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Don't go on Twitter fighting for Sabrina carpenter's honor saying that the zaghrouta does sound "weird" "random" or "annoying" then come back here thinking you have the right to address me, you're a racist shit bag and If I were to ever see you on fire I wouldn't even spit on you to let your pathetic bigoted soul see another day
Just very frustrating that the internet discovered this huuuuugggeee thing, an expression of pride and celebration and excitement, all these beautiful things and their response is "ew". And again, for the thousandth time, nobody spams a zaghrouta willy nilly, you really have to earn that lol. I did that like three times in my lifetime in a casual setting (somehwere that isn't a wedding or a huge ceremony) and all of them were my family members reaching admirable academic heights they chased for years. You don't get to shit on it after knowing what it is, grow a braincell or two cuz the current state of affairs is noootttttt working out girl. Coexist or see yourself out.
Cw: yandere themes, age gap (20's/40's), humiliation, forced dom/sub dynamics, unreciprocated (?TT) daddy kink, public pussy inspection, mentions of spankings/punishment, infantilization, petplay undertones, use of "good girl".
Suguru wanted to take you out for a walk today.
That was the end of the promise. Your little reward for going along with whatever he's been trying to make of this relationship for the past however many weeks. The plan was to follow the usual routine: Tail behind him for a little while, tolerate the excessive cheek pinching, the cooing, the sweat forming at the palm of your hand from his weirdly firm grip on it, and get through the patronizing yet somehow casual comments he makes about you during small talk with blurry faced strangers. Maybe you'll even get a treat by the end of it.
It sounds more like a chore than anything, you don't understand why you let it happen either, it can't be that hard to say no to him, his approval can't be that intoxicating. Surely not.
Apparently it can, judging from the wetness between your thighs, your reddening face, the inability to look him the eye is particularly fierce today too, the butterflies are restless. Truth be told, you're very conflicted about this change, it feels dreadful sometimes, frustrating and suffocating. But –God, for the life of you, you can't help but perk up like an eager little puppy at the attention, all those gently delivered orders, the way he showers you in praise. . . . Who would've thought you liked being told what to do this much? From a man who fills a certain void no less. The writing on the wall with this one.
God, this is beyond embarrassing, you're not too happy about all you've discovering about yourself, or all that's been changing within you lately.
But he's the exact same.
Patronizing as ever, smothering as ever. Sharp as ever.
It was meant to just be a walk, he wasn't supposed to notice, certainly not supposed to drag you to an empty alley way and humiliate you like this.
"Bend over, hands on your knees." Suguru presses down on your lower back. And of course, you do just that, –you listen so well–. "Good girl. . ." he whispers, ( –and your brain melts.) sounding awfully fond, maybe even a tad bit proud –this is all his hard work finally paying off, after all.– Beyond patronizing– "My poor baby ..." he coos, sliding his large hand over your arch, "we're needy today, aren't we?" He traces the outline of your puffy cunt over the thin fabric of the panties, sending you squeaking, his fingers pinch at the edges to adjust the sides.
"Suguru-" You whine, and all motion stops, the stinging and soreness intensifies. "D-daddy! Daddy..! I'm sorry!" You frantically correct yourself, stumbling on each word. –Pathetic and whiny– And for good reason too. You would be way out of line.
'You know better than that.'
Suguru places his hand over the curve of your ass, tracing the cute, delicate lace detailing of the panties he picked out that morning with the side of his thumb, before giving the still sore cheek a firm pat. –Just a little reminder–. "There we go." he purrs, sounding satisfied; infatuated. His thumb runs along the split before settling on the large wet patch over your hot, pulsing lips.
"Take it off".
You reach your trembling hands back and slowly peel the soaked fabric off. –There's not much you can do, when the way he tells you to do things leaves no room for debate. (It's really not on you. . .) .
"Silly thing" Suguru chuckles, gently brushing his knuckles against your throbbing core, "You should've told me a lot sooner" he whispers, seemingly more to himself, –thinking outloud, maybe? – he spreads the wetness of your folds over your lips. Slow gentle circular motions, occasionally dipping his index finger just deep enough to graze your needy clit, and tuts and coos at any reaction you give him.
"P-please. . . can—" "Please, what?" Suguru interrupts, and he doesn't sound as soft as he did a moment ago. "Please daddy!" You squeak back, and it's taking everything in you not to grind your ass on his now still hand, or to reach over and take care of it yourself. Both of which he wouldn't let slide.
"Just like that, so well behaved." Suguru coos, back on his lovesick haze, he moves his fingers again, spreading your sticky folds open and crooning at the way you clench around nothing. "Want daddy to take care of you, hm?" "Yes! Yes!" You lift your head just enough to meet his eyes, and Suguru's heart skips a beat.
He doesn't think you've looked any cuter than you do now. Face completely flushed red, tears welled up in your eyes, anxiously biting down on your jittering bottom lip, bent over like this for him simply because daddy told you to, because he said so.
You're just so fucking precious. You're so cute.
He wants nothing more than to reach over and tend to you, wipe your tears, pull the poor abused flesh away from the sharpness and chastise you about it. But most of all,–
He wants to fuck you unconscious.
And he will.
'Smack-!!' Suguru snaps your drenched panties back on, leaving your poor swollen pussy completely needy and disappointed. The rest of your bottom clothes follow closely after.
"H-huh?!" Your face drops.
He will, just not on your terms.
"There–" he pulls you up straight, manhandling your warm body back to face him. He brings you closer by the hips until you're chest to chest with him, until he towers over you, –Suffocatingly close. . .– . "Perfect." Suguru whispers before wiping the loose hair strands off your sweaty face. He places a long, hard, patronizing kiss on your still damp forehead.
"Once we're home." he whispers against your skin, –not helping with the festering heat one bit– he slides his hands down your sides to smooth down your clothes, squeezing and grabbing at whatever he can. He settles over your ass, giving the plump, sore flesh a gentle pat then a firm squeeze. Smiling fondly when you jolt forward into his chest.
"Once we're home, daddy will tend to you, sweetie." Suguru kisses you one last time on the cheek, and places his hands over either side of your face, squishing your cheeks in the process.
"Okay?"
You nod frantically, –because daddy wants an answer– .
(It's really, really not your fault that he makes you behave this way. . .)
He smiles earnestly, sweetly, so proud of his pretty, obedient little thing.
(. . . So what? No shame in wanting to be taken care of, nothing's free in life.)
"Good baby." he exhales, moving his large, heavy hand to pat you on the head.
Cw: yandere themes, age gap (20's/40's), humiliation, forced dom/sub dynamics, unreciprocated (?TT) daddy kink, public pussy inspection, mentions of spankings/punishment, infantilization, petplay undertones, use of "good girl".
Suguru wanted to take you out for a walk today.
That was the end of the promise. Your little reward for going along with whatever he's been trying to make of this relationship for the past however many weeks. The plan was to follow the usual routine: Tail behind him for a little while, tolerate the excessive cheek pinching, the cooing, the sweat forming at the palm of your hand from his weirdly firm grip on it, and get through the patronizing yet somehow casual comments he makes about you during small talk with blurry faced strangers. Maybe you'll even get a treat by the end of it.
It sounds more like a chore than anything, you don't understand why you let it happen either, it can't be that hard to say no to him, his approval can't be that intoxicating. Surely not.
Apparently it can, judging from the wetness between your thighs, your reddening face, the inability to look him the eye is particularly fierce today too, the butterflies are restless. Truth be told, you're very conflicted about this change, it feels dreadful sometimes, frustrating and suffocating. But –God, for the life of you, you can't help but perk up like an eager little puppy at the attention, all those gently delivered orders, the way he showers you in praise. . . . Who would've thought you liked being told what to do this much? From a man who fills a certain void no less. The writing on the wall with this one.
God, this is beyond embarrassing, you're not too happy about all you've discovering about yourself, or all that's been changing within you lately.
But he's the exact same.
Patronizing as ever, smothering as ever. Sharp as ever.
It was meant to just be a walk, he wasn't supposed to notice, certainly not supposed to drag you to an empty alley way and humiliate you like this.
"Bend over, hands on your knees." Suguru presses down on your lower back. And of course, you do just that, –you listen so well–. "Good girl. . ." he whispers, ( –and your brain melts.) sounding awfully fond, maybe even a tad bit proud –this is all his hard work finally paying off, after all.– Beyond patronizing– "My poor baby ..." he coos, sliding his large hand over your arch, "we're needy today, aren't we?" He traces the outline of your puffy cunt over the thin fabric of the panties, sending you squeaking, his fingers pinch at the edges to adjust the sides.
"Suguru-" You whine, and all motion stops, the stinging and soreness intensifies. "D-daddy! Daddy..! I'm sorry!" You frantically correct yourself, stumbling on each word. –Pathetic and whiny– And for good reason too. You would be way out of line.
'You know better than that.'
Suguru places his hand over the curve of your ass, tracing the cute, delicate lace detailing of the panties he picked out that morning with the side of his thumb, before giving the still sore cheek a firm pat. –Just a little reminder–. "There we go." he purrs, sounding satisfied; infatuated. His thumb runs along the split before settling on the large wet patch over your hot, pulsing lips.
"Take it off".
You reach your trembling hands back and slowly peel the soaked fabric off. –There's not much you can do, when the way he tells you to do things leaves no room for debate. (It's really not on you. . .) .
"Silly thing" Suguru chuckles, gently brushing his knuckles against your throbbing core, "You should've told me a lot sooner" he whispers, seemingly more to himself, –thinking outloud, maybe? – he spreads the wetness of your folds over your lips. Slow gentle circular motions, occasionally dipping his index finger just deep enough to graze your needy clit, and tuts and coos at any reaction you give him.
"P-please. . . can—" "Please, what?" Suguru interrupts, and he doesn't sound as soft as he did a moment ago. "Please daddy!" You squeak back, and it's taking everything in you not to grind your ass on his now still hand, or to reach over and take care of it yourself. Both of which he wouldn't let slide.
"Just like that, so well behaved." Suguru coos, back on his lovesick haze, he moves his fingers again, spreading your sticky folds open and crooning at the way you clench around nothing. "Want daddy to take care of you, hm?" "Yes! Yes!" You lift your head just enough to meet his eyes, and Suguru's heart skips a beat.
He doesn't think you've looked any cuter than you do now. Face completely flushed red, tears welled up in your eyes, anxiously biting down on your jittering bottom lip, bent over like this for him simply because daddy told you to, because he said so.
You're just so fucking precious. You're so cute.
He wants nothing more than to reach over and tend to you, wipe your tears, pull the poor abused flesh away from the sharpness and chastise you about it. But most of all,–
He wants to fuck you unconscious.
And he will.
'Smack-!!' Suguru snaps your drenched panties back on, leaving your poor swollen pussy completely needy and disappointed. The rest of your bottom clothes follow closely after.
"H-huh?!" Your face drops.
He will, just not on your terms.
"There–" he pulls you up straight, manhandling your warm body back to face him. He brings you closer by the hips until you're chest to chest with him, until he towers over you, –Suffocatingly close. . .– . "Perfect." Suguru whispers before wiping the loose hair strands off your sweaty face. He places a long, hard, patronizing kiss on your still damp forehead.
"Once we're home." he whispers against your skin, –not helping with the festering heat one bit– he slides his hands down your sides to smooth down your clothes, squeezing and grabbing at whatever he can. He settles over your ass, giving the plump, sore flesh a gentle pat then a firm squeeze. Smiling fondly when you jolt forward into his chest.
"Once we're home, daddy will tend to you, sweetie." Suguru kisses you one last time on the cheek, and places his hands over either side of your face, squishing your cheeks in the process.
"Okay?"
You nod frantically, –because daddy wants an answer– .
(It's really, really not your fault that he makes you behave this way. . .)
He smiles earnestly, sweetly, so proud of his pretty, obedient little thing.
(. . . So what? No shame in wanting to be taken care of, nothing's free in life.)
"Good baby." he exhales, moving his large, heavy hand to pat you on the head.
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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐋 (𝟎) represents beginnings, curiosity, and the courage to step into the unknown. like the fool beginning his journey, every story starts with a leap of faith: an idea taking its first uncertain step into the world.
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I actually need dilfguru to do some down right evil shit to me i want him to kidnap and manipulate me but also hold me while i break down on his shoulder BUT he has to be very sweet and gentle about it........
Cw: spanking talk, infantilization in public and all that fun stuff
Mommy Sugu patting your still sore ass with that sweet smile to remind you that he can bend you over his lap if you choose to act up again even in public. Lock in
YOU KNOW this reminds me, something you may not notice bcuz the embarrassment is enough to limit your thinking in the moment is that there are different ways to spank and each one serves a specific purpose.
It can be gentle (iiishhhhh) slow swats where he stops to squeeze or pinch or rub the cheeks just basically savoring the moment and prolonging it as much as he can to embarrass and fluster you. OR it's hard rough fast and mean to make you cry and sob and squirm, you know he's actually seriously trying to leave bruises and teach lessons here T-T
people on this website be like “it’s actually school’s fault that i don’t know how to read because i wanted to write my essay on the divergent trilogy and that BITCH mrs. clarkson made us study 1984 instead. anyway here’s a 10 tweet thread of easily disproven misinformation about a 3 year old news story and btw, who is toni morrison?”
i KNOW most of y’all are lying about being in the gifted program as children because none of you could pass the basic reading comprehension assessment they give third graders today
this post is mean and I never read divergent or whatever the fuck but 1984 sucks and is rape apologism so if somebody wanted to write about divergent or whatever good for them
this reply is like literally exactly what op is talking about lol. like firstly ops point isn’t “1984 is good”, ops point is that analysing complex stories teaches you how to form opinions and think for yourself. and like secondly in 1984 you’re supposed to think damn it’s fucked up that he’s thinking that way about her, i wonder if this ties in with the central theme of “a society like this will fuck you in the head”? (this is the thinking for yourself part). like do you think orwell just put that in for fun? do you think that just because winston is the protagonist you’re supposed to agree with everything he does?
You know I feel like this post just gave me an epiphany for what is wrong with how Tumblr Fandom/Internet Fandom responds to media-or not *wrong* but makes it very hard to respond to anything but a morally correct, and heroic protagonist.
When an English teacher, or reader, taught or picked up 1984, it wasn’t with the intention they were going to love the protagonist. They picked it up with the intention of reading a whole story and trying to grasp the theme or catharsis from the story. If the protagonist was a *shitty* person it played into the the themes or the story, because it wasn’t about morally judging the book or *liking* or feeling attachment to the protagonist. Sometimes and often times, books were just about gaining another perspective.
No one read Lolita expecting to endear, or like, or be inspired by Humbert. You are supposed to be upset by his behavior, you don’t read Lolita with the intention of being inspired. You read it to learn more about what the fuck is going on inside someone’s head when they behave like that. How children get sucked into abusive situations. Or read “The Great Gatsby” not because they want to fall in love with Gatsby or Nick, but to better understand and analyze the experience of the 1920s or destitution of the American Dream.
A lot of internet and fandom culture has changed that though. When we say something like “I love the Great Gatsby” it comes with the idea or association that means you must *love* or relate to one of the characters. And maybe you do, but the first assumption is not longer about the quality of the work or themes, or cathartic impact-it’s about character admiration. And with that character admiration, in tumblr stan culture, or kin culture, or exalting characters with fanart/romance/so on you don’t just ‘admire’ or find that character ‘compelling’ it now translates to ‘you LOVE that character’ or you ‘DIRECTLY relate to that character.’
You can’t say “I love how Humbert is written, it’s so fascinating and dark”, without it directly translating you somehow relate to a child abuser or condone his actions. Taking in media has become an act of worship and connection. We no longer watch meant to just see the story as a whole, we watch expecting to connect to a character and if we offer them our “worship” as it’s become, as opposed to just attention or interest study as it traditionally was, it means we are condoning the character or saying we directly empathize with all their actions.
I think that’s why there is often now so much fuss over *toxic* characters or not. Or whether that classical novel is showing good or bad things anymore. We’re treating the characters as people we should love or want to draw or write about. Sometimes a story is just about getting the the theme or catharsis or learning another perspective. We don’t NEED to like the character. Or we don’t HAVE to like a character to be impressed by how they’re written or intrigued by their behavior.
I think if internet culture could learn to view stories as small insights into other lives or single takes of one perspective instead of purposeful moral inspirations we’d be a lot less worried about how toxic or not toxic they are.
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⤿ ꒰ . Synopsis.ᐟ.ᐟ: Nobody likes to show up all by themselves to formal events, especially those all about love, romance and eternal companionship. lucky you though, your ever so reliable best friend will never leave you looking or feeling sad or alone! ...but maybe you've gotten a little too lucky.
⤿ ꒰ . 𝑨/N .ᐟ.ᐟ : Art by: Ectology from twitter!! Bow divider by @/cursed-carmine
Valentine's day special!! And entry to the 𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐂𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐃, 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐃! Event Hosted by @the-memokeepers <33. based on 𝐏𝐥𝐮𝐬 𝐎𝐧𝐞 the romcom!!
You have a theory that weddings exist solely to embarrass single people.
Suguru thinks this is ridiculous, –here comes captain obvious–. He tells you so, every time you bring it up, –usually while standing beside you at yet another reception table, straightening his tie with an easy smile.
"They exist to celebrate love," he always corrects.
"And to remind me I’m painfully alone," you counter, sighing, slouching almost.
At that, he just gives you a look. The same look he’s been giving you since you were a little eight-year-old, declaring you were going to marry a pop star. Half exasperated, definitely fond.
Suguru Geto has been your best friend since childhood. That’s the short version of the story. The long version would be that he has also been quietly, hopelessly, disastrously, obsessively in love with you for almost just as long.
But you don’t know that.
So when wedding season rolls around and invitations start appearing like unwanted confetti, little messages passive-aggressively demanding you RSVP. It was only natural you bring him along to each and every event, of course!
Always him. Never anyone else, why would it be any other way?
The first wedding is set to take place in the spring.
You show up at his apartment dressed in something you’re not so sure about, turning in front of his mirror with an anxious frown.
"Be honest," you begin –shyly, he remarks–. "Do I look okay?"
Suguru's brought to a stand still.
You don’t notice, busy smoothing down the sides of your waist.
You don’t look okay.
You look unfair. Incredible, painfully so. Like something out of a dream he feels selfishly entitled to have on repeat.
"You look perfect," he says, and he hopes it sounds casual instead of aching, and yet not too casual still, not like a husband peaking at your outfit before your date night commences, or a groom at the altar watching you fidget and flick your nails together. Heavens, no!
There really is no saving this man.
You grin at him. “You’re contractually obligated to say that.” glancing at him through the mirror as you pick at your face.
"Nooo~, of course not." he drags out in this adorable cheeky tone. Making his way to you, he brushes down your shoulder then gently swats at your hand, reminding you to stop poking with your face like that. Gentle reprimand.
You don't even bat an eye. Suguru just can't stop himself from fussing and being in your business, it's just how he is.
At the reception, he pulls out your chair before you can reach it. He remembers you hate olives and silently trades appetizers with you. When the DJ plays a song you love, he leans over and murmurs, 'Your favorite,' like it’s a secret only he’s allowed to keep.
"You've gotten quite good at this," you tease, taking a sip of your wine. "I’ve had a lot of practice." he chuckles.
With you, he means. Only you, I know what you like.
He leans over, his sharp chin digging at the heel of his palm, cheek pressed against his fingers. His gorgeous honey-kissed russet brown eyes glimmer in the twinkling lights of the ceremony.
Like this and right now, it looks like Suguru holds the secrets to the universe so very cas–
Huh....? Must be the alcohol, surely...
A little later, when the slow deliberate songs begin, you hesitate.
"Do you want to dance?" he asks gently. So thoughtful, so in tune with how you feel.
"With you?" You snap out, turning to him in a heartbeat.
His chest tightens. –He has never taken it this far before– "Who else?" He smiles, wondering if you notice the slight crack in his voice.
You laugh and take hold of his arm, pulling him towards the center of the venue.
Suguru likes to believe that if you were to embrace what's been blossoming between the two of you, it would come from his gentle guidance and nudging. Initiating these adorable yet bold little moments always felt like second nature.
But for some reason...
The absolute terror of holding you close while a love song plays in the background is beyond his poor restless heart's pay grade.
Your cheek rests near his shoulder, you feel so soft, you smell so nice. And you fit in his hold like you were designed as the matching piece to his puzzle.
God, he's a wreck. And yet he thinks he can do this forever, he thinks he never wants to be away from you, he thinks he can do anything if you would just say the word.
You pull back slightly, smiling up at him. "Thank you for joining me. I wouldn't know what to do with myself if I didn't have you"
He knows what you mean, he knows exactly what you mean. But why would you say it like that? Right here, right now, when you're curled up so snuggly in his arms.
You're just so cruel.
By the third wedding that year, it’s become routine.
Suguru picks you up. Suguru drives. Suguru endures distant relatives asking if you’re finally together.
"Oh, no, no!" you always laugh. "We’re just friends."
"Just friends," he echoes, nodding, perfectly composed. What a liar.
He watches bouquets get tossed and vows exchanged and cakes sliced, then connects it all back to you.
Yearning. Hoping. Praying.
Please just let me have this one thing.
At one reception, slightly tipsy, you sigh dramatically and drop your head onto his shoulder.
"Do you think there’s something wrong with me?" you mumble.
His entire body goes still. Huh?
"What? Of course not." he scrambles to correct you, eyebrows furrowed, attention completely directed at you, clearly worked up –No. Flat out offended.
"Everyone else is getting married," you whisper "And I can’t even get a second date."
Suguru feels something twist painfully in his stomach.
He wants to be out with it already. Tell you the truth.
That someone has been in love with you for years. That someone thinks you are the most extraordinary person in every room you enter. That someone would choose you, every day, without hesitation, without a thought.
Instead, he settles, and begins again softly, "There’s nothing wrong with you." Placing a gentle warm hand on top of your head.
You look back up at him. "Do you promise?"
He manages a small smile. "I promise."
The last wedding of the season is in autumn.
It’s outdoors. Golden leaves, string lights, and pumpkins, it's so painfully unoriginal in the most endearing of ways.
You seem quieter than usual.
During dinner, you poke at your plate. Swirling the sauce around, spelling out words in preparation. and finally blurt out, "Can I ask you something?"
"Of course, anything" he takes a sip of water.
“Why do you keep doing this?”
He blinks. "Doing what?"
"Coming with me to all these weddings," you say. "Sitting through all this awkwardness and my endless complaining." You sigh, "It can't be worth it."
Suguru hesitates.
There are a hundred careful, safe answers he could give.
Because you asked.
Because you’re my best friend.
Because I don’t mind.
Because you're absolutely worth it.
But maybe it’s the wine, or the soft glow of the lights, or the fact that he’s tired of pretending.
He takes a breath.
"I do it," he says quietly, "because I hate the idea of you ever feeling lonely."
Your expression shifts.
"That’s… really sweet," you smile.
"It’s selfish," he admits before he can stop himself.
He's not letting this end here.
"Why so?" you ask
Because I want to be more than your plus one.
Because I want to be the one beside you.
Because you're mine.
Because I love you.
He looks at you—really looks—and something in him finally gives in.
"Because..." Suguru says, voice unsteady, "I’m....in love with you. I've been in love with you for years."
The world goes very, very still.
You stare at him.
"Years?" you repeat faintly.
He nods, looking anywhere but where he's supposed to, a little helpless now that the truth is out. Definitely much less confident and in control.
"All this time...?"
"...All this time."
Your eyes search his face like you’re seeing him for the first time.
And then—
You laugh.
Not a cruel laugh. Not a disbelieving one.
A soft, shaky, almost teary laugh.
"My god, you idiot," you whisper.
His heart drops. "That’s… not the reaction I hoped for."
"I’ve been dragging you to weddings because I didn’t want to go with anyone else," you say. "Because you’re the only person I ever want beside me."
Suguru stares... That makes sense?
"You could have said something," you add, tone soft and gentle now, as if this massive man before you is but a helpless frightened kitten
"So could you."
There’s a beat... That also makes sense.
Then you slowly reach across the table and take his hand.
"Well," you say, smiling in that way that still makes him weak after all these years, "better late than never, right?" He chuckles again, sweet, happy, full of life.
Just the way he likes you best.
Despite being utterly speechless, Suguru's heart still wills him to smile.
But when you pull him toward the dance floor. His hand is warm in yours, he thinks that maybe, finally, he doesn’t have to be just your plus one anymore, maybe there is a future where his name is on the same invitation right next to yours. Maybe even at the very top of the printed letter, in pretty cursive fonts, only one last name present, a few pleasantries away is the venue of your choosing. Because of course he would leave that to you.
germansingergirl
ellievsbear
vaporwave
stormborns
areudirty
janainaart
pixelskylines
