drink, yet she overheard their conversations.

“That man's eyes… wow! I’ve never seen anyone with eyes that bright!”

It’s not him. They’re not here.

“But the other one! His shoulders… my god.”

[Name] walked away before she’d drive herself insane over this. There was no way they were here. If they were, she would’ve spotted them already. Even though a decade can change a lot about a person; Gojo’s bright blue eyes and bright hair and Geto’s long dark hair and muscled figure always stood out, especially when together.

She wasn’t even sure if they’d regcronise her. She cut her hair, the final stages of puberty hit her later so she got some more curves and flesh, her style had changed and so had her personality. Though deep down she knew that if she’d ever see those two boys again, she’d turn back into her old bubbly self if it took too long. She always had a soft spot for them, no matter what happened or how much she denied it, they would always be a part of her past. Toji had also once told her she walked around like she owned the place, to which she replied that she did. He’d given her credit for the remark and she’d told him to put things on her tab that night.

With a racing heart she went back to observing the crowds. Walking alongside tables, along the dancefloor, everywhere.

Theres no way these two fucks still wear the same cologne after years.

She sipped her drink, it burned in her throat, but it wasn't unpleasant. She walked towards the staircase for staff and security. All the way up it overlooked the layout of the building and she could spot things easier.

I’m going to drive myself insane by looking for people that aren’t-

Her train of thoughts stopped when she saw a mob of bright white hair, she stared at it for ten seconds before looking at the person's face and she felt her head get light, looking besides him she saw a familiar black haired man.

Fuck.

She turned around, not being able to look anymore. The top of the stairs wasn't lit, so the chance they would’ve seen her was slim, very slim. [Name] sunk to the ground and drowned her drink in one go, this time the burn lasted longer and she closed her eyes. A few years ago she had promised herself that if she’d ever find them in her club- her property, she’d get them kicked out. Yet now that she found them, that seemed impossible. She couldn’t just walk up to them and tell them to get out of here.

Why not?

Why not? There was no reason as to why not. As she said, it was her property, she could do whatever she wanted and before she realized it herself she was already making her way to the table they were sitting at.

The music seemed to dim, the world became clearer yet also blurrier as she stood in front of them.

“Get the fuck out of my place.” she said, there was anger and aggression in her voice as she looked at them. “Now.”

Gojo and Geto both looked up at the person speaking to them. Geto had to do a double take as he took in the woman before him, but Gojo’s heart and smile dropped instantly.

“Get out. You’ll be okay.” her own eyes met Gojo’s blue ones, sending back his own words he left on that note nine years ago.

[Name] raised her eyebrows in amusement as she looked at the two men infront of her. They changed so much, yet nothing at all. She’d wait sixty seconds before she would raise her hand and look to the side to call security.

“[N-name]? What are you doing here?” Gojo stuttered.

“Running my club, what about you?” she smiled sarcastically before glaring at him. “Leave. You two wanted me out of your life, now I want you two out of mine. Leave and never show your face here, or at any of my locations, ever again. You have one minute before I call security.”

Geto stared at her with wide eyes, the woman in front of him was not the one they left behind nine years ago. There was no sign of silly jokes and giggles, lit up eyes and playful eyerolls.

This woman was cold. That was the only word that came to Geto’s mind. There was no love in her eyes anymore, her spark wasn't the same. And the worst part of it was that Gojo and he were probably the reason for it.

“Ha! Look who it is, man I didn’t expect you here. Isn’t Megs at your place?” Toji suddenly appeared out of nowhere and his words made [name] even more lightheaded. He wrapped his arm around her waist briefly, a small sign of affection and recognition as they exchanged glances. “You know them?” she asked Toji who enthusiastically replied.

“Yeah! Blue eyes is Megumi’s godfather. But I was just gonna head back out, got an emergency meeting first thing tomorrow. See ya [name], take care of yourself, alright?” he waved goodbye to Gojo and Geto and walked out.

Great. Fucking great.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking-

“Follow me, no questions and you'll walk out of here unharmed.” she spoke in a cold tone before turning around and making her way to her office.

What the fuck was happening. Who had cursed this upon her?

She unlocked the door to her office and walked in, pouring herself another drink as the two men came in. “Sit down.”

They did as she said and sat down in the chairs facing the desk. Gojo sneaked a look at one of the papers on her desk. It showed the gain of the last month. That was more than his and Geto’s company made… in three months…

He quickly sat back when she turned around and sat in the desk chair with her drink in hand. It was a fancy black one, CEO’s would have it- he had one alike.

“I thought you didn’t drink.” Gojo said, trying to make small talk.

“I thought I would have a nice future with my best friends nine years ago.” She took a sip of her drink, looking at both of them before speaking again. “Explain. You have ten minutes, and I am solely doing this for the sake of Toji and Megs cause I will not have them know we are on bad terms.”

They stared at her. Nine years ago she would have blushed and tried to hide away or scolded them to stop, but now she stared back, no trace of blushing on her cheeks.

“Get to it. We’re adults now, we both have running businesses. So let's get over it.”

Geto sighed, this was more complicated than the situation nine years ago was. Or maybe explaining it nine years ago would’ve been easier, [name] was easier then. Not in a bad way, she changed, they all did, but Geto had the feeling that she would’ve understood it better back then rather than now. Both Gojo and Geto felt the anger radiating off her, she looked like she could in fact kill both of them right now.

“We got mixed up with the wrong people in our last year.” Gojo suddenly said and she huffed in annoyance but kept quiet. “You know we were already making plans for our business back then, we tried to make some ties here and there and a particular branch of people scammed us. That’s how we met Toji too, he was mixed up with the same people. They had known I came from money and so they stalked us around, even at school. Pretty soon they found how close we were with you and before we knew it they had entire records open on you. Where you lived, who your parents are, all that type of things! They found your birth certificate! With that came that they found out you came from money too- old money. So they started with threatening to keep us hostage ‘till you paid them a fine, knowing you would.

After we complied and gave them some money they continued with the blackmail. They came to us with pictures of you asleep, during class, free time, of your apartment in the city. They said they’d kidnap you, said what they’d do to you if we wouldn’t give them more money once our business grew. They knew it would grow because of my father, so we had to cut ties with you to protect you. On the last night-”

“Enough.” She took a long sip of her drink and threw her head back. “You know how much this sounds like bullshit? Protect me or they’d kidnap me and torture me unless-literally speaking-you payed them a fuck ton of money. You could’ve fucking told me? You could’ve waited ‘till after graduation? Yet you decided not to knowing I would be a fucking wreck for years upon years. And then suddenly, after almost a decade you show up in my club acting like a bunch of fucking pussies. The boys I knew wouldn’t pull shit like that! They’d fight cause they’re rich private school jackasses who wouldn’t back out of a fight, nor abandon their best friend simply because some fuckers threatened to hurt her! This could’ve easily been fucking figured out because for fucks sake Gojo! You! You are the heir to one of the oldest bloodlines in country, and so am I so I personally do not see where the fucking problem lies in that it could not have been resolved! And you- no. Don’t you both see the logic in this?” she took a deep breath and looked them both in the eye “I am drunk alright but even I can see this is bullshit.”

She threw her head back again and took a deep breath and exhaled it.

“You don’t know how scared we were to lose you to them, [name]!” Geto looked at her, but she was looking at the boring white ceiling. “Yeah, well. You lost me because of your fears of losing me.”

Silence hung in the air for a minute or so as she let those words sink in.

Don't do it. Do not do it. It doesn't matter how close you used to be with them. It doesn’t matter that they took your v-

“Okay here's the deal. It's friday, or well saturday by now probably. Tuesday this place is a cafe, like it is two times a week. You both come here at ten AM, and well talk then, cause again I am fucking drunk.” rolling her head back and looking at them she sighed “Now get out.”

Gojo and Geto gave each other a look, then looked back at [Name]. She looked back, even though her eyes were a bit bloodshot and teary, her gaze was filled with anything but care and love. Geto took a deep breath before standing up. “Will you get home safely?” He asked and she could see there was genuine concern in his eyes as he frowned a little.

“I’ll call my assistant to come and get me.” She rolled her eyes and gave them another look that told them to get out.

Only [Name] forgot that she had sent Scarlett on vacation, so when she dialed her number it went straight to voicemail. She walked out of the club with the stack of paperwork from earlier in her hands and called an uber. The driver said he was near and there within a minute, so when eventually a black car stopped in front of her she got in. Vaguely she heard him ask for her destination and she gave her address.

Tonight hadn’t gone as planned, at all. She had expected a calm evening but it was anything but. [Name] had always thought she was over it, over them, or at least for the biggest part. There were always small reminders of them in everything she did or had. But she really thought she’d be able to kick them out, out of her club and out of her life just like they’d done to her. Their explanation–it made sense but it didn’t. Sure she knew they were busy setting up their business, she knew they were making connections. But stalking? The threats? It seemed unreal, yet it was known that around that time there was a peak of criminal groups disguising as business people in Japan.

[Name] searched for her wallet and pulled out three bills of twenty when the car stopped in front of the gate to her home.

“Keep the change.” she said and stumbled out, typing in the code of the gate and walking in. She stood still for a moment, looking up at the sky before collapsing on the grass. LA didn’t give the best view of the stars, yet she stared at them anyways, the moonlight shining down on her. It didn’t take long before her eyes closed and she fell asleep under the stars.

Satoru and Suguru watched the woman collapse on the grass and they jumped out of the car. How she hadn’t noticed it wasn’t her UBER, they didn’t know. The gate closed just before the two men could reach it.

Satoru slammed on the gate, while the other used his brain and looked at the numbers. Three of them were slightly stained with a black substance–probably mascara that [name] had rubbed onto her hand when she rubbed her eyes.

Suddenly Suguru saw it, those three numbers were the first three numbers of his birthday.

“Over us, my ass.” he said as he typed in his birthday on the keypad.

The other looked over at him and stared as the gate opened. “How’d you do that?” “It was my birthday.” they were both a bit dumbfounded by it, but neither of them would be lying if they denied her birthday was also still their phone password.

Once the gate was open enough they ran through it. The once nicely stacked papers were now sprawled around her as her chest slowly rose up and down. Suguru rushed towards the papers, those were finance and he knew she’d be pissed if they flew away. Satoru ran to get the woman off the grass, he mentioned for Suguru to grab her purse and fish out her keys as he carried her to the front door.

“Fucking hell sweetheart, you never fail to get us concerned do you?” Satoru held her tightly as Suguru opened the door with the sixth key he tried. They stared in awe as the lights turned on. Yeah, this is definitely a [Name] house. “Couch?”

“She never liked sleeping on couches, let’s just find her room.”

The two men wandered around the massive house, looking inside every room in the hopes it was her personal bedroom. They stumbled across her office, multiple empty bedrooms–and bathrooms, tons of dead ends, and lots and lots of paintings. But finally when they took one corner it became clear this was where [name] spent most of her time. They opened the biggest door and it revealed a bedroom, adorned with adorable furniture and picture frames, and of course more art. This was definitely her room.

Suguru looked at pictures of a teen [name] with Shoko, next to it stood a picture of Nanami–which didn’t seem to be a very old picture. He saw lots of familiar faces. Even some of Megumi and his friends. In the meantime Satoru had carried her to her bed and laid her down.

“We either wake her up and get yelled at, or we leave her like this and she’ll wake up feeling terrible.” Satoru turned on the light on the nightstand and looked at his best friend.

To be completely honest–they hadn’t known they were in her club tonight. They both knew she owned a chain of clubs, just like how she probably knew about their business. Their surprise to see her had been much alike to [name] except for the hatred. Both of them had said it. That she’d hate them once they left, and she did, they saw the anger this evening. Though it was a surprise she didn’t turn violent, not that [name] was aggressive or anything, but what would any sane person do when they’d see the person who made their life miserable by leaving her alone?

It was probably Toji’s appearance who stopped her from doing that.

“Or we do our best to make her comfortable cause she ain’t gonna be sleeping well in that. If she wakes up we accept the result. If she doesn’t; we leave as quietly as possible and see her tuesday.” Geto proposed and already turned to what he assumed was a walk in closet.

He blindly grabbed a t-shirt and a pair of shorts from a random drawer and walked back out. As the two stood beside the bed looking at the sleeping woman another wave of realization hit them but it soon faded away and they got to action. Sure it was a bit weird they were changing their former best friend's clothes while she was sleeping, but they’d rather have her comfortable rather than ripping an expensive looking dress.

You just do this because you want to make up for the time you lost with her.

It wasn’t the first time they had changed her clothes, saw her naked or passed out. Yet it was a very different situation now. Nine years had passed.

It took them a while, and some whispered curses and confusion of the dress [Name] was wearing later, they stood back and watched as she lay there, sleeping. Satoru had gone to get a clean glass of water for on her bedside while Suguru tucked her into bed.

“You’d definitely have our heads if you knew we were here…” he spoke as he gently lifted her head to get the hair out of her neck. That’s when he realized she also still had make-up on, best leave that for her to do when she wakes up, Suguru thought.

“Scarlett? Scar don’t forget…” Suguru froze as he watched [Name] stir in her sleep. He carefully reached out and placed a hand on her head.

“Go back to sleep, pretty girl.” He closed his eyes, the sound of her voice hadn’t changed, though when they talked earlier it was rougher, there was hatred in her voice. Now her voice was soft and calm, like it had been all those years ago.

They’d spent summers at each other's houses, mostly Satoru’s or [Name]’s, and every morning the boys would hear that soft, whiney, sleepy voice and they’d just melt. Surrender whatever and tickle and smother the girl in hugs and kisses.

Some outsiders called them ‘like siblings’ , some said the three could argue like a married bunch, others said they were invisibly bonded, like a string always connecting them wherever they went, always coming back to each other.

Suguru kneeled beside the bed, looking around the room. Though [Name] may be in her late twenties, the way she decorated her room was still the same as in her high school days. Picture frames with pictures of friends everywhere, posters of shows, bands, movies on the walls. Plants here and there, a pile of laundry on the floor along with some dishes.

Her bedside table adorned a book, a cute lamp Satoru turned on earlier, some flowers, another picture frame with a picture of her with some friends… No, not just some friends.

It was [Name], with Satoru and himself.

Suguru swallowed, he remembered the day that picture was taken all too well. It had been their last first day at Jujutsu High, also known as their first day of senior year. God, they were all young then, Suguru thought. Young and clueless. No idea what was bound to happen not many months later.

Originally the picture was just meant to be of [Name], but the two boys had decided to photobomb, so it was [Name] cutely standing in front of the camera, and then two teenage boys coming up behind her with weird faces. The girl absolutely adored the photo, it had been on her night stand ever since she got the photos back on paper.

Suguru cast his eyes down to the floor before the door opened and Satoru came in, nearly on his tippy toes to try and make as little sound as possible. “Got the water, let’s… what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, let’s get out of here before we wake her up.”

When [Name] woke up the next morning she had zero recollection of what happened after she exited the UBER. To her surprise, she was no longer in her dress, wearing clothes she hadn’t seen in years, ones she tucked away after high school ended and never looked back on.

She noted the freshwater and aspirins on her bedside table. Her dress from the night prior neatly folded and put on her vanity stool.

Odd. She thought as she got up out of bed. She also found her phone on her bedside table, plugged into the charger, on do not disturb. Very odd.

She opened up her phone, seeing hundreds of messages from Scarlett, and as she opened them the woman herself called.

“[Name]? Thank god, are you alright? What were they doing carrying you?” Scarlett immediately bombarded her with questions, and [Name] could not phantom what she was talking about at all.

As Scarlett continued talking [Name] walked to the bathroom and looked in the mirror just as Scarlett spoke words she did not want to hear at all.

“What were the owners of S&S Industries doing inside of your house?”

Tuesday rolled around in a haze. The weekend was a blur, [Name] was not prepared for the day to come. This was the exact reason she always had Scarlett make her appointments.

She arrived at the location an hour early, making sure everything looked better than good. It had to be. Her staff had welcomed her with a warm welcome, big smiles and kind words, as always. She told them an important meeting of sorts would be taking place around ten and to be polite, solely to tell them again how important it was.

Out of pure coincidence, Megumi and his friends showed up ten minutes before ten, distracting [Name] from the nerves that were eating away at her. She was sitting down in a booth in the center of the cafe, Nobara and Megumi sitting next to her as Yuji ordered him and his two friends breakfast. It was always nice to have the kids come by, have breakfast with them, today was just really unfortunate.

“You kids will have to pick another table to eat at, yes? I have a meeting here in a bit.” She looked at Megumi, noting how much he looked like his father. Her phone chimed, and the time told her it was a mere five more minutes before she had to face them–sober.

“Business meeting? More locations? Important? Collabs?” Nobara looked at her with big eyes, [Name] adored the younger girl, she reminded her of her younger self a lot, and she guessed Nobara saw her as a big sister, always clinging to her side when the two saw each other.

“Not quite, just… some people from high school, but you have to promise me not to give any weird looks when you see them, okay?”

She looked at them again, their confused looks bringing a nervous smile on [Name] her face as she shooed them away when the door opened.

“Tell your dad I said hi.” she messed up his hair before walking towards the two men in the entrance.

Enough hours were spent trying to come up with what to say at this exact moment, she had so many options, yet none came to mind as she looked up at them.

[Name] looked up at the two men and swallowed, her head felt light as she offered a small smile–already regretting everything.

“Hi, welcome.” she dipped her head out of respect before turning around and mentioning for them to follow her. She spared the kids a look, and as expected they were staring at the trio with big confused eyes. Oh how much they looked like Gojo, Geto and herself when they were younger, and she could only hope they wouldn’t meet the same fate.

Once they were seated in the booth a waiter came by and took their orders, which were still the exact same as a decade ago.

“It’s a nice place you build here.” Geto was the first to speak up.

Hesitantly [Name] looked up at him and smiled, “Paris is even better, bought this old place, renovated it completely but kept the old looks on the inside. It took a while but it’s perfect…” She again looked at the kids, Nobara was already looking at her and offered her a thumbs up. “So, Megs godfather huh?” Gojo met her eyes over his sunglasses he still wore, guilt was evident in them.

He nodded softly, “Yeah… Saved Toji from one of the gangs we got mixed up with, he made me his godfather about a year later. What about you and Toji?”

“Me and Toji? In what way?” She raised her eyebrows, knowing fully well what he meant. “Toji is a family associate, loyal customer, and a great friend. Nothing more. A bit too old for me.”

Silence fell over them again until their drinks arrived. The air was tense, guilt and regret hung in the air as well as sadness and anger. It wouldn’t take much for [Name] to burst out in tears. For the first time in years she was at arms length of her best friends, she looked at them and savored the moment even though they hurt her so badly.

Gojo still stirred sugar through his coffee as he sat in the middle seat, stealing Geto’s small cookie when he wasn't looking. His hair still messy but not messy messy, his undercut now much more noticeable than when they were teens and still those cursed sunglasses that hid his mesmerizing blue eyes.

Grew up to meet the Disney prince standards. [Name] thought.

Geto… His hair was longer, half put up, half falling down his back. He put on more muscle, a small smile still always present on his face, soft and caring eyes staring back at her as she took him in.

Oh fuck.

“You’re staring, doll.”

She flushed, blood rushing to her cheeks as she got caught. She swallowed, saying the first best thing that came to mind.

“It was a real asshole move, you know. Nine years ago. It really fuckin’ hurt and it could’ve been atleast brought to me in a slightly better way.”

You didn’t have to cut me off completely out of nowhere. Was what she meant to say, but she knew the boys got the message already as they dipped their heads.

“It took me four years to stop looking to my sides for either of you, I couldn’t sleep in my family home anymore cause every meter of the premises reminded me of you. I never stopped looking for you in crowds, I never stopped smelling ghosts your scents wherever I went. I never had the nerve to throw out pictures of you, of us. I never changed my phone password, I- I never got over it, over you two.”

[Name] had tears in the corners of her eyes as she grabbed her tea to calm herself. Every inch of her just needed to tell them everything. How she felt, how it hurt. Everything.

Her lips quivered when a hand took her mug out of her hands and arms wrapped around her. The smell of a strong cologne filled her senses and that was all it took for the tears to fall. She was pulled closer until she could feel the material of his sweater on her cheek. Suguru Geto was hugging her for the first time in nine years. A feeling she never thought she’d feel again as she held onto him for dear life.

Somewhere in her mind [Name] remembered what she thought not too long ago. If I stay around them for too long I'll go back to my old self in no time.

“Easy, doll, we’re not going anywhere... Not again.” Suguru whispered softly rubbing soothing circles on her back as he held her close. “It’s okay, shh.”

He slowly rocked them back and forth, locking eyes with Satoru who was having a hard time holding his emotions in check. Gojo also didn’t dare spare the kids not too far away a look, not knowing how’d they react to the scene in front of them.

Carefully Satoru sat up and reached out to [Name], her head still half shielded away by one of Suguru’s hands. When their eyes locked she broke free from the other man and embraced him.

“Always stealing the ladies away from me,”

“Yeah, well, I think there's no more need for other ladies now that we have the best one of all back.”

--------------------------------------------------------------------------

at long last.

now working on: sukuna x reader NSFW wink wink

taglisttt: @reine-son @lolzghost @ijwsbdinp @mythicallovex @krokietino @written-in-white

#gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x reader smut #geto suguru #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x you #geto x reader smut #geto suguru x reader #suguru geto #geto x reader #jjk #jjk smut #jjk x reader

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is-the-bug-video-cute · 2 years

Text

Karen’s Blog, August 20 2009:

A few days ago I finally went on Cornell’s annual alumni field trip to Shoals Marine Laboratory, on an island off the coast of New Hampshire. Met a lot of nice and interesting people on the boat trip over—Hi Sue, hi Bob, Hi Louise and Stefan and Hannah, hi, Fern. We saw lots of sea birds and seals. We toured the island, watched the bird banding, visited labs, inspected some (very tidy) student dorms.

Cornell offers college-credit courses all summer; students come over for two week stays or longer. At lunch time I sat down with a bunch of students. We all started talking. The girl next to me looked at my name tag, startled, and said “Are you Karen Pryor?” Yes. She was very excited. “Your book changed my life.” Hmm. Too young for it to be Nursing Your Baby; she must mean Don’t Shoot the Dog; the new book’s only been available three weeks.

No, Lily Strassberg meant Reaching the Animal Mind, and got a jacketless and already well-used copy out of her back pack for me to sign.

Lily is 17. She has been clicker training dogs since she was ten, and now teaches public obedience classes. She read my story in Chapter 1 about training a hermit crab to ring a bell. So, for her class research project last week at the marine lab, she set out to train a crab to ring a bell. Her professor doubted it would work, but she was so excited about it, he let her try.

Lily collected some of the local hermit crabs around the island. They were very small and timid so she used the local green crab Carcinus maenas instead. (These are pointy-shelled Portunid crabs, like the blue crabs we eat on the East Coast, only of course they are green not blue.)

Lily used the same reinforcement procedure I did--feeding with forceps, using the movement of the forceps as the click. She shaped the behavior of shoving a hanging weight with a claw, an improvement over my more complicated job of pulling a string down.

Just to be safe, in spare moments across two days she trained two crabs, Crab A and Crab B, Abby and Bertha. She took good and thorough data, photographs, and video too. When she presented her project, the other students burst into applause. The professor said her study was ‘practically publishable.’ When the experiment was over, Lilly released Abby and Bertha back to the ocean in the same place where they were collected.

I was thrilled. So, apparently, were the crabs, and here’s why I think that.

For each session the crab had to be moved into a small experiment tank with a grid drawn on the floor (to measure exactly how far the crab came toward the target each time.) At first the crabs were hard to catch, and struggled mightily when lifted into the air. But soon, they got it—Oh, I’m flying to the place where I train them to feed me delicious stuff—and they just held still to be picked up by the shell, and relaxed completely in the air, legs hanging down calmly. Now I ask you: isn’t that cool? Clicker-wise ‘operant’ crabs?

What were the chances that out of 100 people or more in the room I would sit down next to Lily?

You will be hearing more about Lily, I bet.

#science #hermit crabs #crabs #crustaceans #mod poppy

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softtdaisy · 2 years

Note

🌷 Can I ask for Peter Parker and enemies to lovers story?

_deja vu

peter parker x fem!singer!reader

based on: enemies to lovers trope

summary: when Peter is remaking your relationship with his new girlfriend, you realize you might not hate him as much as you thought

words: 933

a/n: can you tell I was listening to deja vu by Olivia Rodrigo?? I hope you will love this story sweetie 💛 (and since it's not specified I'm writing with Andrew in mind but you can tell me if you thought about Tom)(or Tobey)

join my secret garden for my 1k celebration 🌸

“I can’t believe it.”

For Peter to date someone new was a thing. You broke up months ago and it wasn’t the hate you were giving each other that would put you back together.

But for him to act with his new girlfriend exactly like he used to do with you, was something else. Something you weren’t going to accept that easily.

You guessed something wasn’t right the first time you saw him with her. She looked like you, the same type of girl with the same hair color and the same style. You thought Peter was looking for a copy of you to replace what he couldn’t have anymore. But then you decided you were overreacting to your ex-boyfriend dating someone new. It was the last punch your relationship needed to die.

You and Peter dated for a few months. You were terribly in love, maybe too passionate. That was the reason you broke up at the end. You couldn’t handle all this love, all this passion and rather than make it work, you made it fail. You started to fight over little things, not realizing these were small inconvenience in what could be the greatest love story of your life.

But then love became hate and you stopped talking. Except to hurl barbs at each other anytime you could.

But today, it was one day too many. You couldn’t bear to look at Peter with his arm around that girl shoulder. That girl that was wearing the same jacket Peter gave you when you were dating. “it was my uncle’s, I love to wear it. But it looks better on you.” He said the night he gave you because you forgot yours. You thought it meant something to him. It meant the world to you.

But of course, he was giving it to someone new now. As if your whole relationship never ever mattered.

“Parker!” you called him across the school. He turned around, just like your double did. You regret it when you noticed ever was looking at you now. But it was more than you could take. You walked to peter and grab his arm, the one that he was holding his girlfriend with. “Ouch.” He mumbled before putting his eyes on you. “What do you want?”

“Talk.” One word. The word you both needed back then.

“Don’t you think we should talk about all that mess?” Peter said, looking at you who were throwing all his stuff you were keeping at your place in a bag. It was over for good this time, you thought. And you didn’t want to keep anything from Peter.

“Talk, talk, talk. That would lead us nowhere!” you replied, putting the bag in his arms and waiting for him to leave.

Peter followed you in a quiet room, away from the other students and his “girlfriend”. While he was walking behind you, he had that smirk on his face. The one that meant his plan was working. Once you turned around, he put on his poker face again. “So, what do you want?”

“Are you really going to pretend like you’re not remaking our whole relationship with that stupid girl!” You were mad. Worse, you were jealous. It wasn’t fair that all the thing you did with Peter, he was doing them with her now.

Peter frowned, waiting for you to go on and explained yourself. You hated how you found him hot when he was crossing his arms on his chest, making his biceps bigger. That wasn’t fair either.

“Don’t you think I noticed how she looks like me? And that I didn’t see her picture of you two sharing a fucking strawberry ice cream when you know it’s my favorite flavor! Or that she’s wearing Ben’s jacket when I thought it was special for you to give to me! It’s not special if you do it with everyone you fuck, Peter!” you were banging on his chest, trying to make yourself understood.

You only managed to give Peter what he wanted all along.

“You still love me.” He simply said, taking your hands between his fingers to stop you from hitting him. It wasn’t like you could hurt him anyway.

“What the hell? No!” you answered, trying to free yourself from his grip but Peter was way stronger than you were. And the thing he said, the love word, did something in your stomach that was preventing you from fighting anyway.

“May always said that between love and hate, there’s only one step. One step to cross. We did it once. We can do it backward.” He had this low voice, and he was using when he wanted you to listen to every word he was saying. A tip that still work since you were carefully listening to him. “I can’t stop loving you, [y/n]. I realized that after I had tried to hate you for hurting me. I don’t think I ever hated you.”

“So…you’re dating that girl to make me love you? You realize how stupid this is?” Peter laughed and took your face between his hands. “I’m not dating her. I just wanted you to realize that you cared more about me and our memories than you thought. That you were ready to fight for me again.”

Since you stayed silent, Peter kissed your forehead before letting you go. “I’m giving you some time. But think about it. One step baby. One step.” He winked at you before leaving the room.

Leaving you alone with your feelings. And your will to fight for the man you hate love.

#peter parker x you #Peter Parker imagine #Peter Parker x reader #peter parker oneshot #peter parker x y/n #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm!peter x y/n #tasm!spiderman x reader #tasm!peter imagine #tasm peter parker #peter parker #andrew garfield x female reader #andrew garfield imagine #andrew garfield x you #andrew garfield #andrew garfield x reader #my writing #1k celebration

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rikumorimachisgirl · 1 year

Text

Title: Game Over

Pairing: Ayumu x MC

Word count: 1871

Genre: Fluff

Prompt: MC plays otome games

Written for the @voltagefandomproject

Notes: I haven't written in a while, but I hope you enjoy this story. I don't own Voltage or any of its characters, but I own this story.

Here goes...

His POV

*Slam*

That's the sound my office door made after I walked in and forcefully shut it behind me. Mind you, I don't always close the door that way - my parents raised me to become the well-mannered person that I usually am - except when a certain someone is involved.

I'm sure that you've already guessed who I'm talking about. She also goes by the following aliases - Kappa Nagano, the snapping turtle of Nagano, my aide, my turtle… My girlfriend. Even after dating for over a year, she never ceases to amaze me with all the different emotions and reactions she manages to draw from me simply by being her usual self - like that one time she tried asking other guys to watch a meteor shower with her instead of asking me because she thought I'd say no, or that time when she drank whisky neat in front of her ex-boyfriend and passed out. I never pegged myself to be the jealous type until I met her.

And now she's doing it again. The worst part is that I can't even read her this time around - either she's gotten better at hiding things or I've become sloppy at snooping her out.

Wait, I've become sloppy at snooping her out? That's so incredibly lame! When did I become so uncool?

Do you think I'm overreacting? You would, too, if you have a puzzle you can't figure out. Anyway, I'll tell you exactly what's gotten me into a foul mood.

It was about a week ago when I started noticing a change in my girl's behavior.

—-

"You seem busy."

She looked up at me from her spot on the couch. We arrived home from the Jurassic Land exhibit a few minutes ago, and already, my girl has plopped down on the sofa while tinkering with her phone. Again. For the hundredth time since I saw her this morning. And she wasn't just tinkering with her phone, she was holding it suspiciously close to her - like an ace student who wouldn't let her classmates copy off her exam.

"Homework?" I asked, pretending I didn't know that she didn't have any. "Anything you need help on?" I wanted to give her a fair chance to tell me what it was that was stealing her attention away from me.

I watched her eyes widen, and her cheeks flush. She clumsily fumbled with her phone and chucked it into her bag. "N-no. I'm okay. I was… I was texting with Naruko," she said with as much confidence as she could muster.

What a liar, I thought, but decided to play along. "Oh really? What could be bothering Miss Sasaki so much, she'd exchange messages with you for four hours."

I barely kept a straight face as I watched her eyes widen so much, I thought they'd pop out. "It's nothing. She's just… uh…"

And so, there I was sitting through her painfully made-up story of why her classmate was 'texting' her on a weekend. At one point, she promised to give me her full attention. But like most promises, that one ended up being broken. As soon as I hopped in the shower, she was busy with her phone with a goofy smile on her face.

—

Her goofy smile as she tinkered with her phone has been a hot topic in the Instructors' room, too. As expected, Toru is the first one to comment on my girl's head-in-the-clouds expression.

"It looks like she's found herself a boyfriend," my self-declared partner-in-crime harped annoyingly after he spotted my girl walking down the corridor while tapping away on her phone.

"I've noticed that, too. It's like there's a spring in her step these days," Soma chimed in - not that anyone asked him.

"My aide always has a spring in her step," I said, trying to keep it casual.

"Yes, but it's different this time," Goto interjected thoughtfully, as he showed me her most recent test, which she aced. "She seems to be more determined to get good marks. Whatever the reason is, she's inspired."

The collective oohs and aahs from everyone in the room was driving me to the edge. I'm so annoyed already, why can't everyone just shut up?

I said a silent prayer to whatever Gods were listening, but they may have been attending to other matters at the moment because who else should stir the pot more but the chief?

"So, the little bird is in love? That's wonderful. There's nothing better than young love."

"She's hardly even young anymore," I muttered under my breath as I desperately tried to keep my temper in check. This was getting more ridiculous by the minute. Was she seeing someone else behind my back? She can't be. I mean, she's in love with me, right? At least the last time I checked, she seemed to be.

"What do you think, Ayumu?"

The Chief's question snapped me out of the little deliberation I had going on in my head. The next thing I know, all eyes were on me, as if I were the subject of an interrogation.

I put on my best fake smile and gathered the papers that were stacked in front of me. "I think I've had enough idle time, so it's time for me to make my rounds," I said, as I stood and headed for the door.

I could've sworn I heard Toru say something to the chief about how sensitive I was, but I couldn't care less - I'd rather remove myself from the situation before they remove me from my teaching position.

As I shut the door of the Instructors' Room, I came face-to-face with the very reason I bolted out of the room I was in. There she was with her friend Naruko - her phone in hand, and a goofy smile on her face.

"I got a Super Happy Ending with Munechika. It took me a while, but I finally got to experience that toe-curling first kiss," I heard her declare cheerfully.

Munechika, huh? Who the heck is he? And what's that about a toe-curling kiss? I was seething in anger just by listening to her go on and on about her mysterious new boyfriend. That cheater!

"Right? Aren't tsundere the best?" Nakuro chirped happily beside her before our eyes met. "Hey, it's Instructor Shinonome!"

After hearing my name, my girl halted abruptly and her eyes widened. Great, I thought. This is just perfect.

"I-Instructor…," she stammered and pocketed her phone quickly.

Oblivious of the tension between us, her trusty accomplice prattled on like I was part of their conversation to start with, while my cheating girl's eyes looked everywhere but at me. I could feel my breath hitch and my blood boils the longer I stayed.

"A new guy, you say?" I looked pointedly at my girl, who now looked like she wanted the earth to swallow her whole. "I can't say I understand his taste in women, but well, as long as you're both single…" I said, emphasizing the last two words before I walked off as quickly as I could. To where you ask? Why, to my office, of course.

I thought I heard her call my name, but my ears were throbbing and I had to get behind the safety of my office. It's one thing that I knew she was spending more time on her phone, but hearing her say another man's name out loud - was just too much.

So now, here I am in my office, taking a few calming breaths to regain my composure. And just as I was getting my rhythm back, I heard the door bust open, and in comes my girl - with beads of sweat on her forehead and a little short of breath.

But I can't deal with her right now.

"Instructor -"

"I'm busy at the moment," I lied and swiveled the chair so I wasn't facing her. "Why don't you just come back after class? I'll probably have something for you to work on then."

From behind, I could hear her walking towards me - her steps as well as her breathing were measured. "This won't take long." her voice was directly behind my chair so I held my breath and closed my eyes, hoping that she wouldn't see me in this state. "You were shaking when you left, and I had to come after you…"

I gasped. Was I too upset to realize I was shaking earlier? I was going to respond to her, but thought better of it. After all, they do say less talk, less mistakes, right? I quietly sat with my back to her. Even when I couldn't see her, I could tell she was nervous - probably wringing her hands together.

"Well?"

"Well," she said, breathing in sharply. "I think you misunderstood…"

"Hm?"

"Munechika…"

"Oh, your new guy?"

"Instructor," she said, coming around to face me. I can tell she was deeply distressed. "Munechika isn't a real guy."

Not a real guy? Now, I'm confused.

"He's a 2D character from this otome game that Naruko recommended a week ago," she continued while showing me an animated guy in a scrub suit. "He's a fictional doctor who's hot and cold. I picked him because he reminds me of you. I'm sorry if you were worried, but I would never cheat on you."

2D, otome… So, you mean to tell me I've been jealous of a fictional character this whole time? This is making me cringe big time, but I think my face must've loosened up because I heard her sigh with relief. And now, she's got that goofy smile on her face again, but this time her eyes are on me, like they're supposed to be.

"What are you smiling there for?" I asked. "You're not off the hook yet."

"You can't still be mad at me."

"Oh? And what about that toe-curling kiss you were talking to your little friend about?"

I know I sounded ridiculous, but I couldn't help it. And now, it was her turn to gasp. "Oh, come on," she said, her face turning red. "You give me so much more than toe-curling kisses, and you know it."

I smirked. "Do I? After hearing you go on about this 2D fantasy guy, I'm really not sure anymore…"

"But I do love your kisses, Instructor," she said, earnestly.

"Oh? Then prove it," I challenged her.

Her eyes shot wide. "What? Like, here?"

I sat back and watched her look around, obviously worried someone would walk in on us. But no less than five seconds later, she gives me yet another surprise.

Here in my office, on my chair, with the girl I love most on my lap, giving me the best toe-curling kiss I've ever had. She wins again. She always wins with me. That's how crazy I am about this silly girl. I guess she can keep playing her otome games and have silly little crushes on 2D guys who remind her of me. I suppose I wouldn't mind - much - after all, otomes always end with game over, but as for me, I'll give my girl the Super Happy Ending she never knew she's always wanted.

The end.

#voltage otome #voltage fandom ccc #Voltage fandom project #her love in the force #ayumu shinonome #Ayumu x mc

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niobiumao3 · 8 months

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I was getting ready for work, in a hurry because I'd overslept, going, fuck fuck I need to be there to let in the student intern fuck. And my roommate at the time (a chem PhD student) comes out and says, "Turn on the TV."

And I'm like what? And he's like "they're bombing us" and I'm like, what? who????

Anyways I get to the office late and say to said impatiently waiting intern 'man I am so sorry I'm late I imagine you heard though' and he says 'heard what'.

And I was like, 'uh. oh. so like...these planes...'

This is what it was like to be a post-college adult on 9/11: one morning you wake up late for work and the world is no longer the one you lived in. It was literally that immediate, that instantaneous.

My job's main office room had a view which was part of the landing pattern for the nearby airport. We would watch planes come and go all the time.

The sky was empty for days. It was eerie, quiet. Everyone's breath was held. What happens now? What's next? (Rampant Islamaphobia and horrific racism is what. Grotesque police state policies.)

I cannot explain how different the world was before 9/11 to people not old enough to remember it for themselves. When I try to I feel like I am talking about something from a book or a movie I saw once decades ago and can't actually remember too well anymore and lost my copy of in some move or another.

I would regularly go with friends to the airport to see them off from their flights, or come by to see them in the international terminal on a long layover. We'd have dinner next to their gate. That doesn't exist now.

The Twin Towers were scrubbed from episodes of shows set in NYC, from airing versions of movies like Men in Black. The Spiderman trailer featuring a helicopter caught in a web spun between them was pulled down (I still have a copy).

I flew to Denmark 3 weeks later. The co-worker I was making the trip for asked if I still wanted to go; I told him in all honesty if I didn't now I had no idea when I would be able to. I have probably one of the last few pre-9/11 passports. Had, I should say; I had to turn it in for a new one when I got it renewed recently. One with no RFID or any of the new nonsense. From the Before Time, a relic of a by-gone era when we didn't have to show our driver's licenses to get on a plane.

It was odd, the way people looked at me, knowing I was an American as soon as I spoke. The looks on their faces, wondering how I was taking it. How I was taking it was: great. Now all the fascists have an excuse to be shitty. And a Bush is even in office. Fucking wonderful.

'The world has changed,' Galadriel says at the beginning of Fellowship.

This world is so different. And it happened very quickly. Quicker than I would realize at the time.

#this is about 9/11

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theold-ultraviolence · 1 year

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oh gods, no, I think that you are doing truly well for the people's names you have to learn! personally that's another reason why I don't think that I'd be fit to teach, I'd be just using the wrong name or just calling people over like 'you... over there!'.

(it is funny to say this when I always made sure that my teachers knew my name, as I was the annoying child raising my hand).

oh that's so cool! I think we come from different teaching system but basically in here I think that a lot of female artists gets overshadowed + they get described as copying the male artist's style and it always enrages me so much because it's such a male-view of the whole art, so that's a truly nice change and I was always thankful when teacher made sure to actually incorporate women artists in their lessons!

also yeah, Ewan, like aren't you curious? I honestly have too many instagram account for various reasons and I low key should delete a few as I don't use them too much, but ugh. but yeah, a day with Ewan sounds so nice, although I'd definitely judge him for how he takes his coffee.

OH I AM GLAD, I NOT THE ODD ONE OUT! people around me are always like 'when you are in love, you'll understand it'. AND NO, I DON'T WANT TO UNDERSTAND IT! I WANT MY SPACE AND PEACE! (and yeah, like all the touchy-feely couples of my friend group broke up and although I don't know the clear motive, I definitely think that it didn't help).

(also bestie, same, my last 'relationship' was a date with this dude who was extremely shy when we went out but also he'd be like trying to push to go out and I was like 'sir... calm down. I thought you didn't even like me till a few minutes ago').

oh no, I get the whole smokers allure. like I have... issues with smoke but when an hot guy does it? (daddy? sorry. daddy? sorry).

(the Aemond smoking cosplay? how many times have I watched the video? I might not know).

but also I love when they are considerate about smoking. I live in a students' city and nobody asks you even whether you mind them smoking around, so whenever somebody asks I am like 'alright, I have a crush on you'. ALSO I GET THE WHOLE COLOGNE THINK! I dread the thought of smoke getting on my clothes but the mix of it and cologne... I... also the fact that bestie Ewan smells like coffee and cigarettes? he is the Wattpad boi.

also I saw the puppy at the museum and I ugh... my favorite Aemond headcanons of your own happening! but yeah, I just imagine also you dating and you coming to the museum as he is obviously always there and you thought of surprising him with coffee or a pastry as he texted that he had a long day. EXCEPT, BIG GAL VHAGAR IS THERE!.

(like he brought her home from work because he had to get her to vet who said she didn't have anything bad, but it was better for her to be checked, so she is now there in his office with his head on his lap, being all sleepy because ... tired).

it's worse than meeting the parents, like that's your - potential - boyfriend's doggo and she looks so huge and big and you know that she doesn't like people and Aemond waves you over and you are like 'I wouldn't want to disturb you, I can just drop...' 'no, actually... can you just look at Vhagar while I go to the bathroom? I really need to pee but I didn't want to leave her alone'.

and that's it, you can't say no, obviously so now Vhagar's head is in your lap and she is awake and alert and clearly noticing you are a stranger but maybe... you smell like Aemond, or maybe Aemond did talk to her about you ('... so I met this cute person... they have good taste, a bit nervous but I truly enjoy them'), and here she is adjusting in your lap and going back to sleep. BOOM office date with Aemond smiling at you as you try again not to wake up poor big gal Vhagar.

also I might disappear a bit till next week, as I have a lot of stuff to do with the master's degree + might take a break from Tumblr (feel a bit annoying for others, but in the meanwhile I shall recharge and in the meanwhile I hope you'll have a nice day!)

(also I keep FORGETTING but the new icon? absolutely amazing, breath-taking, STUNNING!)

-🌗

lmao I was too! I was always like, smh why did the teather didn't learn my name??? but now I'm like, chill. I totally get it. And ohhh yeah in that sense it's totally similar! in my art history classes, all I've seen have been male artists. Even in my master's, during the Mexican Art class, the teacher dedicated (1) class to talk about the women artists. But gave us the most basic ass analyses questions, while he went in-depth with the rest of the artists and movements we saw before. It was so frustrating.

A day with Ewan sounds heavenly, friend ughhhhhhhh. But LMAO definitely!! I swear everytime I pour my black coffee on my travel mug to go to work I'm thinking, HOW does Ewan take his coffee with 7 sugars!? I'm convinced he was just fucking with the interviewer lmao. I just - I can't. 7 sugars???? nope. That's like a liquified lollipop.

THE AEMOND SMOKING COSPLAYER YES YES YES OMG and Ewan being a wattpad boi by smelling of coffee and cigarettes slkjfldkjglkjsg lmao. Like normally I'd find that combo super nasty but on a hot guy?? oh jesus. And when my students are smoking and they come back to the classroom reeking of it I'm always like ugh ugh ughhhhhhhhhhh. I hate the smell of secondhand smoke just, in general. BUT. But but but....................................I can make that exception. AND ALSO I'M DYING reading this Vaghar thought over and over, oh my god, I love her!! You'd be fretting over her liking you and totally taking a deep exhale once you see that she's all chill with you. Definitely just as terrifying as meeting the parents or more! I'd be so depressed if a doggo didn't like me, specially the doggo of the guy I'm interested in!! And also in every universe I hc Vaghar to be very protective of Aemond, so her liking you would definitely be a huge relief! And for Aemond as well. If you have Vaghar's seal of approval, then he can rest easy knowing you're good for him. Office date of my DREAMS. Also....what kind of art would Aemond have on his office?? He strikes me as a black & white photography kind of guy.

And I hope you get plenty of time to unwind and disconnect, friend! your pressence will be totally missed, but I hope you have fun and rest during your little break from tumblr!! x

#oh and thank you!!#living my Sam Carpenter from Scream 6 dreams with it lmao #🌗

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campmurderparty · 2 months

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gideon & blythe.

It was sort of eerie to see blythe looking like such a… grown up. In his mind, she was still the girl down the street that wore thick glasses and girlish overalls. She was still the girl that left swirly designs and cutesy bugs in chalk on the concrete, and followed him and his little pack of friends like she was the runt. She seemed to be enamored with him in particular, which led to constant teasing from his friends. Back then, Gideon saw Blythe trailing after them and always thought how annoying. At the time, he was still too young to think of girls as anything other than yucky, and his friends liked it when he was a little shithead. Above all, he wanted his friends’ admiration; he already had it from blythe, why did he have to try to get it from her?

Well, eventually Gideon grew up. He stopped seeing girls as yucky and stopped playing with action figures. Instead, he wrote short stories on his laptop and tried to get any girl to date him. He thought about what college to go to, how to get as far away from his divorcing parents as he possibly could (and then still ended up going to college an hour away), and he thought about how much of a dick he had been to blythe. Their relationship briefly patched up in his last year of high school, but their fates were not intertwined and if he were to be honest, he hadn’t thought much about blythe since graduation.

Not until he came home a few weeks ago. His mother kept the house in the divorce and while gideon had been back to visit during hanukkah every year, he never really spent more than a few days back in his childhood bedroom—too many memories, too many feelings. It hadn’t been his home in over ten years and yet, it was still the place he came to when his career was almost over before it had really started. His sophomore novel was barely a hundred pages in and he kept having to start over when the plot didn’t gel or his dialogue sounded stupid. Blythe’s engagement party was a welcome distraction, but of course, his fucking mouth got away from him.

Even as a best-selling author, Gideon still said the dumbest shit sometimes. He regretted the question the moment it hit back on his ears and he realized he sounded like such a jackass. Half-expecting blythe to throw him out of her party right then and there, he was surprised by the amusement in her tone. His body, momentarily frozen awaiting her reaction, quickly relaxed. “I may have wondered about it.” gideon answered honestly, returning his gaze to blythe. “Don’t worry, though. I’m under the impression that marriage is a prison… no offense.” damn fucking mouth! “I just don’t have very good role models in Maureen and Levi, that’s all.” Acrimonious hadn’t been a strong enough word for his parents’ divorce, and with how his father kept dating the students in his college courses, there hadn’t been hope for gideon to have a decent image of matrimony.

He laughed, taking another swig of his beer. “It hadn’t occurred to me that you’d be interested in my book. Actually, I'm surprised my mother didn’t give out three copies each to every neighbor on the street. She loves to boast about her novelist son." His mother certainly loved to talk about it to anyone willing to listen, though he doubted she actually read his novel. “If you’ve got a copy, I can sign it for you now: to blythe, the founding member of my fan club… that is, if you’re still my fan?” gideon smirked playfully, always a shameless flirt. He cast another glance at her fiancé. “So how did you two meet? He seems pretty… clean-cut.” though his stupid mouth got him into trouble, he did refrain from saying their vibes didn’t seem to match.

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xtruss · 2 years

Text

The Perfectionism Trap

Society bombards us with instructions to be happier, fitter and richer. Why have we become so dissatisfied with being ordinary?

— Economist | 1843 Magazine | By Josh Cohen

As a young university lecturer two decades ago, I taught a course on 19th-century American literature. Though I loved the period, my students were less enamoured. Most would give up on “Moby-Dick” or Ralph Waldo Emerson’s “Essays” after only a few pages, then sit in seminars coiled in silence, hoping that I wouldn’t call on them.

Roy was different. He was prodigiously well-read and discussed our texts with passionate intensity, which his classmates observed with a mixture of perplexity and awe. At the end of term, most students handed in efficient and entirely unremarkable essays. But Roy came to my office two days before the deadline begging for an extension.

I explained to him that I couldn’t grant him extra time without a doctor’s note and that he’d lose marks for giving in the work late. I urged him to go home and just write his essay. He had already demonstrated that he had numerous interesting things to say.

Roy said he’d actually already written the piece. Why then, I asked, hadn’t he submitted it? “Because it’s terrible,” he replied, screwing up his face in agony. He implored me for a few more days’ grace; I insisted that it wasn’t in my power.

The essay came in a day late. Despite being docked five points, it still scored a high mark.

Roy continued to hand in work late for the remainder of his degree and nonetheless came top of his year by some distance. The following year he enrolled on a Masters programme I ran. His work became ever more dazzling and the delays in submission more protracted. When he came to see me a week before the deadline for his final dissertation, I spotted an angry rash across his forehead. In some alarm, I asked if he was well.

“It’s fine,” he snapped. “I just rub away at the skin when I’m stressed, that’s all.” I then noticed that his nails were bitten past the quick and his fingers had swollen red pads.

I directed Roy to the student-counselling service. At first he refused to engage with it, but he soon realised that it could support his requests for an extension. The official September deadline passed, but Roy’s counsellor helped him stretch it until the following January.

Changing the dimensions of a nose or bust has come to represent the desired yet unattainable hope of a perfect future

Just before Christmas Roy came to see me, unkempt and staring glassily into the middle distance. There was no chance of getting his dissertation completed in time, he told me. By now I had learned the art of gentle remonstration. This was a Masters dissertation not his life’s work, I pointed out. It didn’t need to be perfect.

“Trust me,” he replied with a mirthless laugh, “it’s a world away from perfection. It’s not even in the same galaxy.” I surmised that he had written it, a fact which he confirmed. “I’ve also read it”, he added, “which gave me no option but to delete it.” Slack-jawed, I asked him if he had kept a copy.

He hadn’t. He’d wiped out more than 20,000 words. “I have way too much respect for you to have subjected you to them,” he told me.

This turned out to be the last time I saw Roy. For the next year and a half, he was granted extension after extension as a result of his ongoing anxiety. When the final extension expired, he submitted neither a dissertation nor an excuse. I wrote to him and asked whether he had a draft to show me. “Not that I’m willing to inflict on you, I’m afraid,” came his reply. I didn’t hear from him again.

Among the texts on the undergrad syllabus I taught to Roy was “The Birth-Mark”, a short story by Nathaniel Hawthorne written in 1843. It’s the most chilling study I know of the psychology of perfectionism.

Aylmer, a young scholar of science, develops an increasingly febrile obsession with a small red birthmark on the cheek of his beautiful young wife Georgiana. He finds her tantalising proximity to perfect beauty intolerable.

To him the birthmark was a sign of the “fatal flaw of humanity…[a] symbol of his wife’s liability to sin, sorrow, decay and death”. Georgiana learns to see herself in the distorted mirror of her husband’s gaze and comes to share his horror of the birthmark. She begs him to use his ingenuity to correct “what Nature left imperfect”.

Installing his wife in a concealed boudoir by his laboratory, Aylmer subjects her to various alchemical concoctions. While she is cloistered away Georgiana reads her husband’s scientific diary, only to discover a litany of disappointments: “Much as he had accomplished, she could not but observe that his most splendid successes were almost invariably failures, if compared with the ideal at which he aimed.”

Georgiana is unable to bring herself to draw the obvious conclusion: her husband’s morbid obsession with her “fatal flaw” is a displacement of his disillusionment with himself. Instead she deludes herself that his horror at her imperfection is a noble expression of love. Aylmer distils a mysterious potion with the taste of “water from a heavenly fountain”, which Georgiana drinks. The birthmark disappears but no sooner has it done so than Georgiana expires.

This disturbing fantasy of an odd young man in an underground laboratory has since become a real aspiration for men and women all over the world. It’s hard to read Hawthorne’s tale and not think of reports of people dying or being maimed after having plastic surgery in Turkey or the Dominican Republic.

Like the virus itself, perfectionism adapted to the very conditions that had begun to neutralise it

Changing the dimensions of a nose or bust has come to represent the much desired yet unattainable hope of a perfect future. This is just one of the perfectionist fantasies that plague our consumerist lives. Perfect weddings, homes and holiday destinations beam out from advertising hoardings, tv screens and social-media platforms, inciting feelings of envy, inadequacy and longing in billions of viewers.

In my work as a psychoanalyst I frequently encounter people in the grip of some punishing ideal of professional, romantic, physical or moral perfection. Rarely a day passes without at least one patient lamenting or berating themselves for having fallen short of an exacting goal or standard they had set for themselves. The self-laceration is usually amplified by the belief that someone else they know – a colleague, sibling or friend – would, in their place, have mustered the necessary effort or guile to succeed.

As lockdown began last spring, I felt I was beginning to see many of my patients let go of the perfectionist demands they had placed upon themselves. Institutions and businesses adapted to home working, and many people saw a lull in the workload, a break from the constant surveillance and an opportunity to recalibrate their priorities. They embraced simple pleasures – baking, walking, reading, talking – and seemed optimistic about their relationships with their partners and families.

In the religious imagination, the notion of human perfection is blasphemy

I was particularly surprised by the unfamiliar spirit of self-acceptance that accompanied these changes. “I felt a bit gleeful submitting that policy review,” said Polly, one of my patients. “It was pretty ropy.” Having described herself as “pathologically conscientious” the first time we met, she now took pleasure in producing work that was “barely up to scratch”. “Call it payback for the thousands of hours of unpaid overtime I’ve put in over the years.”

The restrictions had opened her mind to all that she was missing: gardening, cycling with her partner, playing board games with her kids. But after about six weeks, I felt this new mood of indulgence wane and the old demands punitively re-emerge.

Like the virus itself, Polly’s perfectionism had adapted to the very conditions that had begun to neutralise it. She had thought that she could elude the surveillance and judgment of her line manager at home; now she was increasingly conscious of being noticed on Slack. She had found a new source of competitiveness in home-working: who could be more productive under these added pressures?

I began to notice some version of this shift in many of my patients: more stringent fitness regimes, more vigilant attention to their children’s home-schooling. They also became increasingly irritable and frustrated with partners, colleagues and, at times, me. “Don’t you ever think self-examination can sometimes get in the way of practical action?” one man asked me. “Don’t you feel it’s sometimes better to stop wallowing and just get on with it?”

This mood was discernible beyond my consulting room, the sense that this slowdown had been a temporary respite but it was time to get serious again. Perfectionism was back, as alluring and unforgiving as before.

The reprieve from perfectionist zeal, followed by its remorseless return, made me think that perfectionism might be a deep-rooted and persistent element of the human condition. After all, the Bible begins with the fall from grace of divinely created beings into sin and mortality.

Some version of this origin story can be found across cultures. From this perspective, religion is an extravagant scheme for the recovery of our lost perfection, at least in its monotheistic variants.

But religion also has a contrary, or perhaps complementary, purpose. For centuries it was the primary means through which we came to terms with being fallen and flawed – imperfect, in short. Religious striving for moral and spiritual improvement goes in tandem with the sombre recognition that perfection belongs to God alone.

When mortals in the Bible or mythology, such as the architects of the Tower of Babel or Prometheus, attempt to usurp divine status, they are duly punished. In the religious imagination, the notion of human perfection is blasphemy.

The bonds of religion loosened with the advent of industrial society. Nietzsche observed that the denizens of a secular modernity, having killed God, were unable to live without him. In his place they invented an array of new gods: Culture, Science, Commerce, the State, the Self.

From Emerson’s provocative defence of “self-reliance” in 1841 to the rise of the self-help industry from the 1930s and the emergence of our own selfie culture, selfhood was regarded as our highest value and the object of our striving. Educational, aesthetic and financial betterment and the need for validation from others are the elements that form the perfectionist air we all now breathe.

Perfectionism “makes for a thin life, lived for what it isn’t rather than what it is”

The imperative towards perfection remains as potent and pervasive as ever. In an article in 2017 two British psychologists, Thomas Curran and Andrew Hill, ascribed an exponential rise in perfectionism among the younger generation to the “increasingly demanding social and economic parameters” within which they struggled to make their lives. They also blamed “increasingly anxious and controlling parental practices”.

Over-crowded labour markets, particularly for desirable professional and creative jobs, as well as unaffordable housing, are driving young people and their parents to ever greater lengths to secure a competitive advantage. So begins another unpaid internship, further training or some other side-hustle.

By linking the spread of perfectionist anxiety to the atmosphere of precarity and competition conjured by the free market, these psychologists anticipated a critique of meritocracy by Michael Sandel, an American philosopher. In “The Tyranny of Merit”, published in 2020, Sandel argues that meritocratic capitalism created a permanent state of competition within society, which corrodes solidarity and the notion of the “common good”. This system sustains an order of winners and losers, breeding “hubris and self-congratulation” among the former and chronically low self-worth among the latter.

In such a culture, young people are likely to grow dissatisfied both with what they have and who they are. Social media creates additional pressure to construct a perfect public image, exacerbating our feelings of inadequacy.

In the absence of intrinsic feelings of worth, a perfectionist tends to measure her own value against external measures: academic record, athletic prowess, popularity, professional achievement. When she falls short of expectations, she feels shame and humiliation.

This weight of society’s expectations is hardly a new phenomenon but it has become particularly draining over recent decades, perhaps because expectations themselves are so multifarious and contradictory. The perfectionism of the 1950s was rooted in the norms of mass culture and captured in famous advertising images of the ideal white American family that now seem self-satirising.

In that era, perfectionism meant seamlessly conforming to values, behaviour and appearance: chiselled confidence for men, demure graciousness for women. The perfectionist was under pressure to look like everyone else, only more so. The perfectionists of today, by contrast, feel an obligation to stand out through their idiosyncratic style and wit if they are to gain a foothold in the attention economy.

Perfectionism is not solely a malign force, however. The demand for perfection may be stifling, but a perfectionist can also feel that his achievements are the only thing holding him together. When we’re overwhelmed by life and chastise ourselves for our inadequacies, a stellar test score or a thousand Instagram likes can deliver the fleeting sensation that everything is under control.

That sensation quickly fades, of course, and requires constant refreshing. As Moya Sarner, a writer steeped in psychoanalytic ideas, put it to me: “It makes for a thin life, lived for what it isn’t rather than what it is. If you’re forever trying to make your life what you want it to be, you’re not really living the life you have.”

In 1990 Randy Frost, an American psychologist, developed 35 questions designed to measure perfectionism. His “multidimensional perfectionism scale” distinguished between three broad types of perfectionism.

The first type is self-oriented perfectionism, a persecuting refrain which insists that you should do better. It breeds a highly motivating, but ultimately exhausting, obligation to become an idealised version of yourself: happier, fitter, richer (comparative adjectives are often found on the covers of self-help books).

In my consulting room, this often takes the form of patients berating themselves for eating an almond croissant or binge-watching police procedurals instead of working on a presentation or checking over a child’s history essay.

The second type is socially prescribed perfectionism, which leaves us trying to live up to the expectations of others. This often expresses itself in fantasies of criticism, as an internal monologue tells us how we should be and what we should do. We hear snide deprecations of our insufficiently gracious manners, ugly clothes or dull conversation.

Third comes other-oriented perfectionism, which turns that persecutory voice outwards as we demand that those around us also live up to our impossible ideals. This is most noxious when wielded as an instrument of power: the parent who asks his child why she got only nine A-grades, or the boss who can’t see why his employee can’t just power through the flu. Other-oriented perfectionism is almost always projection, finding failure and disappointment in others that we can’t bear to see in ourselves, in the flimsy guise of authoritative criticism.

It has a chameleonic ability to adapt itself to different character types and vulnerabilities

These are interesting notions, yet as soon as we encounter actual people it’s hard to distinguish between these categories. The imperative to be thinner or smarter is often fed by a chorus of internal and external voices. It’s easy to see how feelings of self-criticism might be channelled into criticism of others.

Perfectionism is slippery. Clinically it is reflected in a dizzying range of symptoms: depression and anxiety, obsessional disorders, narcissism of the “thin-skinned” type (when a projected grandiosity conceals intense fragility), psychosomatic illness, suicidal thoughts, body dysmorphia and eating disorders. Perfectionism has a chameleonic ability to adapt itself to different character types and vulnerabilities, which is perhaps why it has never been categorised as a discrete mental disorder.

This also means that perfectionism can grow from the soil of very different childhood experiences. Curran and Hill are correct to note that “helicopter parents” – those who oppressively supervise their children’s academic and extracurricular activities – have contributed to an increase in perfectionism. But my own experience has shown me that very different styles of parenting can have similar outcomes.

The hands-off parent who keeps a more respectful distance from their child’s life can induce a deep longing in the child for the kind of recognition he believes can be won only through the never-ending accumulation of achievements. The child who feels she can’t win, that her best efforts at rugby or chess or cheerleading will only draw her parent’s niggling criticism, will also be afflicted by a permanent itch to do better.

Yet the child whose parent assures him that every doodle or gold star is a landmark achievement may also come to feel himself under constant pressure to live up to the achievements of his early years. Whichever way you approach parenting, you may end up stoking your children’s desperate need to please and create a lifelong difficulty in distinguishing their own desires from your aspirations for them.

This may sound like the formula for blaming the parents that many people view as the essence of psychoanalysis. But you could also regard it as a humane acknowledgment of how hard it is to get parenting right. The sweet spot between over-involvement and under-involvement in our children’s lives is maddeningly elusive.

The difficulty of escaping the snares of perfectionism suggests that it has a place deep in the structure of the human psyche. However we are brought up we internalise an ideal of the person we aspire to be.

Psychoanalysts refer to this as the ego ideal, an image of the perfect self which, as infants, we saw reflected back to us in the adoring gaze of our parents or carers. But at that point in our life we also acquire a superego, the internalised voice of a harshly critical parent, which is typically amplified much later by other adults in positions of authority such as teachers or bosses. Both the personae inhabiting our psyche can feel accusatory. Perfectionism grows out of self-love and self-abasement.

Some psychologists argue that perfectionism doesn’t need to be pathological. In 1978 D.E. Hamachek, an American psychologist, drew a distinction between normal and neurotic perfectionism. The normal perfectionist can set high standards for themselves without descending into punitive self-criticism. They can even take pleasure in striving for improvement.

Subsequent researchers have questioned Hamachek’s distinction, arguing that the desire to be perfect can never be “normal”. The yearning for something that is intrinsically impossible can result only in feelings of frustration and inadequacy. My own work with perfectionists has led me to reach a similar conclusion. Yet though perfectionism can corrode our sense of self-worth, few of us would want to give up the ambition to develop and grow.

How might we protect this aspiration from the incursions of perfectionist zeal? There are no easy answers. Something about being human makes it difficult to feel that we have done, or are, enough. We are unwilling to extinguish the hope that, one day, we will be recognised as exceptional: the perfect being that our parents once placed on a pedestal.

Serge Leclaire, a French psychoanalyst, posited the intriguing idea that life sets us the task of metaphorically killing this wonderful child. We must continually renounce the fantasy of an ideal self and grieve its impossibility.

This idea always brings to mind one of my first patients, a woman in her 20s whose mother had recently died of a terminal illness. Her parents had divorced when she was a toddler; her father remarried and lived abroad with a second family. Lydia was tormented by her own image, posting selfies obsessively and tracking the number of likes, while forensically examining her skin, teeth and figure for flaws.

Whichever way you parent, you may end up stoking your children’s desperate need to please

As she’d grown up, her mother had devoted herself to a successful business career, outsourcing child care to successive au pairs. Lydia couldn’t get her mother to take an interest in her everyday struggles with schoolwork, friendships and boys. The only way she could reliably claim her attention was through fashion and grooming – makeovers, manicures and clothes shopping online. She would recall her mother looking lovingly at her as she applied mascara or brushed her hair, and telling her how lovely she was, how lucky any man would be to have her one day.

“And then I’d try to talk to her about a problem with a teacher or a friend and I’d see the interest almost literally drain from her face, as though it was all too much to take on.” Lydia coped by becoming robustly self-reliant. But when her mother died, she found herself taken over by the quest for physical perfection.

I suggested to Lydia that she felt compelled to turn into the lovable child she had seen reflected in her mother’s gaze when they jointly focused on applying makeup. This suggestion triggered an outpouring of long repressed anger and frustration. “If I’d screamed at her when she was alive, she’d barely have registered it,” she said, weeping bitterly. “And now she’ll never hear me at all.”

Lydia’s rage was a form of delayed grief, not just for the mother she had lost but for the perfect child she fleetingly felt herself to be when she managed to hold her mother’s attention. Mourning that child enabled her to wean herself off the obsessive self-scrutiny.

Soon after she stopped posting selfies, Lydia came to see me one day with a smile on her face. “As I was leaving for the session I caught myself in the mirror”, she said, “and I thought, oh, I’m actually fairly attractive!” She was now laughing heartily. “But funnily enough, I’m no supermodel. And even more surprisingly, I’ve no wish to be one.”

Perfectionism may appear to spur us on to adult successes. But in truth it is a fundamentally childish attitude. It imbues us with the conviction that life in effect ends when we give up hope of becoming the best version of ourselves. On the contrary, as Lydia discovered, that is the moment at which life can finally begin. ■

— Josh Cohen is a psychoanalyst and professor of modern literary theory at Goldsmiths, University of London. His books include “The Private Life”, “Not Working” and “How to Live. What to Do”

— Illustrations: Adam Simpson

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thepixelmoon · 3 years

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you will never see a pen sitting near my books. ever. only pencils. i only ever annotate books in pencil. who do you think i am? someone who has their shit together??

#books #literature #annotating books #academia #academia aesthetic #dark academia #light academia #I said this to my students a few days ago when they saw my copy of a book we're reading #we all laughed but it's true #musings #words and thoughts #mine

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prcserpina · 6 years

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i just found out that my favourite gorgeous little secondhand bookshop a couple of minutes down my street is closing down and all the beautiful victorian buildings next to it - family-owned restaurants and independent shops - are being torn down and replaced with a huge hotel. to say that i’m heartbroken and devastated would be an understatement.

#ive known the owner since i was 4 & i used to take drama classes at the local theatre with his daughter #and every time i walked home from school i’d stop to look at the books outside and he’d catch me and laugh or come over for a chat.#& i hadnt been in a few months but as soon as he saw me today he asked how my exams went & remembered i want to study physics next yr #& he’d always give me a ‘student discount’ even tho that. wasnt a thing and it was just him being sweet #& two yrs ago when i finished my gcses he saw me looking at a box set of books i loved as a kid and insisted i take the entire set at #something ridiculous like 20% as a congratulations present #and like a year before that i came in almost every other day looking for a copy of lolita so he wrote my number down and pinned it by the #till and said he’d ring as SOON as he got a copy in and he did #it’s so unfair. it’s so so unfair.#diary

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yunojeyes · 2 years

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“I Used To Do This With My Ex” Prank On NCT DREAM

NCT DREAM reaction to the tiktok “I Used To Do This With My Ex” Prank

Genre: fluff

Masterlist: here

Fic recs: YuuYuu2

a/n: Please note that all of this is fictional and the personalities of the characters are made specifically for the story! Please do not copy the story and post it elsewhere or on Tumblr!

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Mark

You, a music student was helping your boyfriend Mark write and produce his songs when you remembered a tiktok trend that you'd seen not too long ago. Glancing up at his hunched figure, you smirked, "You know what babe?" You asked as he turned to look into your eyes, "What?" He asked caressing your hair. "This reminds me of my ex" You said, watching his eyebrows furrow as he stopped stroking your hair. "oh? How so?" He asked, putting down his notebook, "I used to write songs w my ex" You said as he hummed displeased. He turned away from you and grabbed his notebook, putting on his earphones, you smiled cheekily as you made your way in front of him, Mark not acknowledging your presence.

You reached out to tangle your fingers in his hair, he first moved away, still sulky at the fact you brought the topic of your ex up before moving to your hand in need of consolation. You giggled, "Babe, are you mad at me?" You asked, your lover in question shakes his head in disagreement though the pout on his face says otherwise. You moved away his notebook and unplugged his earphones, sitting on his lap and cupping his face with your hands, "Baby it's a tiktok trend" You said, caressing his cheek with your thumbs. He squinted his eyes at you as he finally wrapped his arms around your waist, "I don't like these pranks" He said while pouting, You pecked his lips and apologized, "Okay Markie, no more tiktok trends....for now" "Babeee" He whined, hiding his face in your nape.

Renjun

You and Renjun had a certain time and date for painting or just art time together as a sort of therapy from school/work life and today happened to be one of those days. You guys were painting in peace with music in the background, a lit cotton scented candle and a purple-yellow light to set the mood, but you felt like you were missing something, that is until you came up with the idea of doing a tiktok trend you'd seen on your fyp not too long ago. "Hey junnie" You said while mixing your paint with your palette knife, "hm" He hummed in question, "This reminds me of my ex" You said dipping your paintbrush in the paint.

From the corner of your eye, you could see Renjun stop painting and turn towards you, "excuse me?" He asked in disbelief, "This reminds me of my ex" You repeated as you applied the paint unto the canvas. "Why would this remind you of your ex?" Renjun grumbled out, "I used to paint with my ex" You said as if it was a regular thing to say at this moment. "But this is our special time, you told me your ex wasn't into these things" Renjun whined, putting down his paintbrush as he's no longer in the mood to paint. You giggled, "What's so funny?" He sneered as you turned towards his irritated face, "it's a prank junnie, I saw someone do it on tiktok a few days ago, you're right my ex was never into these things, this is very special in our relationship." You explained while wiping your hands before kissing him on the cheek and caressing his hair. "I knew it" He mumbled as he returned the kiss on the cheek with one on your forehead.

Jeno

You and Jeno had decided to bike to a place away from the city for a lunch date. You and Jeno were always described as the perfect couple since you both were equally talented in sports and had amazing stamina. Upon arriving at a meadow, you parked your bikes, you walked towards a tree and set up the food and the cloth to sit on while Jeno chained up your bikes. While waiting for him to get back, you looked out to enjoy the view when suddenly a memory came into your mind. A tiktok trend that couples were doing that you wanted to try out for yourself, so you waited for your Prince Charming to come back to test it out on him.

When he came back, y'all ate the food to your stomach's desire before cuddling under the tree while watching the sunrise. "You know babe, this reminds me of my ex" You said as Jeno made a "huh" noise, clearly displeased at the fact that you'd mentioned your ex. "What do you mean?" He asked with distaste clearly in his tone, " I used to ride the bicycle with my ex and have a picnic right after while watching the sunrise." You said looking at his displeased face, "oh yeah?" He grumbled out, looking away from you missing the cheeky smile on your face, "nah, he was a couch potato, never wanted to do anything with me" You said cuddling back into his embrace and turning his face towards you, his eye smile on full display now as he pinched your cheeks.

Hyuck

You and Hyuck love to play any game until your eyes beg you to sleep, Hyuck called it, "gamer couple bonding time", your favorite game to play together is PubG. Y'all ordered chicken since it's no fun playing games on an empty stomach. Hyuck went out to get the chicken, not forgetting to kiss your head before leaving to pick up the chicken. You scrolled on tiktok while waiting for your chocoball boyfriend to come back, you came across a video, smirking as you finished watching the video you decided that you wanted to test this out on Hyuck. When he came back you smiled at him, y'all ate your chicken before starting a new game.

"Hey bubs, this reminds me of my ex" you said looting a dead player's items. Hyuck choked on his chicken, grabbing his red bull to wash it down, "What?" he asked as you turned towards him with a straight face, "This reminds me of my ex" You repeated as Hyuck gasped in offense. "How could you say that! You said you and your ex never did shit, you said he sucked at playing, how could playing with the one and only Hyuck, winner winner chicken dinner expert remind you of your asshole noob of an ex!" He whined, sticking his face in your nape. "I used to play PubG with my ex" You said pinching his cheek, "what else did you do with him that's supposed to be special to us?" He asked while pouting, you knew that he was hurt even though he tried to hide it by acting out. "Nah, I lied, we didn't play PubG, we didn't do much actually just the usual boring stuff, he told me that PubG was too manly for me and that he didn't want me to be sad if I lost to him." You assured him while cupping his cheek, he furrowed his eyebrows at your answer, "He's a dick babe, thank God you're dating me now, what an upgrade" He sassily remarked as he pulled your head to his chest.

Jaemin

You and Jaemin's child Park Jisung had asked you to cook fried rice and tteokbokki for him so obviously being the whipped parents you are, you paused cuddling session to cook for the baby. In the kitchen while waiting for the water to boil you and Jaemin resumed your cuddling session. You swayed from side to side as you hummed a tune, suddenly remembering a tiktok trend you'd come across while scrolling on your phone as you waited for the water to boil and Jaemin to finish unpacking new spices.

Looking up at him you said, "You know, this reminds me of my ex" Jaemin stiffens up, he stopped stirring, stopped kissing you, stopped blinking and maybe even stopped breathing. "WhAt" he blurted out staring at your with wide eyes, "I used to cook this exact recipe for my ex" you said, bringing the soup to a low simmer and pouring in the tteok. He pinched your side as you yelped, "How could you think of him in my arms you naughty lady" He nagged, tickling your sides as you smiled cheekily at him. "It's a prank Jaeminnie, my ex didn't do shit, he just sat on the couch while waiting for me to cook." You said pecked his puffy cheeks and pouty lips. "I knew that scumbag wouldn't help you with simple things" He mumbled while turning away from you, stirring the rice on the pan. You giggled at his cute rant and cupped his face, kissing all over his face before plating the tteokbokki and calling Jisung to come and eat.

Chenle

You're Daegal's mother and it's your duty and pleasure to accompany Chenle to go puppy toy shopping while Daegal stayed at home with Haechan, Renjun and Jisung watching over him. You and Chenle walked hand in hand inside the store, grabbing a cart to fill with what would be Daegal's new bed, toys, treats and food. As you and Chenle strolled down an aisle you remembered a tiktok video your friend had sent to you. Glancing at his distracted figure you smirked, "Babe, this reminds me of my ex" You said while taking some treats and placing it in the cart, Chenle stood still, staring at you with a cold stare. "Say that again" He said, his tone daring you to do as he says.

"This reminds me of my ex" You said staring into his eyes, he squinted his eyes, "You and your ex had a child together too?" He asked as he took a bag of Daegal's food. The people around you eavesdropping at your conversation. " I used to go puppy toy shopping with my ex because my mother would send me to go buy food for her puppy" You explained, Chenle still disatisfied with your answer stood still, with his arms crossed. "No, I definitely didn't have a child with my ex and he actually never came with me to pickup treats for my mum's puppy, it's a prank Lele" You said pinching his cheeks, he uncrossed his arms and huffed. "I don't like your pranks" He pouted while you hugged his waist, cooing at him.

Jisung

You and Jisung were laying next to each other, him eating ice cream and drinking fizzy drinks to his heart's content while you laid on his chest. Y'all were doing your own things, you were on tiktok when you got a message from your friend. You put on your earphones to watch the video, as you finished the video you smirked while glancing at Jisung's unbeknownst figure. You scooted closer to him, wrapping your arms around his waist as he played the song "Perfect" by One Direction. You were singing along with him to the lyrics of song while swaying back and forth.

You remembered the tiktok and decided to test it out on your boyfriend, "Hey Jwi, this reminds me of my ex" You mumbled into his chest, Jisung's voice slowly getting softer as he digested what you'd just said. "What.." He mumbled as lowered the volume of the song, "But singing to 1D songs is our special thing" He mumbled quietly, afraid that he would upset you. " I used to sing to one direction with my ex" You said placing your chin on his shoulder, He let out a disappointed hum as he continued to eat his ice cream, this time slower and not as excited as he was before. You sat up, pulling his arms away from his chest before sitting on his lap, cupping his face you said, "It's a prank Jwi, we never did anything like this, this is our special thing, don't worry." You assured him while stroking his cheeks with your thumb and placing a kiss on his forehead. He leant forward to rest his head on your chest. "Good" He mumbled, his cheeks pressed against your chest as you caressed his hair.

original work of: @yunojeyes

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violettelueur · 3 years

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GOJO SATORU || FAMILY

| featuring : gojo satoru ft. itadori yuji, fushiguro megumi and kugisaki nobara from jujutsu kaisen

| warnings : grammar errors, but other than that n/a

| form : imagine

| word count : 1293

| published : 07 december

| request : Yay my first request here :) Can I please have a Gojo x fem! Reader where they have a 2 year old baby (you can pick the gender) and maybe for the first time he brings them to work to meet his students and all. Maybe the baby acts a lot like him as well? You can pick a scenario or Headcannons thank you so much! ❤️

| barista’s notes : hi there! thank you so much for your first request, i hope i met up to the standard for your first order ʕ≧ᴥ≦ʔ i can’t lie, i kinda didn’t read the order correctly as i thought it said that ‘you brought him to work’ rather than gojo himself ʕ ㅇ ᴥ ㅇʔ that’s a little oops on my part and this was just posted in time before gojo satoru’s birthday ended (in the uk), i hope you enjoy your order of a cup of classic black coffee (jujutsu kaisen request!) and please come again soon!

Patiently, at this current moment in time, you were quietly resting your body on Gojo’s expensive chair with your little human, who had seated himself on your lap, playing with the few strands of your hair to occupy himself with the pending silence that was going on between you and him, waiting for his father to safely return from his mission with his current first years.

Ever since your blossoming relationship with the white-haired shaman, there was never a day where you weren’t expecting something chaotic to happen wherever it be him surprising you by him popping out of nowhere to him telling you weird and compelling stories that he had from his missions that he went alone or his first years - it had been like that since the both of you met during your first year at Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College, the most chaotic being when he caused a whole mansion to blow up from his use of his curse technique while forgetting to put a curtain up leaving you, Gojo, Ieiri and Geto to get a stern scolding from their teacher at the time Yaga.

Feeling a little hand slap itself on your open palm like a high-five, you peered down to see your baby staring up at you with his most beautiful glossy crystal-blue eyes that he had inherited from his father. To be completely honest, you wondered what this little boy had even inherited from you, he was a tiny exact copy of your husband with his bright white locks that was surprisingly smooth to the touch.

“I carried you for 9 months, only for you to come out looking like your papa ha?” you teasingly asked the child as if he could even answer back, as his only response was a cheeky smile before he called out to you with his hands up in the air.

“Mama!” the joyful boy cheered, causing you to lower your head letting the boy cutely cup your cheeks with his small hands before he gave you a messy kiss on your nose.

‘Yeah, an exact copy of your papa, personality-wise as well’

However, before you could even voice out this little thought of yours, there was a sound a wooden door being slide open causing you to turn to look towards the direction of the sound, only to find awaited first years as well as your tall husband in the doorway to which then you were greeted with two extremely confused faces, one surprised face and one exceedingly happy face.

“Is that my wife and baby boy waiting for me?” Gojo gleefully said before walking towards you and your son with ‘give me, give me’ hands causing your little boy to cheer as he also reached his smaller hands out to his father.

“WIFE?! BABY BOY?!”

Looking towards Gojo’s student, you saw the two students that screamed, who you assumed were Itadori Yuji and Kugisaki Nobara, point towards you with Fushiguro standing beside them, giving an irritated expression due to their loudness. “Megumi, there is no need to give them such a look, there is no surprise that they don’t know me and the little baby here, have you eaten yet?” you softly stated before he walked up to you telling you that Gojo took everyone out to eat as he then asked how you were.

“Hold up Gojo-sensei, since when did you have a family?!” Itadori loudly questioned leading to your little boy - who was now lifted up in Gojo’s arms - to look towards the student and smiled before lifting up his tiny finger. “Salmon,” the baby suddenly uttered, causing you to cover your mouth in shock as well as to try to hold in your laughter.

‘Yeah, definitely a copy personality-wise’

“Now, now, where did you learn that teasing from? Your mother?” Gojo asked in an ‘innocent’ tone, causing you to turn to look at him with a slightly annoyed expression as you snapped back with, “I think it’s the other way round here idiot, I raised Megumi and look how perfectly he turned out”. However, it seemed like your baby boy wasn’t concerned with the little incident as he just adorably giggled at Itadori’s confused expression before quickly turning back to you with his arms outstretched towards you again - as you said, personality-wise he was like your husband, he was quite clingy towards you like Gojo is.

“Wait, she raised you Fushiguro?” Nobara asked as she turned to him leading to the quiet shaman to nod before proceeding to lean against the wooden wall. “Y/N-san was somewhat like a mother to me when I was younger,” Fushiguro explained as he then turned to look at you, only to find you concentrating on the little human that was now back in your arms.

From his perspective, you looked extremely happy, just like how you did 2 years ago when he saw you holding the baby when it was a newborn in the hospital. You had that motherly look in your eyes when you looked down at your son - the same motherly look you had for both him and his sister when you both first met. Looking back up to his teacher, he noticed the calm and content expression painted on his face - the same one that he saw when Gojo first saw his child on your arms. Even within this world full of evil and destruction, you and Gojo still had that hint of happiness that both of you shared that he also felt ever since he came into your lives. This was what a family was like.

“Can I see the baby Y/N-san?” Nobara kindly asked as she crouched down to be in height level with the child to which you answered with a gentle smile at her as well as a nod before placing the child on your lap, facing him towards the student. “Woah, he looks exactly like Gojo-sensei,” Nobara quietly muttered as the student admired his features, leading to your husband to butt in and exclaim while pointing at himself, “isn’t he cute? He is my twin after all,” leading you to giggle slightly at his childish behaviour.

Looking around the room, people on the outside would think this was just a room filled with people with no deep relations at all. However, when you looked around the room, you saw a huge family that was wild and chaotic. Yes, even though you only knew Itadori and Kugisaki for at least 10 minutes, you knew that they came all the way here at Jujutsu Tech with no family by their side just like Fushiguro had. Maybe it was just you being a motherly figure? When did it start? Was it when Gojo introduced you to Fushiguro Megumi and Fushiguro Tsumiki? Or was it when your son was born from the love that you and Gojo created? To be honest, you don’t think you’ll ever know. But that didn’t matter at all, because your family was right here in front of you.

Suddenly, you felt a light kiss being placed upon your nose causing you to snap out of your thoughts, only to then come to the realisation that Gojo was in front of your view. Although, this also didn’t go unnoticed by your cheeky son, as he unexpectedly grabbed a small strand of your hair before gently tugging you down to give you a kiss on the same place leading you to laugh at both of your boys.

“Thank you for giving me a family honey~” Gojo gently muttered as he stroked your son’s cheek with his finger, causing you to brightly smile at him as you looked back at your beautiful son.

“Thank you for making me a part of your family”

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen imagine #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #gojo satoru #saturo gojo #jujutsu kaisen gojo satoru #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jjk gojo satoru #jjk gojo #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru imagine #gojo satoru imagines #gojo imagine

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slothspaghettiwrites · 3 years

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Welcome To The Madhouse

Story Rating: Explicit, 18+ only

Warnings: feminisation, propositioning, daddy kink, implied future smut, power imbalance, debts owed/paid, age gap, no power au shrinkyclinks

Relationship: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Art Student!Steve Rogers

A/N: the Stucky content nobody asked me for, but this is what you're getting.

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Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, a shaky sigh rattling his chest. He can feel the other men in the cell staring at him. And he knew their staring was because he's dressed for work - striking eyeliner and sparkly lip gloss making his features look even bigger, more feminine, more vulnerable. Under his jeans and hoodie was the skin tight corset, the ridiculous uniform he wore every night because when you're desperate for cash you don't complain about demeaning work at gentlemen's clubs. You suck it up, tuck your junk, and let handsy, wealthy men stuff twenties in your stockings while you serve them drinks.

He shouldn't have done this today. The protest had been for defunding the police for Christ's sake. That alone should scream to him T-R-O-U-B-L-E, but Nat and Clint had gotten him all fired up about it. He had to make his voice heard, he can't just run from a fight like that. Within in ten minute of them arriving outside the state court house, they were handcuffed and dragged off. And Steve being Steve had resisted, stomped and shoved, and now he stewing.

"Can I get my inhaler please?" He shouted, head falling back against the cement brick wall.

The few officers loitering in the bullpen ignored him, continued their quiet conversation and paper work. Steve pushed his hair off his forehead before he shoved his hand into his pocket. He stared at nothing particular ahead of him, eyes tracing the scribbled and scratched graffiti on the opposite wall.

He shouldn't have called his boss to bail him out. The card had been weighing down the pocket of his jacket for weeks now. It had been his first interaction with James, a tall and ominous man who owned the club and seemed to always be shrouded in darkness when Steve was the server he requested for the night. A request that was becoming more and more frequent. Nat told him Winter's Retreat wasn't a place for good people, but Steve didn't listen, because Steve never really listens to sense and student discounts don't really apply at the pharmacy.

The police station went deadly silent as the elevator opened. Steve had to force his eyes to refocus, blinking hard in hopes it made his contacts burn less. He turned to see what had caused such an scene to silence a whole damn police station and saw James standing next to Captain Wilson. He swallowed the lump in his throat and tried not to think about why his cheeks felt hot.

He's never seen James in the light of day, if you'd asked him five minutes ago he would have said the man was some kinda vampire.

"Oh Stevie, Stevie, Stevie," he tsked, voice ringing out in the large room as he followed the captain to the holding cell. "What am I gonna do with you?"

It's the most cheerful James had ever sounds. His tone dripped with condescension and wickedness. Like he was enjoying this.

"Rogers you're free to go, sorry for the inconvenience." Wilson said, unlocking the gate and waiting for him to shuffle out.

"And it won't happen again, always a pleasure Samuel," James wrapped a ringed hand around the back of Steve's neck and started guiding him towards the elevator.

He could still hear the older man scoffing, shouting for everyone to get the fuck back to work. James's hand didn't leave the back of his neck the whole way to the sleek black town car. Steve felt his breathing pick up, the weight of it only making his skin burn hotter. James pulls something from his pocket and gives it to him. Steve's inhaler, graffiti and initials all there to let everyone in view know what kind of person he was. He took a deep inhale, holding the trigger down as the medicated spray eased the pain in his chest and lungs.

"Thanks," he choked, trying to still hold his breath so it took.

"Oh Stevie, don't thank me yet," James guided, nearly forced, him into the back seat of the car.

He gulped, jail made him a bit nervous sure but this felt like something bigger, like Steve was either gonna live to tell this tale to Natasha the next time they had brunch or he was gonna die. Steve fisted his looses jeans, refused to look where the car was now taking them. Maybe James was talking, he wasn't really sure, hyperfixating on the weave of denim his finger nails were trying to tear apart rather than listening. This happened sometimes, stress taking over Steve and not allowing him to be present. He just needed to calm down and it would all be better.

The car stopped, gliding into a spacious parking spot right outside a massive house in Brooklyn. Steve recognised the neighborhood, a place he sometimes went to for Instagram pics with Natasha when Clint is busy. A cafe a few blocks over does the best vegan donuts Steve's ever had.

"C'mon baby, outta the car."

Steve flushed a deep red under the endearment. This was not a healthy mindset. He needed to collect himself and think rationally. There was clearly a way to get out of this, one that involved no injuries and a payment plan. James was a business man, surely he'd just let Steve pay him back in a reasonable time frame. He followed the older man into the lavish house, opulent wasn't the right word for it but that was what all Steve could grasp on to at the moment.

They entered a study - a large wooden desk, winged back chairs, bookshelves all the way up the high ceilings, art - it all revealed a man with old school values and money. Steve sat gingerly in one of the chairs facing the desk, back ramrod straight.

"I'll pay ya back," Steve rushed the words out, pushing them into this conversation as soon as possible. "Just tell me how much and I'll work until it's all paid off."

James looked at him over his shoulder from where was mixing a drink at the small cart. A smirk settled on his lips before he took a sip of the amber liquid. He unbuttoned his suit jacket, the low lighting catching a glint on one of his many rings, and sat down in his chair. James spread his thick thighs just like he did at the club on nights when he was settling in for a long one. The cut of Steve's uniform, the way it squeezed his ass and dug lines into his hip bones suddenly reminded Steve of how used he was wearing less around James and feeling more covered then. How in this situation he felt nearly stripped bare by the way James looked at him.

Everything about this situation had Steve about to bolt for the door, dye his hair and change his name. It's playing out like a horrible mafia movie, but he couldn't seem to get the lead out of his shoes until James pat his thigh. Then he was able to move, trudging through the muck of his brain and every sense in him telling this was a bad idea. Once he's in arms reach, James pulled right down on to his lap, Steve's knees brushing the inseam of his boss's trousers.

"What if I don't want a trouble maker like you working at my club? What then baby?"

It was like the car ride all over again but this time so much more personal. Steve could smell the whiskey on his breath, could feel the relaxing heat from his body rolling off of James. He took a steadying breath.

"I'll get another job, and give you the cash."

"I'm not sure cash is gonna cut it Stevie, I had to pull some big favours to make sure Captain Wilson didn't charge you with assaulting an officer of the law."

"What else could you possibly want from me?"

Steve was seething, humiliation burning in his belly. He was not going to just do it. Since he'd started working he'd been propositioned enough. Plenty of old men don't always realise he was in fact a man until he told them no. Steve knew what James was asking him to do, hated how much he wanted to do it despite every moral bone in his body telling him not too. Who knows how many of the girls at the club he's done this to? Maybe this was James whole schtick, doing favour for people down on their luck and getting a power trip outta make them return his sexual advances.

Well if he wanted that from Steve, he was gonna have to fucking say it out loud.

"Oh I've got a list things I want from you Stevie, but first," James paused to take a sip of drink, the crystal glass and rings and thick fingers all capturing Steve's attention more than he wanted to admit. James's free hand smoothly rubbed up Steve's back, teases the taught muscles before sliding back to the edge of his sweatshirt, playing with the hem. "I wanna see what those pretty lips of yours can do. Let me cum in that smart mouth of yours, then we can go dinner so I can show just how nice it's gonna be for you from now on."

Steve slipped off his lap before he could really think. He knew he should have said no, nearly every part of his brain was shouting at him that this was a bad idea. But the stupid part, the one that never answers when common sense was knocking at the door, was telling him this was everything he wanted but wouldn't admit to.

The idea of being kept, owned thoroughly by someone capable of taking care of him and his needs. A weight would be lifted off his soul and mind and body. At this point some time on his knees praying and worshipping something would probably do him some good.

"What do you say, baby?"

James's voice was laced with smug condescension, licking the flames of humiliation and arousal burning away all of Steve's good sense. He responded the only way he could think.

"Thank you, Daddy."

#a sloth writes #bucky barnes #steve rogers #stucky #shrinkyclinks #steve x bucky #steve rogers x bucky barnes #preserum!steve rogers x beefy!bucky barnes #will i do anything more with this?#who's to say #mafia!au #mafia!bucky barnes

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uomo-accattivante · 3 years

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Excellent article about bringing a re-make of Ingmar Bergman’s Scenes from a Marriage to fruition, and the twenty-year friendship that Oscar Isaac and Jessica Chastain share:

There were days on the shoot for “Scenes From a Marriage,” a five-episode limited series that premieres Sept. 12 on HBO, when Oscar Isaac resented the crew.

The problem wasn’t the crew members themselves, he told me on a video call in March. But the work required of him and his co-star, Jessica Chastain, was so unsparingly intimate — “And difficult!” Chastain added from a neighboring Zoom window — that every time a camera operator or a makeup artist appeared, it felt like an intrusion.

On his other projects, Isaac had felt comfortably distant from the characters and their circumstances — interplanetary intrigue, rogue A.I. But “Scenes” surveys monogamy and parenthood, familiar territory. Sometimes Isaac would film a bedtime scene with his onscreen child (Lily Jane) and then go home and tuck his own child into the same model of bed as the one used onset, accessorized with the same bunny lamp, and not know exactly where art ended and life began.

“It was just a lot,” he said.

Chastain agreed, though she put it more strongly. “I mean, I cried every day for four months,” she said.

Isaac, 42, and Chastain, 44, have known each other since their days at the Juilliard School. And they have channeled two decades of friendship, admiration and a shared and obsessional devotion to craft into what Michael Ellenberg, one of the series’s executive producers, called “five hours of naked, raw performance.” (That nudity is metaphorical, mostly.)

“For me it definitely felt incredibly personal,” Chastain said on the call in the spring, about a month after filming had ended. “That’s why I don’t know if I have another one like this in me. Yeah, I can’t decide that. I can’t even talk about it without. …” She turned away from the screen. (It was one of several times during the call that I felt as if I were intruding, too.)

The original “Scenes From a Marriage,” created by Ingmar Bergman, debuted on Swedish television in 1973. Bergman’s first television series, its six episodes trace the dissolution of a middle-class marriage. Starring Liv Ullmann, Bergman’s ex, it drew on his own past relationships, though not always directly.

“When it comes to Bergman, the relationship between autobiography and fiction is extremely complicated,” said Jan Holmberg, the chief executive of the Ingmar Bergman Foundation.

A sensation in Sweden, it was seen by most of the adult population. And yes, sure, correlation does not imply causation, but after its debut, Swedish divorce were rumored to have doubled. Holmberg remembers watching a rerun as a 10-year-old.

“It was a rude awakening to adult life,” he said.

The writer and director Hagai Levi saw it as a teenager, on Israeli public television, during a stint on a kibbutz. “I was shocked,” he said. The series taught him that a television series could be radical, that it could be art. When he created “BeTipul,” the Israeli precursor to “In Treatment,” he used “Scenes” as proof of the concept “that two people can talk for an hour and it can work,” Levi said. (Strangely, “Scenes” also inspired the prime-time soap “Dallas.”)

So when Daniel Bergman, Ingmar Bergman’s youngest son, approached Levi about a remake, he was immediately interested.

But the project languished, in part because loving a show isn’t reason enough to adapt it. Divorce is common now — in Sweden, and elsewhere — and the relationship politics of the original series, in which the male character deserts his wife and young children for an academic post, haven’t aged particularly well.

Then about two years ago, Levi had a revelation. He would swap the gender roles. A woman who leaves her marriage and child in pursuit of freedom (with a very hot Israeli entrepreneur in place of a visiting professorship) might still provoke conversation and interest.

So the Marianne and Johan of the original became Mira and Jonathan, with a Boston suburb (re-created in a warehouse just north of New York City), stepping in for the Stockholm of the original. Jonathan remains an academic though Mira, a lawyer in the original, is now a businesswoman who out-earns him.

Casting began in early 2020. After Isaac met with Levi, he wrote to Chastain to tell her about the project. She wasn’t available. The producers cast Michelle Williams. But the pandemic reshuffled everyone’s schedules. When production was ready to resume, Williams was no longer free. Chastain was. “That was for me the most amazing miracle,” Levi said.

Isaac and Chastain met in the early 2000s at Juilliard. He was in his first year; she, in her third. He first saw her in a scene from a classical tragedy, slapping men in the face as Helen of Troy. He was friendly with her then-boyfriend, and they soon became friends themselves, bonding through the shared trauma of an acting curriculum designed to break its students down and then build them back up again. Isaac remembered her as “a real force of nature and solid, completely solid, with an incredible amount of integrity,” he said.

In the next window, Chastain blushed. “He was super talented,” she said. “But talented in a way that wasn’t expected, that’s challenging and pushing against constructs and ideas.” She introduced him to her manager, and they celebrated each other’s early successes and went to each other’s premieres. (A few of those photos are used in “Scenes From a Marriage” as set dressing.)

In 2013, Chastain was cast in J.C. Chandor’s “A Most Violent Year,”opposite Javier Bardem. When Bardem dropped out, Chastain campaigned for Isaac to have the role. Weeks before shooting, they began to meet, fleshing out the back story of their characters — a husband and wife trying to corner the heating oil market in 1981 New York — the details of the marriage, business, life.

It was their first time working together, and each felt a bond that went deeper than a parallel education and approach. “Something connects us that’s stronger than any ideas of character or story or any of that,” Isaac said. “There’s something else that’s more about like, a shared existence.”

Chandor noticed how they would support each other on set, and challenge each other, too, giving each other the freedom to take the characters’ relationship to dark and dangerous places. “They have this innate trust with each other,” Chandor said.

That trust eliminated the need for actorly tricks or shortcuts, in part because they know each other’s tricks too well. Their motto, Isaac said, was, “Let’s figure this [expletive] out together and see what’s the most honest thing we can do.”

Moni Yakim, Juilliard’s celebrated movement instructor, has followed their careers closely and he noted what he called the “magnetism and spiritual connection” that they suggested onscreen in the film.

“It’s a kind of chemistry,” Yakim said. “They can read each other’s mind and you as an audience, you can sense it.”

Telepathy takes work. When they knew that shooting “Scenes From a Marriage” could begin, Chastain bought a copy of “All About Us,” a guided journal for couples, and filled in her sections in character as Mira. Isaac brought it home and showed it to his wife, the filmmaker Elvira Lind.

“She was like, ‘You finally found your match,’” Isaac recalled. “’Someone that is as big of a nerd as you are.’”

The actors rehearsed, with Levi and on their own, talking their way through each long scene, helping each other through the anguished parts. When production had to halt for two weeks, they rehearsed then, too.

Watching these actors work reminded Amy Herzog, a writer and executive producer on the series, of race horses in full gallop. “These are two people who have so much training and skill,” she said. “Because it’s an athletic feat, what they were being asked to do.”

But training and skill and the “All About Us” book hadn’t really prepared them for the emotional impact of actually shooting “Scenes From a Marriage.” Both actors normally compartmentalize when they work, putting up psychic partitions between their roles and themselves. But this time, the partitions weren’t up to code.

“I knew I was in trouble the very first week,” Chastain said.

She couldn’t hide how the scripts affected her, especially from someone who knows her as well as Isaac does. “I just felt so exposed,” she said. “This to me, more than anything I’ve ever worked on, was definitely the most open I’ve ever been.”

“It felt so dangerous,” she said.

I visited the set in February (after multiple Covid-19 tests and health screenings) during a final day of filming. It was the quietest set I had ever seen: The atmosphere was subdued, reverent almost, a crew and a studio space stripped down to only what two actors would need to do the most passionate and demanding work of their careers.

Isaac didn’t know if he would watch the completed series. “It really is the first time ever, where I’ve done something where I’m totally fine never seeing this thing,” he said. “Because I’ve really lived through it. And in some ways I don’t want whatever they decide to put together to change my experience of it, which was just so intense.”

The cameras captured that intensity. Though Chastain isn’t Mira and Isaac isn’t Jonathan, each drew on personal experience — their parents’ marriages, past relationships — in ways they never had. Sometimes work on the show felt like acting, and sometimes the work wasn’t even conscious. There’s a scene in the harrowing fourth episode in which they both lie crumpled on the floor, an identical stress vein bulging in each forehead.

“It’s my go-to move, the throbbing forehead vein,” Isaac said on a follow-up video call last month. Chastain riffed on the joke: “That was our third year at Juilliard, the throb.”

By then, it had been five months since the shoot wrapped. Life had returned to something like normal. Jokes were possible again. Both of them seemed looser, more relaxed. (Isaac had already poured himself one tequila shot and was ready for another.) No one cried.

Chastain had watched the show with her husband. And Isaac, despite his initial reluctance, had watched it, too. It didn’t seem to have changed his experience.

“I’ve never done anything like it,” he said. “And I can’t imagine doing anything like it again.”

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#oscar isaac #jessica chastain #scenes from a marriage #hagai levi #michelle williams #elvira lind #behind the scenes #article

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