Every Day Tumblr Picks Some Random Things To Flood My Dash With That I've Never Seen Before Or Barely

Maybe this is the wrong platform to pose this question given the average tumblr user but

Is it just me or did our generation (those of is who are currently 20-30 ish) just not get the opportunity to be young in the 'standard' sense?

Like, everyone I talk to who's over 40 has all their wild stories about their teens and 20s, being young and dumb, and then I talk to my friends and coworkers and classmates, and we just... dont.

Reiner is so whiny when having sex. I mean the man barely has the tip in and he's whimpering about how warm your insides are. Reiner whines every time he thrusts into you, his bottom lip in between his teeth, struggling to not cum so soon. "b-baby, wait fuck. just n-need to feel you more."

I could even learn how to love like you

There’s a certain type of peace you find in the mundanity of the typical morning commute. The soothing whirring of the railway, the chill of metal against your fingers wrapped around the handholds, even the odd comfort of being surrounded by strangers who are equally as half asleep as you are, willing to shuffle the slightest bit to make room for new passengers. Sure, it’s a nuisance for the most part, but it’s your tiny pocket of harmony before the usually stressful workday. A routine you’ve grown accustomed to, something you can rely on to stay the same in this ever-changing society. 

Change is never a bad thing, though. And sometimes, it takes a stranger on the train to show you that.

He immediately captures your attention the first time you see him. Tan business suit, straight posture, hair neatly parted, stoic expression etched on his face. The typical salary man heading to his office job in the city. While his stature is most-impressive, it’s his tie that piques your interest, a spotted pattern akin to leopard print. A splash of pizzazz on an otherwise ordinary outfit. 

He maneuvers his way to you, wrapping his fist around the same pole you’re holding, his grip a safe distance above yours. He glances at you through his spectacles, giving you a short nod to acknowledge you. You return this with a small smile, and when you notice he doesn’t have any headphones in, you say, “I like your tie.” You normally wouldn’t speak to anyone here, most people too immersed in their preferred choice of media, like music or the news. Something tells you that straying from your usual habits might be good for you today.

The second of silence where he’s processing what you said scares you; maybe you’ve become a bother for him in this already troublesome commute. Then, he clears his throat, his gaze flickering at you for the briefest moment before it focuses on the floor. “Thank you.”

The conversation ends there. In fact, that’s your entire interaction throughout the remainder of the journey. Your station arrives before his and you leave without another word. It’s neither awkward nor extraordinary. Still, the moment doesn’t stop replaying in your memory the rest of the day. You wonder if you’ll get a chance to see him on the way home, knowing the chances are slim. Schedules vary, there are many different sections of the train. The stars would have to align just right for you to be reunited with this stranger. Despite the improbability of it all, you allow yourself to be hopeful. The little taste of excitement this morning has you craving more. 

~~~

Two days pass until Nanami meets you again. Maybe he does it subconsciously, maybe it’s intentional, but he finds himself gravitating towards you. When he places his hand above yours on the pole, in similar fashion to the last time, he gives his usual nod, unsure if you recognize him.

You beam at him. “Good morning!”

He doesn’t say anything else; he’d only be pestering you with trivial conversation. Though he can’t help watching from his peripheral as you scroll through pictures of delicious food on your phone. He notices you screenshot the ones that include recipes in the description, causing him to grin to himself at how he does the same. The urge to comment is in the back of his throat, the tip of his tongue. Getting it out proves to be difficult, and he knows why. Nanami made a vow to himself ever since he returned to being a Jujutsu Sorcerer: don’t fall in love. He’s completely aware of how dangerous his job is, how his life is at risk every single mission he’s sent on. It’s what he signed up for, the life he’s currently committed to. There’s no room for attachment, for love. It's easier for him to avoid it altogether, even if it means swallowing down a simple hello on the train. It’s better this way. And quite frankly, he isn’t sure if he’s even capable of loving the way others do. His heart has become so callous throughout the years that there’s no chance at it ever softening, he’s sure of it. Perhaps the flutter in his chest at the smile you flash him is a coincidence, nothing more. 

This theory is soon debunked. 

Nanami is especially tired after today’s mission. Heading home, he manages to secure a row of empty seats and plops himself down, resting his head back, sighing. He closes his eyes, listening to the usual hustle and bustle of rush hour, resisting every temptation to fall asleep. Missing his stop would put a damper on his already foul mood. 

Eventually, the automated voice announces your stop. For whatever reason, he made it a point to remember it when you hopped off this morning, just two away from his. When he feels someone sit beside him, he peeks with one eye open, curious. 

“Hi.” You smile softly at him, eyes crinkling with genuine kindness. “It’s you.”

While Nanami is guarded and closed off from people outside his intimate circle, he’s never rude. He has no other choice but to respond to you, ignoring the obvious thump in his chest at your endearing greeting. “Hello.” He tries his best to convince himself that this unfamiliar flutter surrounding him is some sort of medical condition that needs proper diagnosis and not affection towards a beautiful stranger on the train. Stiffening in his seat, he pretends not to be intrigued by the food magazine you start flipping through, secretly studying the way you fold the corners of all the recipes you want to save for later. 

Halfway into the ride, he actually does fall asleep, only rousing awake when he feels a gentle tap on his shoulder. Blinking the bleariness from his eyes, he catches you staring at him guiltily. “Sorry,” you apologize. “I think your stop is coming next and I didn’t want you to miss it.”

He sits up straight, readjusting his tie, clearing his throat before he replies, “Thank you.” Sure enough, the automated voice from the speaker announces that they’ll be approaching his stop next. Slightly disoriented from his nap, he stands up, grasping the nearest handhold tight. His mind is racing, body itching to say something more, say anything more. Before he can, the train comes to a halt. The doors open and without another glance, he’s gone. 

Nanami spends the entire fifteen minutes of his walk home attempting to quell the stir of emotions inside him, from guilt to giddiness, all over the simple fact that you’ve memorized his stop. That you’re paying attention to him just as he is with you. 

~~~

This time, he’s the first to greet you, offering a polite nod before he grabs onto the same pole that you’re occupying. “Good morning.”

You’ve been boarding this particular section ever since you started seeing him, hoping he’d do the same. “Hello, stranger,” you respond with a grin, unable to contain your happiness.

He holds his other hand out to you. “Nanami. Nanami Kento.”

You state your name in similar fashion, shaking his hand. His skin is rough against yours, though his grip is gentle. You let go of him, dropping your arm to your side, fingers tingling. “I guess we’re not strangers anymore.”

“I guess not,” he says with a small smile. And it’s enough to send you into a tizzy. 

Conversation is easy with him. He mentions the magazine you were reading the other day, expressing his mutual interest in food. From there, the two of you talk about your favorite restaurants and eateries around the area, giving your best recommendations. Because of all the ambient noise, you lean in close to one another to hear each other properly. The gap between your hands on the pole is shorter by the time your stop approaches. You’re prepared to bid him a reluctant farewell, so it surprises you when he follows you off. “Is this your stop too?” you ask him, though you already know it isn’t. 

He shakes his head, fixing his tie idly. “My office is fifteen minutes from here. I want to get a quick walk in before I start work.”

“Are you sure this isn’t an excuse to spend more time with me?” you tease him, smirking.

He gazes into your eyes. “Maybe it’s that too.”

This is the start of a new and exciting routine for you, one that involves Nanami. You’ll spend the morning together, talking to each other in the middle of the crowded train. Then, he’ll walk you to your office building, where he leaves you with a cordial bow. You’re reunited during rush hour, sitting next to each other sharing either the newspaper he brings along with him or the new issue of a magazine you’re subscribed to. You’ll even rip out recipes for him to keep, which he tucks safely in his pocket. When he’s too tired from the workday, he’ll close his eyes, his head falling just shy of your shoulder. It all seems silly and insignificant, but to you, it’s special. 

Your relationship never goes beyond this. The two of you don’t talk about work, you never ask questions about the new injuries on his hands or the minor scrapes on his face. The idea of being anything other than acquaintances who commute together terrifies you, and you have a strong sense that it terrifies him as well. While it would be nice to be in love, you’re not confident if you can give that to him. 

It's only after Nanami stops coming when you realize that maybe you can love him. 

On Thursday, the morning after Halloween, the commute takes longer than usual due to a mysterious incident in Shibuya that the media hasn’t disclosed fully. You listen carefully to the gossip surrounding the train. According to the elder folks, it has something to do about “the hooligans” partying too hard on Halloween. The younger generation of passengers chalk it up to some conspiracy about magical entities attacking civilians to lure other magical entities. You’re not sure what to believe, and whatever is the truth doesn’t matter once you realize Nanami hasn’t boarded at his usual stop. The delays don’t help your anxiety as you spend the remainder of the ride wondering where he could be, why he hasn’t shown up, if he’s okay. 

You follow the same routine as best as you can, frequenting the same section as you usually do, holding onto the same pole, which is lonely now without his presence. On the way home, you place your bag in the seat beside you, saving it for him if there’s ever the slim chance he does show up. You continue to tear recipes from the magazines you would normally read with him, placing them inside a small envelope marked with his name, ready to present to him if you ever do see him again. To show him that you never stop thinking about him even in his absence. 

Nothing is ever revealed about what really happened in Shibuya. The general consensus is that whatever danger emerged on that Halloween night is no longer a threat and that the citizens of Tokyo are once again safe. And based on the timing of Nanami’s sudden disappearance, you believe that he’s part of the reason for that. It’s the only solace you find in this otherwise heartbreaking situation. Still, you hold out hope. For what? You’re not sure until two months later when Nanami returns to your life. 

~~~

It takes one month for Nanami to be discharged from the hospital. He was admitted two days following Halloween, after Ieiri performed all she could with her abilities to aid him with his injuries. But he’s alive, they all are. The Jujutsu sorcerers succeeded at defeating Kenjaku and all his minions, thwarting whatever horrible fate they had in store for Tokyo, potentially the entire world. They won. 

However, their triumph came with a cost. The Shibuya Incident left him permanently scarred on the left side and one eye lost forever. Rehabilitation has been grueling the past few weeks, struggling to come to terms with this battered body. He’s received unyielding support from his colleagues who he shares this trauma with. Despite this, there’s something missing, someone missing in his life. He thinks about you much more than he ought to, wondering if you’ve noticed his absence, if it’s affected you at all. Ever the pessimist, Nanami has convinced himself that you have forgotten about him, even after all the tiny, special moments you’ve shared together. It’s better this way, he knows that. After all, he doesn’t have the slightest clue what love is or how to love somebody. 

Still, he’d like to see you again, just to know that you’re doing alright. 

Another month passes before he musters the courage to be out in public again. Because of the winter season, he can hide as much of himself without rousing any suspicion. A large coat, mittens on his hands, a scarf around his neck, a mask to cover the burn scars. He dons his usual spectacles, hoping to conceal the eyepatch draped across his hollow socket. Ever since the incident, he’s felt like a monster, unable to reveal himself to strangers oblivious to the true events of that night. 

He finally boards the train, stepping foot in the usual section as he would going home, searching for a familiar face. There you are, as beautiful as ever, sitting in the same seat, your bag occupying the one beside you. You look up, your eyes meeting his, holding onto his gaze a split second longer than expected before you focus back on the magazine laid out on your lap.

It takes everything in him to deny the swell in his chest, the tiniest sliver of hope fluttering in his belly at the thought of you recognizing him. Before he loses his composure, he takes his place on the empty row across from you, enough distance to observe you inconspicuously. That’s all he intends to do, nothing more. 

As much as his world has been shaken, he’s comforted by you flipping through your magazine as usual, your life continuing normally as it should. However, he can’t help feeling a deep sadness, knowing he’s not a part of it anymore. 

Once again, you prove his assumptions wrong.

His eye widens, intrigued by you grinning at a particular page, carefully tearing it from the binding, something you used to do this for him not too long ago. He watches with bated breath as you retrieve from your bag a marked envelope already teeming with what he assumes are other recipes from previous issues. You add the new one with a delighted expression, making sure to close the flap for a temporary seal. And clear as day on the front of the envelope, even with his obscured vision, is his name written on the front. 

He sits up straight at this, his full attention on this seemingly insignificant discovery. This captures your attention, the inkling you had earlier validated. It’s him. The stature, the posture, those distinct steampunk glasses. You didn’t want to be wrong, so you didn’t say anything, trying to stifle your quickening heartbeat. But you’ve been waiting two months for this reunion, yearned for it more than anything. Unable to contain yourself any longer, you stand up, traversing towards him until you’re an arms-length away, gripping a pole tightly to steady yourself. “Nanami?”

Panic sinks in as he decides to reveal himself to you, anticipating the shock and terror in your face when you see what he looks like now. He removes the mask slowly, avoiding eye contact. “Yes, it’s me.”

Your reaction surprises him. With that same warm smile he’s missed so much, you sit down beside him, unfazed by the scars. “I’m so happy to see you.”

Love is standing close on a crowded train to keep each other company. Love is getting off at the wrong stop to spend more time together. Love is magazine clippings in an envelope with his name on it. Love is seeing all the broken pieces of him and still finding him completely beautiful. 

Nanami is certain now that he could learn how to love like you. 

Author's Note: This is the final installment of the past lives vignettes series. It’s a bit cheesy, but I really wanted to explore the aspect of “missed connections” and I thought strangers on the train would be perfect to do that. Title inspired by the song “Love Like You” by Rebecca Sugar. Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are never expected, always appreciated. Thanks for reading. Divider credit to @/cafekitsune.

you’re perched on the bathroom counter, legs dangling off the edge, watching nanami stand in front of the mirror with his usual morning routine. but today, he looks… reluctant. shaving cream is already lathered over his jaw, razor in hand, but he hasn’t moved. instead, he just stares at his reflection, shoulders a little tense.

“what’s wrong?” you ask, tilting your head.

“nothing,” he sighs, rolling his shoulders. “just tired.”

“too tired to shave?”

“i’d rather not risk an injury first thing in the morning,” he mutters, rubbing his temple.

your lips twitch. “well, we can’t have that.” before he can argue, you pluck the razor from his fingers. “i’ll do it.”

nanami gives you a skeptical look, but when you pat your thigh in invitation, he exhales through his nose—long-suffering but fond—before stepping between your legs. his hands settle on either side of you, palms resting against the counter, caging you in but not in a way that feels confining. in fact, he feels close, warm, grounding.

“chin up, pretty boy,” you murmur, dipping your fingers under his jaw to angle his face just right.

his lips twitch, but he obeys. “i assume you’ve done this before?”

“nope.” you grin. “but i think you’ll survive.”

he huffs out a laugh, but his amusement fades into quiet focus as you drag the razor down his jaw in slow, deliberate strokes.

it’s an oddly intimate thing, shaving someone else’s face. you have to be careful, precise—your fingers ghosting over his skin, tilting his face just so, brushing the curve of his cheek, the edge of his lips. nanami stays perfectly still, letting you work, his eyes half-lidded as he watches you.

“you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he murmurs after a moment.

“mm. how often do i get to do something like this? it’s kind of nice.”

“you like pampering me?”

“maybe.” you swipe the razor clean before continuing. “i mean, you’re always taking care of me. let me take care of you too.”

nanami’s hands tighten on the counter just slightly, but he doesn’t say anything right away. instead, he exhales, something in his expression softening as you run your fingers over his skin, wiping away the last traces of shaving cream.

“there,” you murmur, brushing a thumb over his freshly shaven cheek. “all done.”

he hums in approval, running a hand over his jaw before looking at you, something unreadable in his gaze. then, before you can react, he leans in, hands sliding up to your waist as he tugs you just a little closer.

“thank you,” he murmurs, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your temple.

your breath catches, fingers curling against his shoulders. “you’re welcome,” you say, a little breathless. “but i still think you just like being pampered.”

“only by you.”

he kisses you then, soft and slow, his lips brushing against yours like he’s savoring the moment. and when he finally pulls back, his thumb traces small, absentminded circles against your hip, as if he doesn’t want to let you go just yet.

maybe you’ll have to do this more often.

look i think nanami is just as handsome gorgeous wonderful incredible as the next jjk fan but like. y’all. he is not a smooth suave bad boy. that man is autistic and annoyed at everything.

MALACHITE AND OBI!! How are my beautiful dragon boys doing, Minty? 🎤

When you awake, the room is cold. It's winter here, in the northern country, and snow has piled up by the windows. Without Obi next to you, the piles of blankets doesn't seem to be enough.

By the time you urge yourself up, your feet frigid against the floor, the sun is still down. There's no shine of fire coming from the hall, no candles to illuminate your way, just the shine of the moon against the ice covered land.

Obsidian is in his own room. Things are different here: generations of a family stay under one roof. Obsidian, his brothers, his mother, and soon his brother's children. You've been sectioned off in the guest room, smothered in blankets and furs.

You creek open your door. Down the hallway, doorway cracked, is Obi's room. The house is silent as you tiptoe in, shutting the door behind you with a click.

"My princess," Obi rises from his bed, clearly already awake. His voice rumbles low, but soft. He's completely undressed; no need to when his core temperature runs so hot. You suspect he polished his scales last night; the air smells of the orange oil he prefers to use and his black scales glint in the moonlight.

"My mother would be appalled to see you in my room like this." Despite what he says, Obsidian presses his "My brother as well."

That's another difference. Dragonborn culture is more conservative than you expected. 'Mating' is expected after marriage; you two aren't even supposed to share a room. If his family had any idea what the two of you did on nights on the road...

(Jasper's recreational activities would kill the family.)

Trimmed claws run up your sides, their smooth edges gliding across your silken nightgown. They go up and up, all the way until they run over the curve of your tit, flicking over your pebbled nipple. "They are already scandalized by these."

"It's cold without you in my bed," you whisper. You curve your chest into his touch and he follows your lead, caressing and squeezing and touching your breasts, exploring them for his pleasure and yours. Experience has made him a perfect lover for you, it's only a moment before his touch has you vocalizing, nothing more than an open mouthed hum-

"Shh," Obi whispers. "Quiet, my fawn. Malachite is up to watch the fire."

And yet he's hitching up your dress, gathering it above your tits so it stays in place. You're grabbing at his cock, helping guide it from it's sheath, admiring it's ridged size in your hands. Looping an arm around each leg, Obi picks you up from the ground and presses you back against the door.

"Imagine if they knew-" Together, you guide his cock inside you. No matter how many times you take it, the fit is tight. The tapered end of his cock makes taking it easy at first, but each bump and ridge slides into you and rubs against sensitive areas. "How often you are underneath me."

His strokes are slow. When he moves too quickly, the floor squeaks under foot, so it's all you can do to take every careful thrust. You hang from his horns and nudge your nose into his muzzle, over and over again. It's the way dragonborns kiss, an ode to his kind.

"How often I fill you with my seed." Obi's grasp gets tighter. His scales catch against your sensitive skin as he pulls his hips away from you.. "How terribly I love you."

This time, you kiss him the way humans do. Right on his mouth, licking into his teeth. His lips can't pucker the same way yours do, but he licks up into your mouth anyway, letting you suck on his tongue for a moment.

You continue like this for a while, secretly enjoying each other. By the time you come undone, he's right behind you, spilling deep inside your guts. You hold each other longer, enjoying the warmth trapped between your bodies.

"If they knew," he says wistfully, after a long period of silence. "We would have to get married."

"We would have to," you agree. "Then we've have to settle down, find a home. Have a couple babies with your pretty black scales."

"That's funny." Obi's nose scrunches as he smiles. "Whenever I picture our children, they look just like you."

MY SON NEEDS A SURGERY FOR HIS BRAIN ‼️‼️💔

Hello, im ashraf azmi, im a father of a young man called ‘JAD ASHRAF AZMI’✅

Jad is a 9-year-old boy and the only child of his parents, their big dream was to have a baby after 7 years of marriage full of struggles and health problems, they had almost given up on the idea of having a child, but then JAD came and filled their lives with joy and happiness, he was a very smart kid, great in his studies, and loved by his friends and family.

But one day, while playing like usual, he suddenly felt dizzy and nauseous, then threw up and fainted, his parents quickly rushed him to the hospital, where they got a shocking surprise🚨💔the doctors discovered that JAD had irregular and strong electrical charges in his brain.

From that moment on, the family’s life changed completely, and JAD’S treatment became their top priority, they started an expensive treatment journey, they bought high priced medicine and even had to borrow money from relatives to cover the treatment costs, but unfortunately, the treatment wasn’t effective, and his condition worsened, he began suffering from daily, chronic seizures, which made it impossible for him to go to school or live his normal life🥹💔🚨

After some time, the doctor in charge of his case decided that the only solution was immediate brain surgery to remove the seizure focus, with a 99% success rate, this was the only option because JAD’S brain was not responding to the medication that kept his condition stable, the surgery, along with hospital and doctor fees, costs $45,000, which is a huge amount for his family, who are already facing financial pressure. Now, JAD needs your help.

Every donation, no matter how small, can give JAD a new chance at a better life and bring back his smile, JAD is the future, and he is his family’s hope that they cannot give up on, help JAD go back to school and live his childhood with joy and hope. DO NOT IGNORE THIS ‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

Chuffed

A child “JAD” needs a surgery, saving him is our responsibility.

I am Seigen Mizu from the Seigen Mizu Dojo. I was informed about Jad's cause via a friend, and immediately wanted to set to work to find a w

This is how many bullets they shot on a fucking kid.