#I apply history as that’s always been my interest

[bliss-wily]

So take that as you will.

Side note: ignore the tags it’s just nonsensical ramble. I’ve been ill and when I’m ill well you’ve seen the results before if you’re looked at my page for more than a split second. My brain just doesn’t stop.

[rigels-nigels]

what century are we talking here because people bathed (and more importantly *washed*) a lot more than twice a decade for a very very very long portion of history, and in fact did so quite commonly, every few days iirc in medieval times, and while they weren't as big as in rome, they were still a pretty big thing until about the 16th century, bc of, yknow, the catholic church and they got associated with brothels and whatnot

like, in the general medieval times you could basically be prescribed with taking a bath if you were feeling unwell, as they believed it served as a sort of reset for your body (and they were right tbh, bath will fix many ailments lmao) And alongside that, it was really just a not uncommon part of treatment. Reading the trotula (a collection of 3 manuscripts relating to health and beauty), in the medical section, a number of treatments given had the person take a bath as part of said treatment.

and even if you didn't take a bath bath that doesn't mean they didn't clean themselves! sponge baths are things! even if you took a bath only once a month you'd still wipe yourself clean with a tub of water, soap, and a cloth!

they also very much had skincare. again, looking to the trotula, the 3rd manuscript is all about cosmetics. (one of the first things mentioned there is to take a bath, or steambath, they had saunas then still) they had hair cleansers, hair powders, and a variety of other hair treatments, over twenty in this one manuscript. They also had face masks, oil, creams, i needn't go on

Their teeth care was also not horrific either like you'd be led to believe, like, they believed that bad smell = disesase, and they weren't entirely wrong in a way, but as such, bad breath was something people did try to avoid. hazel twigs were a not uncommon thing to use, and they could combine it with powdered salt and clove for a bit more abrasiveness (miswak is a very similar thing from the mustard tree still used today) (also there wasn't nearly as much sugar in foods then as now which would have helped a lil)

can't speak entirely on the water thing but like, again, they weren't stupid they just didn't have the same level of tech and knowledge as we do now. they knew dirty water was bad, they just didn't know the exact reason why. the only reason i could think as to why they would have ever drank such is 1. they didn't know it was contaminated (a more likely problem when living in a city, they did try to keep the polluting things downstream for obvious reasons but one can only do so much) 2. they had no choice (things happen, war, drought, you'll take what you can get)

[alexanderwales]

There are certain very specific, unsustainable periods of history.

The Golden Age of Piracy lasted from the 1650s to the 1730s, and was really three different waves of piracy that all had their own specific causes and characters. My personal favorite has always been the post-Spanish Succession period, when a bunch of sailors and privateers were left unemployed and turned en masse to piracy since those were the skills they'd picked up during the war. This supply of pirates was obviously non-renewable.

The Wild West lasted between 1865 and 1895, depending on who you ask, not even a full human lifetime. It's a very narrow band of time, and of course it wasn't sustainable, there was only so much land to colonize.

There are lots of these times of change, conquest, colonization, and war, particularly in the last three hundred years. I always think they're interesting, mostly in how quickly the course of history moves on to some other relatively more steady state.

There's a thing that speculative fiction does where it stretches specific periods out to extremes, most notably with Medieval Stasis, but I think it's far funnier when applied to these tiny slices of history that have ballooned in the public consciousness. Either it takes heroic feats of worldbuilding to make it make sense, or everyone is just sort of okay with the idea of a Golden Age of Piracy that's implied to have lasted for a millennia.

[misctf]

What You Wanted

Richard wanted to better himself. At first, as a wide-eyed new freshman, he was looking to make a change. Having always been more nerdy and unathletic, Richard prioritized his studies rather than his physical fitness growing up. But after years of fearing the gym, he took his first step. And the rest was history. He grew lean with muscle and learned the ins and outs of the gym routine. He found a gym buddy and quickly climbed the social hierarchy. Smart, fit, and now entering his junior year- he was living his best life.

“Richard!” Thomas’s nasally voice cut through the air, “Are you even paying attention?” Beady eyes narrowed behind his thick rimmed glasses.

Richard shrugged, “Sorry, I must’ve zoned out.” He was thinking more about his gym session earlier that day instead of paying attention to whatever nerdy movie Thomas picked, “I’m just not feeling it today.”

Richard and Thomas were friends since middle school. Both unapologetically nerdy, each surviving their fair share of bullying. But while Richard’s interests in fitness blossomed, Thomas remained entrenched in all things nerdy.

“You’re never feeling it anymore.” Thomas lamented, “I’m worried about you.” He looked at his friend closely, “Are you becoming like them? One of those stupid, smelly meatheads?” Richard knew Thomas never approved of his new friends- especially since many of them gave off the same vibes as their former bullies.

“Thomas, look.” Richard started, “I just... We’re obviously very different people now.”

“Not true! We both study Biochemistry! We’re both applying to graduate school in a few months!” Thomas interjected.

“Yeah, but Thomas, I’ve changed. I don’t really like superheroes and Battle Monsters and all that stuff anymore.” Richard sighed, running a hand through his hair, “I mean, its fun from time to time, but you’re obsessed with it.”

“Obsessed?”

Richard nodded, “Look, I need to get going. I have an exam.” He grabbed his backpack and started towards the door.

“Is that how it’s going to be?” Thomas yelled, “So you think you’re better than me too? Just like all those stupid jocks, right?” Thomas continued, “Fine, if you want to be a stupid, smelly jock so bad, go for it! Don’t come crying to me!”

“Whatever.” Richard said, “See you around.”

_________

Richard worked through his thermodynamics exam with ease. It became such a mindless activity that his thoughts wandered to Thomas. They had been close for years. And Thomas gave him an outlet for some of his more nerdier interests. Sure, he wasn’t as interested in all that nerd stuff like he was back in middle school, but Richard did value the time he spent with Thomas. He frowned. Maybe he was just a bit too harsh.  He’d apologize once he got done with his exam. But as he continued to write down the answers to these complex questions, he felt something welling up from within him. Something physical... something...

BUUUUURRRRPPPPP

Richard’s eyes widened and he quickly covered his mouth. He felt his cheeks flush red and looked around the room, noticing a few looks of disgust, as well as a few snickers from some of his classmates.

“Richard?” The professor said, looking up from her book.

“Yo, my bad dude.” Richard’s eyes widened, as did the professor’s, “Whoa, brah! Didn’t mean to say that!” His face reddened even more.

“Richard, please focus on your test.” She said sternly.

He nodded, trying to tune out the snickers from his surrounding classmates, ‘What the fuck was that?’ He thought to himself, trying to regain his composure, ‘Okay... just focus.’

But as he stared at the problems on his exam, he noticed small drops of water appearing on his paper. He raised an eyebrow as more drops appeared on his test, smudging his work.

“What the...?” He whispered, “Sweat?” He rubbed a hand across his forehead, “What the fuck?” He said aloud, again disrupting the class.

“Richard!” The professor slammed her book down.

“Dude, just back off.” Richard snapped back. He heard a few audible gasps from his fellow students and his face flushed red, “Bro, that came out wrong. I don't get why I'm sounding like this, bro.” His face flushed red again and he suddenly stood up and headed towards the door, “I gotta take a breather.” He said. But as he approached the door he could feel the same heaviness in his stomach, “No, no no... buuuuuuuuurrrrrpppppppp.”

He slammed the door behind him, and fled from the classroom.

_________

Richard walked across campus as fast as he could. He needed to get back to his apartment as soon as possible. Or maybe to a doctor. But wherever he went, he just needed to be somewhere private. The young man wiped some sweat from his brow and cringed.

“No way dude, I’m like a waterfall.” He whispered, “Oh fuck, look at my pits.” Dark pit stains rapidly formed beneath his arms and continued to grow larger. Richard stopped in his tracks and raised his arms, taking a deep whiff of his own stench, “Huhuhuh that’s ripe, dude.” He chuckled to himself. It was the judgmental stares of nearby students that broke him out of his train of thought, “I’m sorry!” He whispered, blushing deeply, “I didn’t mean to... burrrrppppppppp.” His face reddened even more.

“Haha nice one bro!” A nearby jock laughed.

“Yeah dude! Been dropping bombs all day.” Richard replied with a grin. He quickly shook his head and ran towards his dorm room, ignoring the jock's attempt for a fist bump.

_________

Richard slammed the door to his dorm room shut and threw his backpack across the room. At this point, he didn’t know what to do. His shirt had soaked through from his sweat and a new manly musk was clinging to his sweaty body.

“Okay, I just gotta go to an urgent care.” Richard whispered.

He walked over to his dresser to change his shirt, and he quickly stripped out of his soaked t-shirt. But when he looked down at his body, something wasn’t right.

“Yo dude, since when did I get abs?” Richard mumbled, “Oh shit, look at my boulders.” He rubbed a hand across his large shoulders, giving them a squeeze and chuckling dumbly, “Huhuhuh why do I need a shirt?” He flexed his bicep and watched as it bulged with strength, “Woah fuck look at that!” He watched as his bicep seemed to get a bit larger too, “Dude... that’s buuuuuuurrppppppp.” Richard chuckled, “Fuckin’ new protein powder. Makin’ my gassy as fuck.”

His plans to visit an Urgent Care were quickly leaving his mind. Instead, he continued to focus on his various poses, and amused himself with each growing muscle. Richard walked over to the couch and fell back onto it, grabbing his phone and posting a new picture of himself on his social media. All the white, he absentmindedly scratched as his massive chest, which was starting to sprout a light dusting of hairs. He grinned as various likes started appearing on his picture, and he felt his cock start to grow. He grabbed his massive cock and started stroking it, moaning with each tug.

“Fuck yeah.” He moaned, “Fuck people would be lucky to ride this dick.” He grinned, “Dick’s dick huhuhuh.” A knock at his door broke his concentration and he groaned with disappointment. His cock remained tented in his pants, but he didn’t care. He opened the door, casually scratching his hairy pit, “Oh fuck, Thomas dude! What’s up?”

Thomas grinned, “Richard?” He asked, “Wow.”

“Impressed broski? And don’t call me Richard. More of a Richy.” Richy grinned, “Come in, bro! Look, I’m like totally sorry about earlier. All that nerd stuff that you like. Didn’t mean to be a dick about it.”

“You don’t have to worry, Richy. You made it quite clear that you’re not a nerd anymore.” Thomas chuckled, “You wanted to be a stupid jock, well now you are.” 

Richy raised an eyebrow, “Stupid jock?” Something about that wasn’t right. Stupid jock? The words kept echoing in his head, “Stupid jock?” He repeated again, scratching his head, “That’s not... I...” Richy grabbed his head and looked at his friend. For just a second, the dull, dumb look in Richy’s eye was replaced by a knowing intelligence. A horrific realization evident in them. But it quickly lost its spark and his eyes dulled, “Huhuhuh yeah, I guess I’m pretty stupid. But doesn’t really matter when you’ve got this.” He grabbed his bulge and smirked, “Dude, you see that pic I posted? You think I could make it on OnlyFans?”

Thomas nodded, “Yes, I think you could. But I ought to go.”

“No wait bro!” Richy said, blocking his path to the door, “I mean... I know you always say you hate jocks. But its ‘cause you’re into us, right bro?” Thomas’s face reddened, betraying his secret, “So like...” Richy smirked and walked up to Thomas, who’s own khakis were now tented, “You wanna star in my first OnlyFans vid?”

_________

Richy stretched his hands above his head and sniffed his ripe pits. His dick twitched at the smell and he grinned. It’d been a few weeks since he posted his first video to OnlyFans. And yet here he was again, rewatching his first video: “buff jock fucks gay nerd.” Without fail, it always made his dick hard. And even though he posted several more videos since then, he always found himself coming back to this one. But even a masterpiece gets dull and Richy pulled out his phone. He ignored several horrified texts from his parents asking why he dropped out of school, as well as deleting multiple invites to interview for grad programs, whatever those were. Instead he found Thomas’s contact info.

“Hey bro.” He messaged, “Be at my place ASAP.” He took a quick selfie and threw in a few eggplant emojis to get his point across.

Afterwards, he tossed his phone somewhere on his bed. He didn’t need to see Thomas’s response. Sure he was stupid, be he did know one thing. No one, especially not Thomas, could resist this dick. And the knock on his door not even ten minutes later was all the confirmation he needed.

[777heavengirl]

kitchen

remus lupin x reader one-shot ! warnings: my beta reader rated it 12/10 angst, do with that what you will. word count: 2,889 masterlist a/n: this is so sad. this is rlly just me partly reflecting my break up onto Remus i AM SO SORRY IN ADVANCE.

You stared at the side of Remus’s face as he talked with James. Your brother ever the animated man, waved his arms around and spoke excitedly, to which Remus could only muster small chuckles and low-toned responses. 

You knew he was tired. 

Work was tiring. 

The moon was tiring. 

His body was tired. 

Part of you was still left with a bitter aftertaste from his apathy. You pressed a kiss against his bicep.

Remus’s lips pressed into a thin line resembling a smile. You knew it meant he was itching to leave. But you didn’t move. You sat, and stared, at him, at James, at Lily. At nothing at all. You laughed when they did, and put your hand on his forearm as to remind yourself of the spark between you. To remind yourself that he was here, with you and that he loved you.

That you loved him too.

You wondered if he had always been this way. Had you just been too in love to notice the apathy? The way he seemed to not even try to reciprocate any energy? Were you just being too needy? 

Was James not bothered by his friend’s lack of emotion? 

You and Remus had too much history. You could not remember what life was like without being with him. It had been years. Years of running up and down behind your twin brother and his friends, years of hands intertwined with Remus’s, kisses first shared in the dark— Merlin forbid your brother found out at the time. You had been happy. For years. Even with the ups and downs and the mercurial nature of his moods. Maybe lunar is a better word for it.

The waning and waxing phases of the way he felt about the world. You thought that might be the hardest part of it all. 

The way he’d be enthusiastic about the future one week, talking about job postings that had piqued his interest, talking about a future. But other weeks, the dark side of the moon reared its ugly head. He’d be riddled with doubts and fears. Days and weeks were he simply wallowed, days where he haunted your room or your kitchen, for hours. He’d reluctantly go to his muggle job, the monotony of it all bringing his mood down even more.

Weeks like those it was hard. The talks of aspirations went up in a cloud of smoke and you were once again left with nothing.

 He always did say that even though he wasn't sure what he wanted to do, he was sure about you. That you were the one constant in his future. No matter what, it was you. It wasn’t as reassuring as he believed it to be.

You tried not to think about it.

You eventually bid goodbye to your brother and his darling wife. The picture of a perfect family, with a baby on the way, in a small flowering cottage. You itched to ask Remus if he ever wanted that. Did he ever think about it at all?

But, you loved him. That was all that mattered.

Besides, you had real history. Too many years invested. If it wasn’t with him, you were probably just going to end up alone.

You were in love with him for Godric’s sake. Maybe that was the reason you could never choose yourself. 

“Have you given what we talked about some thought?” your words were barely above a whisper, unsure, scared about what his answer could be. You could see him look around uncomfortably. Maybe you should’ve waited until you actually got home not walking through the streets. 

“Y-yeah, I did…” his hand gripped yours tighter as you walked, like you might slip from his fingers “I think I should maybe wait a few weeks…” his shoulders tensed when the sigh inevitably left your lips. “I’m sorry I know it isn't what you wanted to hear but- I don't know if the Ministry would even take me… I did see a new posting for an entry-level in the department of magical creatures maybe I could apply”

“Apply soon yeah”

He nodded silently and you kissed his shoulder to wordlessly tell him thank you, as you walked home from James and Lily’s. Maybe he’d actually do it this time. Maybe one day, he’d see his own potential, he’d see how much farther he could go. 

Maybe someday he’d be brave enough to take a leap and fulfill his promises to you and himself. Maybe one day you’d finally be in a spot to build a family together. Or at least plan for it.

After all, you and Remus had real history. And he promised. Many moons ago.

Your love for him was why it was always so hard to do the right thing. 

Because as soon there was some disagreement, you knew, as much as he did, that no matter how upset you might be with him he could sweep you into his arms and all worry would melt away. 

In the small flat, you and Remus shared, under the warm light of the stray table lamp you’d dance. He’d take you in his arms and move along the soft rhythm of the music he’d put on. He’d kiss your temple and swear and promise.

Shallow words that at this point went in one ear and out the other. Promises of a future together, of applications that would never get done, of steps that would never even be attempted. 

But nevertheless, you forgave. 

You forgave four years of broken promises. You forgave the lack of a ring on your finger. You forgave the lack of planning for the future. You forgave his indifference.

You made yourself think you forgave him.

You tried to forget too.

Tried to forget his lack of ambition because why try when they would never want to hire someone like me? Tried to forget the way your mother had warned you about this a year back. Tried to forget the way Sirius called your phone last month from France, telling you you’d love it there, telling you it was a shame Remus didn’t want to go. How much of a shame it was that you had to miss out on life-changing experiences because Remus couldn't. 

Wouldn’t. 

Same thing.

Sirius called again a few days after you visited your brother.

“Is it raining there? The weather’s shit here at the moment” You ask, staring at the window, the raging storm outside banging against the glass and drowning the usual sight of the street bellow. 

“Meh- could be worse, I reckon it’s starting to warm up soon, so m’pretty excited about that,” He said, you hummed in acknowledgment “Have you talked to Moony again about coming? It really is beautiful in the summer doll— besides you can stay with me for free obviously”

You sighed

“No Sirius, I honestly don't even want to ask I already know how that one will go”

“So what? you’re not vacationing at all?”

“The only place I’m vacationing is in rock bottom Black-” you said, staring at the closed bedroom door. No doubt Remus was taking a small nap. The full moon was approaching.

Sirius tskd’d.

“You know you can always come… by yourself I mean, stay with me for a while”

“Sirius…”

“I know I know… I’m sorry-” Sirius tried laughing it off, the chuckle not lasting long as he asked, “Are you happy at least? With him.”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to that” You tried fighting the way your eyes seemed to immediately water.

“I fear it’s a pretty straight-up question- yes or no?”

“I don’t know if this is what happy is anymore” you whispered, afraid to state it fully aloud

“Then it isn't. When you’re happy, you know” Sirius sounded somber “You have to do the right thing, whatever is right for you not for him”

“It is never that easy”

“Yes, it is doll. It is always that easy”

You bid him goodbye soon after.

You chalked it off as Sirius not knowing what it was like to be with someone for years. You couldn’t just throw away the past four years of your life just because what? He was tired? He wasn’t putting as much effort as you wanted?

It could be fixed.

You were convinced you’d fix it as Remus trudged out of the room, hair disheveled as he rested his head on your shoulder. A kiss to the crook of your neck.

“Was it Pads?” he mumbled against your skin, you ignored the way you felt caught

“Yes”

“Is he okay?”

“Yes, better than okay”

“I wish we could go to Paris” you tried not breaking down in tears right there and there. 

It was never about money. You could go on brooms for fucks sake. You could portkey right into Sirius’s little French apartment. 

You didn't ask him why not. Why not go? You drowned the question in the tea he eventually handed you. You had always been more of a coffee person, but much like everything else, you sacrificed it for his preference for tea and its calming effects.

You tried your best to fix it, for months. You’d lay down with him after work, card your fingers through his light brown locks, trace his scars while he fought off sleep, press a chaste kiss to his lips before he fell asleep. 

You started calling Sirius more often than not, in hushed whispers. Tears were often spilled. You stopped feeling bad eventually. It was just calling a friend in a time of need. Draining the disappointment you didn't dare throw in Remus’s face. 

He was going through enough.

You continued to hold on to hope.

You’d nudge him along. Try for new jobs, call friends to see if anyone, anyone at all, could find him an in with the ministry.

“He just needs to apply sweetie- this is stupid” Marlene rolled her eyes, her auror uniform casually unbuttoned after her day of work, she twirled the spoon in her tea with a small wave of her finger. “They’re starting these werewolf allocation programs, they make sure they’re given jobs and such…”

“I don't know if he’d like that” You groaned, dropping your face into your hands. You could imagine him already, turning his nose away from any sort of Ministry help.

“Can I ask why he isn’t the one asking me these things?” Marlene said a glint in her eye that let you know she knew the answer already. You looked away.

“Sometimes it's hard to do the right thing Marls”

“You need to do the right thing for yourself”

“Marlene-” you scoffed “Me and Remus just have too much history- how can I ever just choose me? It’s us”

“Maybe it’s time it’s just you” 

You stared at Remus that night, the soft music that played from his muggle radio filling the air between you. You stared at him silently, the curve of his lips, the soft of the apples of his cheeks. The silvery scars that ran across his face. 

You loved him, you did.

But you also did feel the very worst you could feel. No dancing in the kitchen could fix it anymore. No kisses and fake promises could fix it. Not anymore.

As soft as he made you feel, as much history as you had together. You couldn't help the overwhelming need to cry every time you looked at him. 

What the hell was he even doing? What were you doing?

Any plans you had dreamed of with him were now very quickly crumbling in front of your eyes. He continued to silently make tea. You hoped he wouldn't notice the stray tears that managed to escape your eyes.

You and Remus had what your brother always called real history. He just meant it was deeply engrained, in your bones, in your heart. He said it poignantly last time you popped in for a visit. His tone didn’t fail to chip at your heart.

Your years together weren’t something you could erase. Not that you wanted to. 

You were happy with him. Right? You loved him.

Maybe if you just gave him more time. You had graduated Hogwarts a mere two years ago. 

He had always been more than good to you. Even at your lowest. Even at his lowest. He was nothing but gentle and loving.

Maybe. Sometimes, love wasn't enough.

You didn’t say anything as he finished cleaning up the kitchen. He kissed your temple goodnight. You stayed up, staring at the phone line debating on calling Sirius, again. 

“I just don’t know what I should do…” you leaned against the wet metal railing of your balcony, the drops seeping into your pajama pants. You grabbed the base of the phone with one hand, the other holding the receiver up to your ear

“I don’t know why you’re asking me angel, you already know what my answer is going to be”

“Don’t be mean Sirius” he could hear the pout in your voice, and he laughed

“I’m not- you know I love Moony, we’ve been friends for ages but…”

“But?”

“I love you more” You didn’t respond. “And I think you need to love yourself more than you love him too” You could hear him inhale what you guessed was a cigarette

You hummed in acknowledgment, not daring to open your mouth at the fear that sobs would break your words.

“Don’t wear yourself out for someone that isn’t doing the same for you…”

“That’s unfair… he does”

“He forgot a card for your anniversary”

“It was a few days after the full moon…”

“Okay, what about your birthday? Or Christmas for that matter? What? D’you think I’d forget how you called crying? Every single one of those times” He said, you could feel your lip wobbling. “Come to Paris with me-”

“Sirius-”

“Just think about it okay? Promise me you’ll at least do that…”

“Okay, I will—”

“Right… ‘night love,” he said, you muttered a small goodnight “and for the record…” He hesitated for a second, almost as if he shouldn’t say it. Sirius was never one to stay quiet, he did this time. “Nevermind, I love you”

“Love you too Sirius” you answered, head hanging in defeat. The phone call clicked off.

It really wasn’t about Sirius you thought, as you guiltily crawled into bed with your boyfriend. Not about France either. You stared at his sleeping form.

It wasn’t about your and Remus’s history. It didn’t matter how long you had been together if there was no future.

It wasn’t about what your brother or Marlene, or even your mother thought. 

It was about choosing you. 

Right?

“Remus” you padded over and stood next to the small dining table that morning. 

“Yes?” He didn’t look up from his book, a bad habit he had picked up. He was never truly listening when he did that

“Remus have you applied to the job at the Ministry?”

“Mhm? Ministry…” he still didn’t look up, he took a sip of his tea “No I haven't yet, I’ll get around to it though, I just want to take my time with it you know?”

“Its an application how long can it take?” you could feel yourself start getting angry, and you looked away from him. Not that he had looked up to look you in the eyes anyway.

“I just want to give myself the best chance to get in.” he finally looked up from his book, an exasperated look on his face. You refused to meet his eyes “What's wrong with that?”

“You’ve been saying the same thing for ages Remus”

“We’ll I have other things going on— just because you have different ideas about what my progress should look like doesn't mean I’m not doing anything you know? Because I do, I do a lot actually” He said, staring at you as if daring you to deny that he did anything. 

Of course, he worked hard. You could never refute tthat. He moved his eyes down to his book.

You bit your tongue for a second, but the words slipped out nevertheless.

“Remus I don't think we can be together anymore”

“What?” the tone in his voice was nothing short of heartbroken. He searched your face for anything. Any hint that you weren't serious. “No”

Godric it was so hard to do the right thing.

“I don’t think we are on the same page anymore, you say things, you promise but…” you rubbed your temple, you could feel a headache coming “None of those promises ever come true” you sighed, finally looking at him

His eyes were rimmed red.

“You’re right,” he said, defeated, breathless.

“If you know I’m right why didn’t you just do it? I have never asked you for anything else, just for you to apply for yourself Remus, because you had said it was what you wanted”

You and Remus stared at each other. A blank look on his face as he looked at you, his nose red and tears threatening to streak down his cheeks. 

“Can you say something? Anything? Why didn’t you just do it?”

“I don’t know”

“You never know Remus, but I do and I refuse to wait for you to figure it out anymore”

permanent tag ; @laufeysvalentine @heyyyloverr

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[amateurvoltaire]

For the past six years or so, this graph has been making its rounds on social media, always reappearing at conveniently timed moments…

The insinuation is loud and clear: parallels abound between 18th-century France and 21st-century USA. Cue the alarm bells—revolution is imminent! The 10% should panic, and ordinary folk should stock up on non-perishables and, of course, toilet paper, because it wouldn’t be a proper crisis without that particular frenzy. You know the drill.

Well, unfortunately, I have zero interest in commenting on the political implications or the parallels this graph is trying to make with today’s world. I have precisely zero interest in discussing modern-day politics here. And I also have zero interest in addressing the bottom graph.

This is not going to be one of those "the [insert random group of people] à la lanterne” (1) kind of posts.  If you’re here for that, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed.

What I am interested in is something much less click-worthy but far more useful: how historical data gets used and abused and why the illusion of historical parallels can be so seductive—and so misleading. It’s not glamorous, I’ll admit, but digging into this stuff teaches us a lot more than mindless rage.

So, let’s get into it. Step by step, we’ll examine the top graph, unpick its assumptions, and see whether its alarmist undertones hold any historical weight.

Step 1: Actually Look at the Picture and Use Your Brain

When I saw this graph, my first thought was, “That’s odd.” Not because it’s hard to believe the top 10% in 18th-century France controlled 60% of the wealth—that could very well be true. But because, in 15 years of studying the French Revolution, I’ve never encountered reliable data on wealth distribution from that period.

Why? Because to the best of my knowledge, no one was systematically tracking income or wealth across the population in the 18th century. There were no comprehensive records, no centralised statistics, and certainly no detailed breakdowns of who owned what across different classes. Graphs like this imply data, and data means either someone tracked it or someone made assumptions to reconstruct it. That’s not inherently bad,  but it did get my spider senses tingling.

Then there’s the timeframe: 1760–1790. Thirty years is a long time— especially when discussing a period that included wars, failed financial policies, growing debt, and shifting social dynamics. Wealth distribution wouldn’t have stayed static during that time. Nobles who were at the top in 1760 could be destitute by 1790, while merchants starting out in 1760 could be climbing into the upper tiers by the end of the period. Economic mobility wasn’t common, but over three decades, it wasn’t unheard of either.

All of this raises questions about how this graph was created. Where’s the data coming from? How was it measured? And can we really trust it to represent such a complex period?

Step 2: Check the Fine Print

Since the graph seemed questionable, the obvious next step was to ask: Where does this thing come from? Luckily, the source is clearly cited at the bottom: “The Income Inequality of France in Historical Perspective” by Christian Morrisson and Wayne Snyder, published in the European Review of Economic History, Vol. 4, No. 1 (2000).

Great! A proper academic source. But, before diving into the article, there’s a crucial detail tucked into the fine print:

“Data for the bottom 40% in France is extrapolated given a single data point.”

What does that mean?

Extrapolation is a statistical method used to estimate unknown values by extending patterns or trends from a small sample of data. In this case, the graph’s creator used one single piece of data—one solitary data point—about the wealth of the bottom 40% of the French population. They then scaled or applied that one value to represent the entire group across the 30-year period (1760–1790).

Put simply, this means someone found one record—maybe a tax ledger, an income statement, or some financial data—pertaining to one specific year, region, or subset of the bottom 40%, and decided it was representative of the entire demographic for three decades.

Let’s be honest: you don’t need a degree in statistics to know that’s problematic. Using a single data point to make sweeping generalisations about a large, diverse population (let alone across an era of wars, famines, and economic shifts) is a massive leap. In fact, it’s about as reliable as guessing how the internet feels about a topic from a single tweet.

This immediately tells me that whatever numbers they claim for the bottom 40% of the population are, at best, speculative. At worst? Utterly meaningless.

It also raises another question: What kind of serious journal would let something like this slide? So, time to pull up the actual article and see what’s going on.

Step 3: Check the Sources

As I mentioned earlier, the source for this graph is conveniently listed at the bottom of the image. Three clicks later, I had downloaded the actual article: “The Income Inequality of France in Historical Perspective” by Morrisson and Snyder.

The first thing I noticed while skimming through the article? The graph itself is nowhere to be found in the publication.

This is important. It means the person who created the graph didn’t just lift it straight from the article—they derived it from the data in the publication. Now, that’s not necessarily a problem; secondary analysis of published data is common. But here’s the kicker: there’s no explanation in the screenshot of the graph about which dataset or calculations were used to make it. We’re left to guess.

So, to figure this out, I guess I’ll have to dive into the article itself, trying to identify where they might have pulled the numbers from. Translation: I signed myself up to read 20+ pages of economic history. Thrilling stuff.

But hey, someone has to do it. The things I endure to fight disinformation...

Step 4: Actually Assess the Sources Critically

It doesn’t take long, once you start reading the article, to realise that regardless of what the graph is based on, it’s bound to be somewhat unreliable. Right from the first paragraph, the authors of the paper point out the core issue with calculating income for 18th-century French households: THERE IS NO DATA.

The article is refreshingly honest about this. It states multiple times that there were no reliable income distribution estimates in France before World War II. To fill this gap, Morrisson and Snyder used a variety of proxy sources like the Capitation Tax Records (2), historical socio-professional tables, and Isnard’s income distribution estimates (3).

After reading the whole paper, I can say their methodology is intriguing and very reasonable. They’ve pieced together what they could by using available evidence, and their process is quite well thought-out. I won’t rehash their entire argument here, but if you’re curious, I’d genuinely recommend giving it a read.

Most importantly, the authors are painfully aware of the limitations of their approach. They make it very clear that their estimates are a form of educated guesswork—evidence-based, yes, but still guesswork.   At no point do they overstate their findings or present their conclusions as definitive

As such,  instead of concluding with a single, definitive version of the income distribution, they offer multiple possible scenarios.

It’s not as flashy as a bold, tidy graph, is it? But it’s far more honest—and far more reflective of the complexities involved in reconstructing historical economic data.

Step 5: Run the numbers

Now that we’ve established the authors of the paper don’t actually propose a definitive income distribution, the question remains: where did the creators of the graph get their data? More specifically, which of the proposed distributions did they use?

Unfortunately, I haven’t been able to locate the original article or post containing the graph. Admittedly, I haven’t tried very hard, but the first few pages of Google results just link back to Twitter, Reddit, Facebook, and Tumblr posts. In short, all I have to go on is this screenshot.

I’ll give the graph creators the benefit of the doubt and assume that, in the full article, they explain where they sourced their data. I really hope they do—because they absolutely should.

That being said, based on the information in Morrisson and Snyder’s paper, I’d make an educated guess that the data came from Table 6 or Table 10, as these are the sections where the authors attempt to provide income distribution estimates.

Now, which dataset does the graph use? Spoiler: None of them.

How can we tell? Since I don’t have access to the raw data or the article where this graph might have been originally posted, I resorted to a rather unscientific method: I used a graphical design program to divide each bar of the chart into 2.5% increments and measure the approximate percentage for each income group.

Here’s what I found:

Now, take a moment to spot the issue. Do you see it?

The problem is glaring: NONE of the datasets from the paper fit the graph. Granted, my measurements are just estimates, so there might be some rounding errors. But the discrepancies are impossible to ignore, particularly for the bottom 40% and the top 10%.

In Morrisson and Snyder’s paper, the lowest estimate for the bottom 40% (1st and 2nd quintiles) is 10%. Even if we use the most conservative proxy, the Capitation Tax estimate, it’s 9%. But the graph claims the bottom 40% held only 6%.

For the top 10% (10th decile), the highest estimate in the paper is 53%. Yet the graph inflates this to 60%.

Step 6: For fun, I made my own bar charts

Because I enjoy this sort of thing (yes, this is what I consider fun—I’m a very fun person), I decided to use the data from the paper to create my own bar charts. Here’s what came out:

What do you notice?

While the results don’t exactly scream “healthy economy,” they look much less dramatic than the graph we started with. The creators of the graph have clearly exaggerated the disparities, making inequality seem worse.

Step 7: Understand the context before drawing conclusions

Numbers, by themselves, mean nothing. Absolutely nothing.

I could tell you right now that 47% of people admit to arguing with inanimate objects when they don’t work, with printers being the most common offender, and you’d probably believe it. Why? Because it sounds plausible—printers are frustrating, I’ve used a percentage, and I’ve phrased it in a way that sounds “academic.”

You likely wouldn’t even pause to consider that I’m claiming 3.8 billion people argue with inanimate objects. And let’s be real: 3.8 billion is such an incomprehensibly large number that our brains tend to gloss over it.

If, instead, I said, “Half of your friends probably argue with their printers,” you might stop and think, “Wait, that seems a bit unlikely.” (For the record, I completely made that up—I have no clue how many people yell at their stoves or complain to their toasters.)

The point? Numbers mean nothing unless we put them into context.

The original paper does this well by contextualising its estimates, primarily through the calculation of the Gini coefficient (4).

The authors estimate France’s Gini coefficient in the late 18th century to be 0.59, indicating significant income inequality. However, they compare this figure to other regions and periods to provide a clearer picture:

Amsterdam (1742): Much higher inequality, with a Gini of 0.69.

Britain (1759): Lower inequality, with a Gini of 0.52, which rose to 0.59 by 1801.

Prussia (mid-19th century): Far less inequality, with a Gini of 0.34–0.36.

This comparison shows that income inequality wasn’t unique to France. Other regions experienced similar or even higher levels of inequality without spontaneously erupting into revolution.

Accounting for Variations

The authors also recalculated the Gini coefficient to account for potential variations. They assumed that the income of the top quintile (the wealthiest 20%) could vary by ±10%. Here’s what they found:

If the top quintile earned 10% more, the Gini coefficient rose to 0.66, placing France significantly above other European countries of the time.

If the top quintile earned 10% less, the Gini dropped to 0.55, bringing France closer to Britain’s level.

Ultimately, the authors admit there’s uncertainty about the exact level of inequality in France. Their best guess is that it was comparable to other countries or somewhat worse.

Step 8: Drawing Some Conclusions

Saying that most people in the 18th century were poor and miserable—perhaps the French more so than others—isn’t exactly a compelling statement if your goal is to gather clicks or make a dramatic political point.

It’s incredibly tempting to look at the past and find exactly what we want to see in it. History often acts as a mirror, reflecting our own expectations unless we challenge ourselves to think critically. Whether you call it wishful thinking or confirmation bias, it’s easy to project the future onto the past.

Looking at the initial graph, I understand why someone might fall into this trap. Simple, tidy narratives are appealing to everyone. But if you’ve studied history, you’ll know that such narratives are a myth. Human nature may not have changed in thousands of years, but the contexts we inhabit are so vastly different that direct parallels are meaningless.

So, is revolution imminent? Well, that’s up to you—not some random graph on the internet.

Notes

(1) A la lanterne was a  revolutionary cry during the French Revolution, symbolising mob justice where individuals were sometimes hanged from lampposts as a form of public execution

(2) The capitation tax was a fixed head tax implemented in France during the Ancien Régime. It was levied on individuals, with the amount owed determined by their social and professional status. Unlike a proportional income tax, it was based on pre-assigned categories rather than actual earnings, meaning nobles, clergy, and commoners paid different rates regardless of their actual wealth or income.

(3) Jean-Baptiste Isnard was an 18th-century economist. These estimates attempted to describe the theoretical distribution of income among different social classes in pre-revolutionary France. Isnard’s work aimed to categorise income across groups like nobles, clergy, and commoners, providing a broad picture of economic disparity during the period.

(4) The Gini coefficient (or Gini index) is a widely used statistical measure of inequality within a population, specifically in terms of income or wealth distribution. It ranges from 0 to 1, where 0 indicates perfect equality (everyone has the same income or wealth), and 1 represents maximum inequality (one person or household holds all the wealth).

[terastalungrad]

Sometimes, you’re a comedian with a touring show to promote, so you do an interview with a regional newspaper.

I think that’d be the funniest possible time to reveal a big scoop, wouldn’t it?

Stewart Lee is currently touring, and to promote his Yeovil performance, gave an interview to Blackmore Vale Magazine.  According to Wikipedia, the Blackmore Vale is an area of north Dorset, south Somerset and southwest Wiltshire.  According to the comedian Jake Baker, the magazine would cover his school sports day as he grew up in Dorset.  That’s the level of news you’d expect.

The questions are friendly and easy, from a journalist clearly familiar with Lee’s work and history.

The first question is about the show’s angle.  Lee describes the nature of the show, and here’s an excerpt:

So it looks like stand-up, and sounds like stand-up, but it’s actually a kind of character piece about a desperate person who’s frightened and trying to organise the world in a way that puts them in control. And I guess you could argue that’s what a lot of stand-ups are doing anyway. Ricky Gervais to me looks like a very frightened man. He’s frightened of transgender people coming after him, the act is a defensive wall.

Fun!  This is a Ricky Gervais hate blog, so it’s nice to see a sudden, unexpected attack in an unrelated promotional interview.

Lee mentions Gervais again in response to question four.

Sometimes I become bitter and think ‘I get all this good press, why can’t I get 10 million quid for a TV special like Ricky Gervais?’ But on the other hand, I wouldn’t want that audience, it wouldn’t allow me to be better.

And then again to question eight, where Lee explains why he spends six months running new shows in the relatively small Leicester Square Theatre (as opposed to arena comics who might do 10 warmup shows followed by 60 tour dates).

You can still run it like a club gig, you can interact with people in real time. Also, you wouldn’t get better at the show because you wouldn’t have done it as many times. You can see this with an act like Gervais. Those shows have not been run in, they’re not fluid, they’re a succession of inflexible statements that would snap like twigs if the pressure of an unforeseen event was applied to them.

The journalist finally addresses this head on.  It really is worth reading the entire article - there’s a lot more than I’m quoting, including an interesting story about Sean Lock:

But here are my favourite bits:

[Gervais] still kind of copies me though, which is the weird thing. There’s still a lot of cadences of what I do but they’re used in the service of evil. In Star Wars, he’s Darth Vader and he’s taken the force, which is me, and used it for evil purposes. He was a fanboy, he was actually the booker at University of London and used to book me and Sean Lock all the time. And when he became famous for the Office, he wrote an hour-long act that was so indebted to us it was awkward. [...] If he’d come up through the circuit that would have been rubbed off him because you find your own voice doing club gigs. It took me two years of gigging five nights a week to come through the mesh of things I liked. But he didn’t have that experience in the same way. [...] Funnily enough, in his first show there were bits I’d never recorded that he’d do almost verbatim. He’d clearly remembered them. I went to see him at the Bloomsbury – on his invitation actually – with my then girlfriend and she was very concerned for me. I’d given up at that point due to lack of interest, and she was concerned for what it felt like to see my act being done to hundreds of people, it was quite weird. On the other hand, that sort of did make me think I don’t want it to be consumed into someone else’s vocabulary. And also, I think because he had a residual sense of guilt, he would always credit me in interviews as being an influence – that helped me in 2004 to get the audience back.

This is, to my knowledge, the first time Lee’s ever claimed that Gervais stole his material.  He’s certainly talked about Gervais clearly taking influence from him (though in the past, he downplayed this compared to the account given in this interview).

It’s a pretty big thing to accuse a comic of stealing material.  That’s a big taboo.  I reckon this is partly because Lee wants to discourage fans of Gervais from coming to the show.

Anyway, let’s finish by quoting the end of the interview:

It must be strange to have that level of financial remuneration and those audience figures but not really a single good review. And I expect what that does for you is create a cognitive dissonance where you have to manufacture a worldview by which the whole world is wrong and you’re right. Which can’t necessarily be very good for your mental health, although I expect the money’s nice.

[libraford]

Misty Copeland, my beloved.

I can't even say that 'appreciation' is the word, at least in the case of bellydance. It's just what happens when a culture touches another. Because 'bellydance' itself is a very broad term that encompasses a variety of dance styles that may have no verifiable country of origin.

Correct me of I'm wrong, of course!

Under a cut because apparently I'm infodumping on dance history.

The best we have as an origin people are the Ghawazee, and today's style looks very little like their practice (which is still taught by it's sole remaining member). But the people traveled before settling in Egypt, so a clear origin is difficult to pinpoint. And you do hear claims that bellydance is Egyptian, and while it's not untrue, it's not the entire story- Ghawazee spent some time in Egypt and the style stuck around to have a stylistic exchange. And a lot of the old Hollywood depictions of bellydance are something between this cultural fusion and awalim. All of these styles, and so many more of that region, informed each other and inspired each other as trade routes between countries became more common, and the Ottoman Empire brought it northward as far as modern day Austria.

And the dance style has been criticized pretty much everywhere it goes. Like our earliest footage of the dance was as a Victorian sideshow that was considered by the primarily white male audience to be vulgar. But as Egyptian film made this style more easily accessed, fondness for it grew, and we enter Golden Age of Bellydance- which was not always not the most culturally sensitive depiction, but it gave a lot of dancers a chance to show their skills to a wider audience- and now women want to learn it too! Teachers pop up everywhere, even though it's still considered a little risque in many cultures.

Bellydance was being seen all over the world because of cinema, even if inaccurate so. And there was a fascination with Egypt that made it the center of attention for a lot of film. There were tons of middle eastern dance clubs, though they were, again, kind of a fantasy version of it.

And then it got hairy.

Iranian Revolution in 1979 put a lot of restrictions on dance. If you were a dance teacher affected by this, your choices were either stop dancing or immigrate to a country where you'd be allowed to teach. So you see a huge boom in the 80s of Egyptian Cabaret styles taking root in the US because the interest in Egyptian culture made it easy to set up shop.

So most of what you're seeing today in modern stage styles is either second or third generation of Egyptian Cabaret style through several layers of translation, which in itself is deep in layers of translation, applied to the melting pot of America and then to the exposure of film, TV, music video, YouTube, Instagram, and then finally TikTok.

And that's fucking fascinating! The cultural exchange that had to happen for us to get that half-beat Turkish drop is high key cool af, just to think about all of the steps we had to go through to get here. It is an ever-evolving discipline of dance, and the fact that Shining Protector is still teaching the old ways of her people to keep traditions alive is AMAZING!

We should want this. And I don't know how to explain to people that sometimes the watered-down white people spicy version is the gateway drug to taking an active interest in a different culture.

When one culture comes in contact with another and the peoples share the things that enrich their lives, that is cultural exchange. But I think it's hard for some people to see any interaction with a white culture as neutral-positive. And it's somewhat difficult to explain the difference.

[librarycards]

it has been interesting seeing the tides turn back from people criticizing the education system to making fun of individuals for lacking knowledge (eg. the meme like "actually, they told us about the scramble for Africa in hs, but you were too busy doodling.") have you noticed this too/ any thoughts?

i think that those points aren't very kind, but are in many ways not only correct but expressing rightful frustration at (mostly white) students' selective memory for historical events/general knowledge, contingent upon whether or not they believe said information applies to them. like, i'd wager the average high school aged kid in africa probably has more knowledge of the scramble for africa (though they may not know it in normative u.s. textbook terms) than many u.s. students, despite a nominally more "developed" educational system. why? bc when you're living in a multiply-colonized society facing the material impacts of said ongoing colonialism every day....this shit is not avoidable. you know it whether you want to or not. meanwhile, many of those living in the imperial core - at least for now - can literally and figuratively tune out the violent realities that they (we) are party to + beneficiaries of. in a choice between being razzed for not paying attention in school, and having my community razed, enslaved, and stripped of resources in order to satisfy colonial greed....well, i'm gonna taking the razzing any day, even if it seems mean.

i also think the age dynamics here are worth noting: people say this to each other from adult to adult, typically because the ignorant adult claims that the u.s. educational system alone is at fault for their lack of knowledge (always concentrated around issues of empire and white supremacy and, curiously, never about the fandom they happen to be obsessed with....). except...no. because they're adults with an internet connection - the accusation that they were "doodling in history class" is a gesture at a broader set of decisions to remain ignorant & incurious long after history class/high school has ended. maybe your school taught you about the scramble for africa (most likely it was at least mentioned) and maybe not. but in a conversation between adults on a global internet, with free resources only keystrokes away (and in many cases bundled and handed to us by public scholars) the choice to "keep doodling" is an active one and a political one, and the blame rests on the shoulders of the privileged who refuse to learn about empire's "Others".

[auren-zagarra]

Hello! I've been trying to see if your requests are open, if it isn't please ignore this and I apologize.

First I just want to say that I appreciate your disclaimers on every post on your character analysis as someone struggling with my mental health and is seeking irl professional assistance.

That being said, may I please kindly request for a character analysis on Cater Diamond?

Thank you very much!

Cater Diamond: A Psychological Analysis

Disclaimer: Although this post is written by a professional psychologist, it is not intended to serve as a formal diagnosis. Rather, it is a character analysis of Cater Diamond, created out of personal interest and passion for world-building. In psychological practice, accurate assessment should never be based solely on external observation.

Author Notes: Aw, I’m so glad to hear you’re seeking professional help, Anon! I truly hope your overall well-being improves - struggling with mental health can have such a deeply negative impact on daily life. Everyone deserves access to therapy and the fact that you’re taking that step is genuinely amazing. Please keep staying strong - I’m rooting for you! Also, ignore this post is quite huge... I love Cater so much and this is basically a reformulated analysis - I had the base content already because he is my fav. <3

Cater Diamond is a third-year student of Heartslabyul Dorm. His profile describes him as “casual and carefree”, an “expert room-reader” and mediator between others, always abreast of the latest trends and deeply engaged in social media. In the narrative, Cater often plays the role of a social connector and peacemaker. Even when faced with potential conflict (such as when classmates challenged the dorm leader Riddle), he responds with pragmatic concern: “Did they even try to think this through? I'll just pray this doesn't end up causing more trouble”. This illustrates Cater’s tendency to de-escalate or avoid confrontation. Thematically, Cater functions as a bridge-builder and mood-lightener. Though a playful attitude pervades his scenes, his narrative role is that of the affable socialite: he lubricates group dynamics, diffuses tension, and embodies the “cool” connector in the Heartslabyul clique.

Personality Analysis

Cater’s behavior aligns with several established personality models. In the Big Five (Five-Factor) model, he scores very high on Extraversion – he is outgoing, social, and gains energy from interactions (at least, that’s what he shows on the surface… In his Personal Story from the SSR Halloween card, he hints that maintaining his cheerful persona is exhausting - and there are several other moments where he reveals just how tiring it truly is.). He loves parties and group events, and can be a bit of an attention-seeker in social media settings (e.g. taking pictures for clicks), all typical of a high-Extraversion individual. His Openness is also high: he eagerly embraces new experiences and frequently tries new cafés and trends. He is curious and perceptive (the wiki notes he’s “very perceptive with great communication skills”) - for example, he understands and applies knowledge of others’ backgrounds - as he did with Leona during his R School Uniform personal story.

In terms of Agreeableness, Cater is generally warm and cooperative: he empathizes with people and despite being manipulative, he seems also very forgiven in the surface. He tends to defuse conflict rather than escalate it. These traits suggest above-average agreeableness. Conversely, his Conscientiousness appears lower: he often avoids academic effort and seeks the easy route on assignments, enjoying life’s pleasures instead of discipline - shown again in the R card, during the moment when Cater admits he only tried to host a party for Rosaria because he wanted her to give him the answers of a history test. Finally, his Neuroticism is moderate to low outwardly – he rarely panics and maintains a relaxed façade. However, private moments hint at underlying anxiety or sadness (discussed below), so he may internally rate moderately on neuroticism.

Coping Mechanisms and Behavior Under Stress

When under stress or emotional strain, Cater tends to avoid direct confrontation and use humor or social engagement as coping. For instance, during the challenge between Riddle and Ace (Book 1, episode 21), Cater responds not with anger but concern for group harmony. He steps back rather than escalating the conflict, demonstrating a conflict-avoidant stance. This suggests Cater may have an avoidant coping style: he backs off from arguments and focuses on prevention of conflict.

Cater also frequently uses intellectualization and rationalization to handle emotional issues. In his Halloween story, he reflects on his friendship patterns: “If I left, they remained there. That’s why I’d rather have a casual and happy time with everyone than deepen a friendship”. This quote shows him rationalizing emotional detachment as logical self-preservation. By framing his avoidance of deep bonds as a deliberate choice, he shields himself from the pain of goodbyes. This cognitive reframing is a classic defense mechanism: by analyzing his loneliness philosophically, he buffers the sting of relationships ending.

Another coping strategy is sublimation. Rather than dwelling on his own sadness, Cater channels his emotions into positive actions for others - even when most of his good actions are actually orientended towards his own benefit. He sublimates any personal loneliness into external creativity. He also uses social media (Magicam) as an emotional outlet. In the Halloween story he proudly says, “Magicam is the best! People from my school from three years ago contacted me out of the blue… My social circle is expanding”. Here he transforms the pain of permanent farewells into a more controlled form of connection: staying in touch online. This is both an emotion-focused coping (maintaining connections to ease solitude) and a distraction (focusing on online popularity rather than past losses).

On a behavioral level, Cater often makes light of discomfort with humor. When discussing his secret dislike of sweets in his Birthday Boy card, he turns it into a joke and a social gambit: instead of eating desserts, he says he’ll have Yuu eat them and just post photos. This evasion of direct discomfort (force-feeding by family) shows he copes by deflection. During emotional moments, Cater rarely cries or shows visible distress; instead, he laughs things off or cracks jokes. This suggests a defense mechanism of humor and cheerfulness to mask pain.

In sum, Cater’s coping mechanisms are largely avoidant and adaptive: he avoids conflict, rationalizes his detachment, and distracts himself with social activity. Psychological models would classify these as avoidance, rationalization, sublimation, and use of humor. While these strategies prevent immediate pain, they also underscore that Cater might suppress his deeper emotions rather than fully process them.

Family Background: Dynamics with His Sisters

Canon reveals that Cater grew up with two older sisters who essentially ran the household. The sisters are described as unreasonable bosses who constantly scrutinized and controlled him. For example, they insisted he redo things until they deemed them cute enough. One personal story describes young Cater’s excitement at a household sweets binge, only for his sisters to fill his plate until he was sick, leaving him “the worst at dealing” with their disappointed faces. He admits he kept forcing himself to eat desserts to avoid hurting them, and as a result can’t stand any kind of dessert now.

This family dynamic likely had deep psychological effects on Cater. His sisters’ domination taught him that asserting his own preferences would disappoint them, which may have ingrained a conflict-averse attitude and difficulty saying no - a pattern seen in how he copes with others. Yet they also clearly cared for him, celebrating his birthdays with over-the-top gifts (dolls, perfumes, etc.) until they learned his tastes. The net result is a mix of affection and frustration. Psychologically, one could say Cater developed a form of passive-aggressive compliance: he outwardly obeyed (eating the sweets) to avoid family discord, but inwardly resented the coercion (now despising sweets). This may have sown early seeds of anxiety about pleasing others and contributed to his later use of avoidance as a coping strategy.

Additionally, his father’s banking career forced the entire family to relocate globally every two years. This constant upheaval meant Cater never had a stable home or long-term peer group. The wiki notes he hadn’t had any long-lasting friends because of this and that he considers himself “a pro at quickly packing things”. Psychologically, growing up rootless can foster attachment difficulties. In Cater’s case, the combination of moving and domineering siblings may have made his home life feel chaotic and restrictive. Indeed, during winter breaks the canon says Cater preferred to stay with friend Trey’s family rather than return to his own, indicating a desire for emotional respite from his home environment. Overall, the family context - frequent moves, an overbearing figure (the sisters), and high expectations - likely pressured Cater into pleasing roles and difficulty with intimacy.

No Bonds? Social Attachments and Their Absence

Despite his friendly façade, Cater’s background underscores an absence of deep friendships. Moving constantly, he never settled anywhere long enough to form lasting bonds. In essence, Cater admits he maintained only superficial relationships to avoid future heartache. This coping strategy - keeping things casual - means he seemingly has no true intimate friends.

In interactions, Cater often flits among peers but rarely reveals deep emotions to them. There is also a statement that he “can’t relate” to homesickness because his sisters would be waiting at home that implies an emotional distance even from his own family (sadly, I cannot remember the font, but I think it was his Halloween SSR). Psychologically, this pattern suggests an avoidant attachment style: he values independence and social fun but shies away from closeness. Cater’s lack of enduring bonds is therefore significant: it reinforces a self-protective isolation, where he stays superficially friendly yet emotionally insulated. As the Halloween story explicitly reasons, “the more precious a relationship is, the more lonely it becomes” - a philosophy Cater seems to live by, avoiding deep ties to prevent the ultimate loneliness of loss.

This absence of close attachments also has consequences. For one, it might leave Cater feeling fundamentally lonely despite always being surrounded by peers. And indeed, hints of underlying loneliness surface in his personal reflections. From a psychological standpoint, lacking close relationships can increase vulnerability to mood problems, and it suggests Cater may rely on imagined or future connections (like online friends) to fill the gap. He explicitly turns to Magicam (social media) to stay connected across distance, but those are broad, shallow ties. Ultimately, Cater’s profile paints him as a social butterfly who nevertheless “didn’t have any long-lasting friends”. This dissonance - popular yet alone - is key to understanding his inner life.

A Deeper Look into Depression and Mood

Although Cater usually appears cheerful, canon provides subtle hints of melancholy and introspection, suggesting possible depressive undercurrents. In particular, his personal Halloween story includes a striking line: “However, I think the more precious a relation is, the more lonely it becomes… Why does it feel that way? I have lived a long life but the reason is still unknown to me". This confession reveals genuine sadness and existential questioning. He observes that deep relationships paradoxically lead to loneliness - a poignant, somewhat pessimistic insight. Expressing this thought implies he has felt loneliness intensely in relation to someone he cared about (possibly friends from whom he parted) and that it troubles him. 

Outside this scene, Cater does not scream depression outright. He laughs, jokes, and even uses slang and memes, which suggests a positive façade. On the Big Five axis of Neuroticism, he doesn’t exhibit overt anxiety or mood swings in the story scenes (often he’s calm and composed). However, the Halloween quote shows he experiences internal sadness, which likely bumps up his personal neuroticism score. In psychological terms, he may have a sublimated dysphoria: outwardly stable but inwardly questioning relationships. It’s also interesting to note that Cater’s mandrake in his Labwear card appeared quite gloomy - likely reflecting his own suppressed sadness - and in his Ceremonial Robes card, he comes across as rather apathetic by the end of the story.

Comparing to DSM-5, Cater does not meet criteria for major depressive episodes (there’s no evidence of prolonged deep depression, suicidal ideation, or severe functional impairment). However, one might notice elements of a milder, persistent mood disturbance. The quote above resembles what we might call dysthymic thinking: a chronic sense of emptiness about relationships. He also sometimes seems fatigued by feelings (joking about being “already up” or accepting things). His humorous replies to serious questions might be a mask for underlying low mood. We should also note how quickly Cater moves on after rejections; this resilience could either mean he genuinely is unaffected or that he is suppressing hurt. The story gives room to interpret that he does feel pain, but buries it under a breezy personality.

In short, Cater’s canon behavior includes just enough evidence to suggest he experiences loneliness or mild depression, but it is largely hidden. His spontaneous wit and social life keep overt symptoms at bay. The psychological significance is that he might exemplify a “smiling mask” – a vibrant exterior that conceals a more troubled interior. His case underscores that cheerful behavior does not preclude inner sadness.

Possible Diagnoses

His chronic avoidance of deep relationships and introspective loneliness hint at features of Persistent Depressive Disorder (dysthymia): a long-term low mood and feelings of emptiness, without meeting full criteria for major depression. The hallmark of persistent depressive disorder is feeling down or hopeless for most of the day, for many days, across years. Cater often sounds weary of relationships and struggles with the idea of closeness. However, he does not display persistent fatigue, hopelessness, or dramatic mood swings in canon stories, so this would be a mild form.

Alternatively, aspects of Adjustment Disorder might be relevant. His background of frequent moves could cause chronic stress when forming new relationships, leading to anxiety and mood symptoms. He consciously adjusts by avoiding bonds (adaptive in his view) - an adaptive coping that suggests he made peace with change.

He may also exhibit signs consistent with Histrionic Personality Disorder (HPD), particularly when examining his deep-seated need for attention, his emotionally performative behavior and his avoidance of authentic, vulnerable connections. HPD is characterized by a pervasive pattern of excessive emotionality and attention-seeking behavior. Symptoms include discomfort when not the center of attention, rapidly shifting and shallow emotions, exaggerated expression of emotions and consistently using appearance or charm to gain approval.

Cater’s intense preoccupation with Magicam and social trends, coupled with his fear of becoming irrelevant reflects this need to remain in the spotlight. Despite his bubbly, extroverted demeanor, he deliberately avoids forming real bonds with others - often deflecting with humor or superficiality when things get serious. This emotional distancing aligns with HPD’s tendency toward relationships that are more theatrical than intimate. He is also quite flirty - as exemplified in the Japanese edition of Vil’s School Uniform card, in which he talks about taking him on a date - and straight up manipulative. The emotional performativity, fear of abandonment, and chronic reliance on external validation point toward a possible, subclinical expression of Histrionic Personality Disorder.

[iatrophilosophos]

"Everyone" is not "worse at driving now" because of long covid. Yall.

Long covid is real, it is fucking people up, it seems relatively common, and that is precisely why everyone needs to stop attributing everything under the sun to it and actually adopt a sense of interrogative vigor*, especially among people who are 20-30 and have, lbr, SO MANY reasons to be miserable and ill including:

Shitty moldy apartment buildings & similar environmental hazards of slum&overcrowded housing

Dietary deficiencies/cheap mass-produced and fast food (no judgement! Eat what you can get down! But not eating vegetables WILL make you sick and crazy)

Onset of chronic illnesses folks would've gotten anyway &/ may be caused by factors like air & water pollution esp wrt environmental racism

Getting older 🤷 and conversely, being a young adult struggling to take care of oneself in a world that doesn't prioritize teaching you those skills & is often actively hostile towards using them

*by interrogative vigor i mean looking for information about why something ISNT covid or isn't long covid: lots of ppl are doing gr8 keeping up on the releases around covid! But yknow, when ur hammered you wanna nail everyone. Everything deserves a good faith effort to try on several explanations, you will learn a lot more even if it turns out to be your first thought.

I'm not saying any of this to try to downplay or deny anyone's suffering and im not interested in arguing with specific individuals about whether or not they personally have long covid (idk you! Idk ur history! Not for me to say! Lots of people definitely do!). I also understand that when doctors say things like the above^ it can feel really shitty and be really unhelpful. No one wants to feel like they're miserable and dying for months, finally get in a clinic visit, and be told "idk clean ur apartment, thatll be $400. Come back in six months to pay me another $400 when it doesn't work". That sucks!

What i can say is that whether or not any given individual has long covid, you almost definitely have at least one(1) other problem. this...really ain't my first rodeo. I have been watching especially younger adults who are breaking down & being disabled by the weight of The Everything get a pathology diagnosis, apply it as the root cause of most of their problems, proselytize how everyone, actually, probably has this pathology, and watch it catch on as the definitions get vaguer and the symptoms pool gets bigger. It almost always happens with diagnoses of exclusion & diagnoses that are very subjective: ADHD, autism, crohn's disease, hEDS...

Pathologies are most useful when they define a problem in a way it can be solved. I think in a lot of spaces, especially online, they can be leaned on as a source of validation or emotional support: it's the explanation that makes your misery make sense and justifies it to others. I would suggest that, as disability activists have been saying for decades: we do not have to justify our misery. We don't need an excuse to feel. We don't need an excuse to need help.

What we do need is a) a political critique of the state of disability that doesn't let the rest of the everything off the hook in favor of yelling about individual actions, and b) a personal and community scale understanding of misery that is useful to remediating misery AND!!! GATHERING BETTER DATA about the things that are making people miserable so we can fucking! Work on it!

One of the main things I do like, with my life tbh, is help disabled people understand their health and be less miserable, and when i work with clients in a more professional setting or just chat with friends, we don't start with a pathology: we start with a map. We look at housing, we look at food access, we look at environmental conditions, all in really granular detail, because everyone has so! Many! Problems! And we start work on solving like, two of them. How are we gonna beat the mold in your home back? How are we gonna get more food into you? & this starts to clarify things. One, regardless of what's wrong with people, these kinds of steps almost unilaterally help ease the burden p immediately, and two, fixing as much junk-data misery as we can gives us a WAY better understanding of what's going on and like, lets my clients have more productive relationships with their doctors because they can work up a smaller and more detailed list of complaints to investigate (& that are more within the realm of what those docs are actually trained to handle, most medical professionals just do not have skills for helping ppl with shit life syndrome.)

Caring about long covid as a mass disabling event (which i do, very much so!) should be pushing us to define DOWN the criteria for long covid by building a deep & rich understanding of the multiple other sources of misery and disability and using real tactics to help ourselves&eachother live with that misery. This in turn lets us build more concrete models of the things that are not currently well defined and thus strategize to figure out how to deal with those; rather than lumping everything into the nonspecific symptoms disease de jour and continuing to rot six deep in apartments where everyone's literally allergic to the fucking walls.

[hwanghyunjinenthusiast]

Delayed

AN: I have been wanting to write about this hair since Super, and now I finally have the motivation and time. Super Jeonghan, you will always be famous to me. The Jeonghan brainworms are very severe right now.

Synopsis: Tonight is arguably one of the important dinners in the kingdom's history. It could make or break relations with the Wen family. Your husband, however, is much more interested in dragging you to bed than building political alliances at the moment.

General tags and warnings: Yoon Jeonghan x Fem! Reader, established relationship, implied arranged marriage, hinted at former enemies to lovers, extremely vague historical AU, royalty AU and there is zero plot here.

Smut tags and warnings: dirty talk, fingering (f. receiving), Reader gets edged once, petnames, having children gets brought up once and it's mostly a joke, nipple and breast play (f. receiving), handjob (m. receiving), piv sex without a condom and creampie.

Word count: 2.5k.

I will block you if you are a minor and/or have no easily visible indication of your age on your blog if you interact with me in any way.

“Your brother is going to lecture our ears off if we're late,” you remind Jeonghan, trying your best not to lose yourself in the way his hands drag along your sides and the way he breathes in your freshly washed hair. 

“Who cares what Joshua thinks?” he mutters dismissively into your neck, leaving goosebumps in his wake, “I'd much rather spend my evening with you instead of at that dinner filled with people I can't stand,” he finishes off, teasing the hem of your robe with his long fingers. 

“As sweet of a sentiment as that is, we have guests from the Wen family visiting. We can't just not show up,” you argue, still remaining in his arms and shuddering when his lips press against the exposed skin of your shoulder. You bite back a whimper when one of his hands continues to trail higher up your thigh, pushing the fabric of your robe out of the way as much as he can to expose as much of your skin as possible to his scorching touch. Jeonghan is arguably the smartest man you know. Hell, you'd go as far as to say he's the smartest man in the nation. You're well aware he's just trying to sway you right now but, you can't pretend he's not being very convincing right now. 

“You've got me there,” he concedes but, his hand doesn't slow in the slightest, “We'll just be a little late, that's all,” he whispers and you swear you've never heard a more tempting offer in your life. It's so much worse when he spins you around to face him. As though you weren't feeling dizzy and lightheaded enough. The lust in his eyes shines brighter than the moon outside of your bedroom window. The charcoal one of his servants applied around them amplifies his want that causes your own desire to flare up viciously. And to think, a year ago you couldn't stand this man and struggled to imagine yourself liking him in any capacity. 

How things have changed. 

“You're a terrible influence,” is all you say before pulling him by his own robe and smashing your lips together. You resist the impulse to roll your eyes when you feel him chuckle against your lips. Fortunately, his hands do a fantastic job of distracting you from his smugness. Nimble fingers untying the knot at the front of your robe with practiced ease. It doesn't quite pool around you but, it does grant your husband all the access he needs. Warm hands wasting no time in kneading and massaging as much of your tits as he's able to. Groaning into your mouth when he feels your hardened nipples underneath his palms. 

“They can't be mad at us for being late anyway,” he mumbles against your lips, “They've been harassing us for an heir for months now. We're just fulfilling our royal duties.” You laugh harder than you anticipate. Your laughter doesn't deter Jeonghan, though. His attention simply shifts to kissing along your jaw and running his hands along your body as though this is the first time he's touching you. As though he didn't have those same hands on you this morning. Out of everything you've learned about him these last few months, his seemingly bottomless lust has caught you the most by surprise. 

“You're ridiculous,” you finally manage to say once you've calmed down sufficiently, allowing your fingers to play with the ends of his hair while his mouth reacquaintes itself with your neck. “Am I wrong?” He asks brazenly, briefly shooting you a look that's equal parts exasperated and knowing before continuing with his very important task of mapping your body with as much of his lips and hands as possible.

“No, you're not,” you concede, letting him pull you towards your ridiculously ornate bed, “but, you're not doing a great job of trying to sway me into believing you suddenly care about your royal duties,” you say with a smile that hurts your face a little. “What? A man can't change his mind?” He asks with faux seriousness. 

“He can but, maybe he should change it another time. Not when we're meant to be getting dressed for a dinner that's very important for the future of our kingdom,” you muse, joining him on your silk sheets and letting him palm your thighs and litter your collarbone with messy kisses. “We'll make it,” he says with so much certainty that you really can't find it within yourself to disagree or argue with him. Especially not when his hand is making its way up your inner thigh, “We just have to be quick and efficient, that's all.” 

Jeonghan doesn't give you much time to digest his words. Dragging you into another impassioned kiss while his fingers brush your delicate folds. He swallows your quiet gasps eagerly. Devouring every sound the swipes and presses of his fingers pluck from you. “I tho–thought you said we had to hurry,” you whine when he continues to toy with you. His touches far too light and far too quick, not allowing you a second to savour them. “You're right, you're right. My apologies.” He has the nerve to chuckle into your mouth but, any snark you're about to unleash on him is forgotten instantaneously when he finally presses his fingertips to your clit with enough pressure to make your eyes flutter and your hands fist his robe. 

“Han–Hannie,” you whimper, allowing yourself to get lost in his skilled fingers and mouth. The thought of political dinners completely vanished from your mind. His mouth finds its way to your neck, kissing along your jugular before descending to your collarbone. You're certain that he could kiss every part of you over and over and over again and it would still never be enough for him. He pushes two fingers into you at the same time that he latches onto your hardened nipple. Dark eyes watching you under his lashes as his mouth draws breathy gasps of his name (well, attempts of his name) and his fingers gradually open you up for him. 

Not one to be outdone, you find enough coherence to palm him through his undergarments. Pride swelling in your chest when you feel his fingers falter and his quiet groan pressed into your skin. He's already so hard and the urge to sit on him and swallow his cock to its hilt grips you violently. So violently in fact that it doesn't take much more prompting for you to slip your hand into his undergarments and grasp him directly. Your walls squeezing around his fingers in time with the way he pulses in your hand. 

“You're going to be the death of me,” he hisses, finding his composure rather quickly (because of course he does) and curling his fingers inside you in the way he knows will make stars dance in your vision. Frankly, you wouldn't be shocked if he was a warlock because the reactions he pulls from you are not normal in the slightest. “You ah started all of th–this,” you remind him, gradually stroking him and delighting in the way his cock throbs in your palm with every movement. It's always lovely to be reminded that he's just as far gone for you as you are for him. 

Jeonghan chooses not to respond. Electing instead to increase the intensity of the way his fingers curl inside of you and covering your breasts in kisses while he shallowly thrusts into your hand. It's all messy and barely coordinated but, you find the tension in your core building. Every brush of your clit, every touch of his fingers, every kiss and lick of his mouth just pushes you closer and closer to the edge. You're sure he can feel the way your thighs quiver and the lack of focus you're able to provide to his slick cock in your hand. It's so close that you can practically taste it. 

And just like that, Jeonghan pulls his drenched fingers out of you. 

You're not sure when your eyes shut but, they fly open within an instant. Shooting your husband with a look that you're sure is equal parts betrayal and frustration. You can't help the way your hips jolt, searching for any sort of stimulation. Instinctively looking for anything to help ease the fluttering of your walls and the incessant pulse of your clit.

“Jeonghan.” 

He does at least look a little ashamed but, not enough for your liking. You can still see the amusement too clearly in his eyes. “I'm sorry, love,” he doesn't sound sorry in the slightest, “You know I can't help myself sometimes,” he says with an upturn of his lips that makes your stomach twist horribly and your ache between your thighs worsen. “Let me make it up to you,” he offers, maneuvering his way between your thighs before you can blink and recognise he's no longer in your grasp. Gods, you know his hair is going to be ruined by the time the two of you are finished but, you truly hope not. He's looked otherworldly before but, seeing him from this angle is an entirely different experience altogether. You've got to slip his servants a generous amount of gold coins in thanks. 

His kiss is gentle this time. A stark contrast to the way you can feel his tip prodding at your dripping, eager entrance. “I love you,” he sighs before pushing into you and, you really don't think that's all that fair. You really did marry a dirty trickster of a man. “Always so eager and ready for me,” he continues, his voice hoarse with desire as he finds his pace and all you can do is cling to his back for some form of grounding, “My beautiful, lovely, brilliant, erotic wife,” he grits out, one of his hands gripping your hip fiercely. 

It's hard to think of anything other than his gorgeous face twisted in the most arousing expressions you've ever seen in your life and the way his cock drags along the deepest, most intimate parts of you. You knew you were close before but, a few thrusts already have you dangerously teetering on the edge. “You're so unfair,” you gasp out while he focuses his attention on nipping at your throat while twisting and tugging at your nipples with those stupidly skilled fingers of his. 

“Unfair?” He laughs breathlessly, meeting your lidded gaze with his own, “Maybe you shouldn't have seduced me with that flimsy robe of yours,” he argues. The following snap of his hips is sharp and you can't really find it in you to respond. Grasping his own robe for purchase as the tension in your core begins to reach a fever pitch. “How was I meant to stop myself when you looked like that?” He rasps into your ear and you think it's deeply unfair how many of your weaknesses he's learned and, is using against you. He chuckles into your skin when all you're able to reply with are choked gasps and whines of his name. You can feel him smile into you when you jolt just as he presses his fingers to your swollen clit. Not giving you a chance to collect yourself before he rubs circles into you that cause your thighs to shake violently and your walls to tighten around him. 

“You wanted to cum, right?” His tone is teasing and you swear you hate him. It's difficult to speak when you can practically taste your climax with every touch of his fingers and stroke of his cock, “I want you to,” he breathes, a touch of desperation to his tone, “I want to feel it when you do. Want to feel you cum all over me, all around me,” he whispers straight into your ear and you can already feel the beginnings of electricity shooting down your spine, “I need to.” 

You're not sure what causes the cord to snap entirely. His cock? His fingers? His words? His voice? Him? You're not sure it really matters, ultimately. Your breaths turn to gasps and whimpers moans of his name while your thighs quiver around his slender hips. Every extremity tingling with the lightning you can feel coursing through you as Jeonghan continues his movements even through your mind numbing orgasm. You're too lost in a daze to make out what he's saying but, the bleary vision of him with his carefully styled hair sticking to his sweaty face and his smeared, charcoal liner make your stomach swoop all the same. 

“–beautiful you are,” are the rushed words you do manage to catch just as his grip on your hips grows harsher and his face morphs in pleasure. Jeonghan's stamina is impressive. Another aspect of him that you never quite expected. And usually, you'd be more than happy to let him continue making love to you until you both pass out but, you both have duties to attend to.

Jeonghan isn't the only one who has picked up a trick or two over the course of your marriage. 

Using what little energy you have left, you wrap your arms around him. Jeonghan lets you pull him closer to you, his breath stuttering when you intentionally clench your walls around him and drag your fingernails along the parts of scalp that aren't covered in hair clips. “Hannie,” you add an extra bit of whine in your voice, reveling in the way you feel him shudder and his cock throb inside of you, “Love you, Hannie.” He makes a noise you barely register before kissing you fiercely and holding you in place as he snaps his hips faster and faster, his blunt nails digging into your skin and your kiss being more tongue and spit than anything else. 

You're not sure what pushes him over the edge but, it's not long before he moans long and quietly into your mouth and you feel his cock shoot rope after rope of his release into you. The warmth that fills you is familiar and just so him that you can't help the soft whines that fall from your lips as you feel him ride out his climax. You can tell he's trying his best to not just collapse onto you but, the shakiness in his arms is evident and he's practically on you already. A small laugh bubbles out of you and you can't help but, smile when he shoots you a curious look.

“What?” He asks, running his thumb along the marks his nails left on your hip. 

“You can rest on me if you want to, beloved husband,” your face hurts from how much you're smiling. You must look insane, “You won't crush me.” 

Either he's just as insane as you are or he shares your bizarre sense of elation right now because he smiles right back at you before responding, “I thought we had a dinner to attend?” You decide to ignore how attractive he looks with his eyebrow raised. 

“We're already running late anyway. What's a few more minutes?” 

He really has become a terrible influence. 

Reblogs are greatly appreciated.

Do not repost, edit, copy and/or translate my work. I do not give you my permission to do so, nor will you ever receive it.

Seventeen Masterlist | Ko-Fi

[viridianriver]

'Artificial Intelligence' Tech - Not Intelligent as in Smart - Intelligence as in 'Intelligence Agency'

I work in tech, hell my last email ended in '.ai' and I used to HATE the term Artificial Intelligence. It's computer vision, it's machine learning, I'd always argue.

Lately, I've changed my mind. Artificial Intelligence is a perfectly descriptive word for what has been created. As long as you take the word 'Intelligence' to refer to data that an intelligence agency or other interested party may collect.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Back when I was in 'AI' - the vibe was just odd. Investors were throwing money at it as fast as they could take out loans to do so. All the while, engineers were sounding the alarm that 'AI' is really just a fancy statistical tool and won't ever become truly smart let alone conscious. The investors, baffingly, did the equivalent of putting their fingers in their ears while screaming 'LALALA I CAN'T HEAR YOU"

Meanwhile, CEOs were making all sorts of wild promises about what AI will end up doing, promises that mainly served to stress out the engineers. Who still couldn't figure out why the hell we were making this silly overhyped shit anyway.

SYSTEMS THINKING

As Stafford Beer said, 'The Purpose of A System is What It Does" - basically meaning that if a system is created, and maintained, and continues to serve a purpose? You can read the intended purpose from the function of a system. (This kind of thinking can be applied everywhere - for example the penal system. Perhaps, the purpose of that system is to do what it does - provide an institutional structure for enslavement / convict-leasing?)

So, let's ask ourselves, what does AI do? Since there are so many things out there calling themselves AI, I'm going to start with one example. Microsoft Copilot.

Microsoft is selling PCs with integrated AI which, among other things, frequently screenshots and saves images of your activity. It doesn't protect against copying passwords or sensitive data, and it comes enabled by default. Now, my old-ass-self has a word for that. Spyware. It's a word that's fallen out of fashion, but I think it ought to make a comeback.

To take a high-level view of the function of the system as implemented, I would say it surveils, and surveils without consent. And to apply our systems thinking? Perhaps its purpose is just that.

SOCIOLOGY

There's another principle I want to introduce - that an institution holds insitutional knowledge. But it also holds institutional ignorance. The shit that for the sake of its continued existence, it cannot know.

For a concrete example, my health insurance company didn't know that my birth control pills are classified as a contraceptive. After reading the insurance adjuster the Wikipedia articles on birth control, contraceptives, and on my particular medication, he still did not know whether my birth control was a contraceptive. (Clearly, he did know - as an individual - but in his role as a representative of an institution - he was incapable of knowing - no matter how clearly I explained)

So - I bring this up just to say we shouldn't take the stated purpose of AI at face value. Because sometimes, an institutional lack of knowledge is deliberate.

HISTORY OF INTELLIGENCE AGENCIES

The first formalized intelligence agency was the British Secret Service, founded in 1909. Spying and intelligence gathering had always been a part of warfare, but the structures became much more formalized into intelligence agencies as we know them today during WW1 and WW2.

Now, they're a staple of statecraft. America has one, Russia has one, China has one, this post would become very long if I continued like this...

I first came across the term 'Cyber War' in a dusty old aircraft hanger, looking at a cold-war spy plane. There was an old plaque hung up, making reference to the 'Upcoming Cyber War' that appeared to have been printed in the 80s or 90s. I thought it was silly at the time, it sounded like some shit out of sci-fi.

My mind has changed on that too - in time. Intelligence has become central to warfare; and you can see that in the technologies military powers invest in. Mapping and global positioning systems, signals-intelligence, of both analogue and digital communication.

Artificial intelligence, as implemented would be hugely useful to intelligence agencies. A large-scale statistical analysis tool that excels as image recognition, text-parsing and analysis, and classification of all sorts? In the hands of agencies which already reportedly have access to all of our digital data?

TIKTOK, CHINA, AND AMERICA

I was confused for some time about the reason Tiktok was getting threatened with a forced sale to an American company. They said it was surveiling us, but when I poked through DNS logs, I found that it was behaving near-identically to Facebook/Meta, Twitter, Google, and other companies that weren't getting the same heat.

And I think the reason is intelligence. It's not that the American government doesn't want me to be spied on, classified, and quantified by corporations. It's that they don't want China stepping on their cyber-turf.

The cyber-war is here y'all. Data, in my opinion, has become as geopolitically important as oil, as land, as air or sea dominance. Perhaps even more so.

A CASE STUDY : ELON MUSK

As much smack as I talk about this man - credit where it's due. He understands the role of artificial intelligence, the true role. Not as intelligence in its own right, but intelligence about us.

In buying Twitter, he gained access to a vast trove of intelligence. Intelligence which he used to segment the population of America - and manpulate us.

He used data analytics and targeted advertising to profile American voters ahead of this most recent election, and propogandize us with micro-targeted disinformation. Telling Israel's supporters that Harris was for Palestine, telling Palestine's supporters she was for Israel, and explicitly contradicting his own messaging in the process. And that's just one example out of a much vaster disinformation campaign.

He bought Trump the white house, not by illegally buying votes, but by exploiting the failure of our legal system to keep pace with new technology. He bought our source of communication, and turned it into a personal source of intelligence - for his own ends. (Or... Putin's?)

This, in my mind, is what AI was for all along.

CONCLUSION

AI is a tool that doesn't seem to be made for us. It seems more fit-for-purpose as a tool of intelligence agencies, oligarchs, and police forces. (my nightmare buddy-cop comedy cast) It is a tool to collect, quantify, and loop-back on intelligence about us.

A friend told me recently that he wondered sometimes if the movie 'The Matrix' was real and we were all in it. I laughed him off just like I did with the idea of a cyber war.

Well, I re watched that old movie, and I was again proven wrong. We're in the matrix, the cyber-war is here. And know it or not, you're a cog in the cyber-war machine.

(edit -- part 2 - with the 'how' - is here!)

[bruciemilf]

There's such. An obscure feeling knotting up in my throat when I think of Megatronus and what he could’ve been.

Imagine an AU where they meet, even briefly, when Dee was a sparkling? Before icons eroded into history?

Normally, sparklings aren't enrolled into labor so young, — However. Iacon laws apply to Iacon citizens.

Certainly not to Kaon bastards, as Sentinel so generously puts it.

Thinking about tiny Dee running through huge peds, carrying more energon cubes than his body can sustain.

His chassis burns with exhaustion and his servos ache, but he's felt what Darkwing’s massive backhand can do if deliveries aren't completed at his speed.

As expected of his unfortunate luck, he collides with a purple mech. “Oh! I'm sorry, sir! I didn't mean to— honest! Please —”

“Are you alright, sparkling?”

D-16 knows this voice very well. Miners play it on the news receiver almost all the time. It comes by rarely, very, actually, but evading fame hasn't made it any harder to admire him. Not for him.

“…Megatronus Prime?”

He can only theorize Megatronus returned from a mission. He always prefers to help soldiers in action, not speech.

But there's something extremely weird, in the way he gently retrieves the cubes from Dee’s arms into a single hand.

“Allow me to help. You shouldn't be on your own. Are your guardians nearby?”

Thankfully, his voicebox regains the ability to speak. “I…Don’t have guardians, sir.”

There’s almost a shame. Being unclaimed. No identity or history or footprint to follow home. Kaon boys learn young.

There's no heavy judgment on Megatronus’ plate, masked but not guarded, nor pity in his vocals. Simply a saddened understanding. “No?”

“No,” anyone would feel small next to a Prime. D-16 felt even smaller. “I’m— from Kaon. Sir.”

He prepares for the heavy sentence of rejection. It does not come. Judging by the slight twitch in the other’s optics, Megatronus smiles under the battle mask.

“Me too. Shall I walk you back home, then?”

“Um— to the mines, sir.”

“Mines. Interesting.”

He invites Dee to ride on his shoulder. He accepts. He talks for the whole entire walk, too excited to contain himself. He's not told to stop.

[ashipiko]

—ATLAN TREIN

All information on Atlan Trein ATM! Will most likely be updated ☆

—MORE UNDER CUT

BASIC INFORMATION:

Class: 2-A

Birthday: February 12th

Height: 179cm

Dominant Hand: Right

From: Land of Pyroxene / Shaftlands

Club: None

Favorite Subject: Music

Best Subject: History of Magic

Likes: Making friends

Dislikes: Being called “Mommy’s Boy”

Favorite Food: Bread

Least Favorite Food: Pumpkin

Speciality: Getting people interested in drama

GALLERY:

VOICE CLAIM:

CALLING HOME…

— Pomefiore Dorms - Atlan’s Room —

[VOICEMAIL BEGIN]

…Moooom, I know it’s kind of late, so I’m sending in a voicemail, but— You can listen to this in the morning while you get ready, right?

I know it’s only the first day of this school year but please, can you just give me permission to go home or something?!

I don’t wanna be here anymore! Just take me back home! I’m not learning anything new at this school. Sure, the drama and gossip is kind of interesting, but, ugh, it gets old really fast.

—N-Not that I’m the one spreading it around. Of course not! You could never expect that from your beloved son.

Uncle is already starting to freak me out, though. I swear whenever I looked up from my desk during history, either he or Lucius would be staring straight at me. He didn’t call you before me, right? Don’t tell me he did! I promise, I haven’t done anything—!

Ugh, not to mention, it’s just as hard to provide for myself as last year… I honestly think the lack of roommates is more of a con than anything. It makes it even harder to talk to people, tch.

…Like, I get that you want me to learn how to survive on my own, but seriously…? I don’t think being surrounded by all of these… what’s a word that’s not pleb but similar… Ah. Idiotic peers, is the right way to go about it.

Oh! I almost forgot the most important part about today. At the welcoming ceremony, there was a huge and giant fiasco. Apparently some person not from here crashed the ceremony. And no, not not from here as in Sage’s Island, I mean Twisted Wonderland! Isn’t that crazy? It would be funny if it was through time travel, hahaha!

They seemed quite out of it. Lost for words and confused. I think they even got caught on fire. I couldn’t help but laugh a little. I think I even heard house warden Vil critique them!

Ah— Sorry if that was a lot. You take a long while to apply your makeup anyways, right? It’s just that I don’t really have anyone here to talk to about this, and I’m quite bad at small talk, so…

You know.

…Well then. I love you. I hope I see you soon. And consider my request—!

Goodnight.

[VOICEMAIL END]

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TRIVIA:

Atlan is twisted off of Anastasia from Cinderella!

Despite this, he isn’t Trein’s son. He’s his nephew. I figured it would be a little funnier this way.

Atlan isn’t exactly liked at NRC. To say the least, his entire personality is that he talks about other people. That’s it. Not in a praising way either— He’ll talk about whatever things he’s heard around. Hence, his ear for gossip.

His tie to Yuu would most likely stem from Yuu hearing that someone had been talking about them in a gossipy way, and therefore finding out who it was (because Yuu protection squad is a very real and scary thing). Either that or tracking him down because they think he might have information.

Atlan’s reasoning behind all his talk being rumors and topics about other people is because he’s not very good at socializing himself. He grew up a little sheltered with a bratty older sister who he’d always fight with. Lots of screaming and the such. Both of the siblings ended up being a little spoiled, and with some unbearable personalities, resulting in people not really wanting to become their friends.

The rest of his family didn’t seem to mind the fact that they weren’t as liked as others, but Atlan always sort of wanted to find out a way to reach out. To have friends and see what the normal person’s life would be. However, due to the lack of support, every time he attempted to reach for his goal, it would end up in failure. Nobody to correct his behavior, and nobody who would try to help him understand himself.

His mother, noticing this behavior of his, decided that the best course of action would to be to send him off by himself to a school filled to the brim with other people his age, who he could learn to interact with— Night Raven College.

But you would guess, something like that doesn’t go well for a boy who depended on his mother and her money for comfort.

Like a fish on land, Atlan tries his best to be open and talk to people, but upon becoming independent, he realizes that he doesn’t really have much going for him. And as people got to know him, he felt as if they were right— He’s nothing but a person who trash talks people and brags about his money.

He cracks under pressure easily when the atmosphere is awkward, and has no idea how to go about small talk. Atlan isn’t the best person to tell your secrets to, as he’ll probably end up using it as a conversation starter.

Atlan has an oresama air to him, but he really just wants to be part of the crowd rather than someone alienated for something he doesn’t know how to navigate. Maybe one day he’ll find the right crowd to surround himself with. A helping hand to guide him. But for now, he’s stuck, enrolled in NRC under his mother’s word.

More to be added!

[magicalmatcha]

SWEET LIFE: Million Dollar Baby

@/touyasfavoritetrophywife tweeted!

↳ eijirou kirishima spotted in a top that costs more than my rent

LONG WRITTEN PORTION UNDER THE CUT!

“Mind if we join you?”

Bakugou glanced up from his sake, a scowl already forming. Standing before him was Shoto Todoroki, attempting a polite smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Beside him, Izuku Midoriya fidgeted in a suit that likely cost more than some people’s annual salaries, his nervous grin betraying his unease. Towering over both was Momo Yaoyorozu, poised elegantly in her Christian Louboutins, exuding an air of effortless sophistication.

The Brat Pack’s conversation halted as they appraised the trio. Bakugou’s eyes narrowed, irritation flickering across his features. Before he could voice his displeasure, Kyoka Jiro gently rested a hand on his arm, leaning in with a warm smile.

“Of course! Please, have a seat,” she chimed. “It’s been ages since finals; we’ve missed your company.”

The tension eased slightly as chairs were drawn, and the group settled into an uneasy camaraderie, the air thick with unspoken histories and fragile truces.

Shoto inclined his head courteously as he pulled out a chair for Momo, ensuring her graceful descent onto the plush seat. “Hanata, it’s a pleasure to see you,” he remarked, his tone reflecting genuine warmth. “I understand Yn had Anaïs secure your invitation.”

Sero, who had been adjusting the settings on his sleek vlog camera, looked up with a bright smile. “Yes, she really came through at the last minute. Speaking of which, where is Yn?”

Izuku lowered his head slightly, a subtle attempt to hide his amusement. Momo cleared her throat delicately. “She encountered some traffic delays but will be joining us shortly.”

“She’d better hurry,” Eijirou interjected, concern evident in his tone. “The venue’s closing soon.”

Denki scoffed, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “It’s Yn we’re talking about. They’d roll out the red carpet even if she waltzed in an hour late.”

Mina, meticulously applying a fresh layer of lip gloss while Eijirou obligingly held up a compact mirror, chimed in without missing a beat. “True, but the prime pieces are usually auctioned off early. I heard there’s a vintage Rolls-Royce Silver Spur from 1986, once owned by the Swedish Royal Family, up for grabs tonight.”

At this revelation, Katsuki’s interest visibly piqued. “An ’86 Rolls-Royce Silver Spur?” he queried, his gruff demeanor momentarily softened by genuine curiosity.

Mina nodded, her attention still fixed on perfecting her reflection. “Yes, a 1986 model. Quite the collector’s item.”

A rare grin spread across Katsuki’s face, a glint of excitement in his eyes. “Looks like this event just got a whole lot more interesting.”

As the conversation shifted towards the upcoming auction items, a subtle tension infused the air. Katsuki’s rare display of enthusiasm was palpable, his eyes gleaming with anticipation at the prospect of acquiring the vintage 1986 Rolls-Royce Silver Spur. The allure of owning a piece once graced by royalty was undeniable.

Shoto, ever observant, noticed the spark in Katsuki’s demeanor. “Planning to add to your collection, Bakugou?” he inquired, a hint of amusement dancing in his voice.

Katsuki smirked, his confidence unwavering. “If the car’s as good as they say, it’s worth the investment.”

Momo interjected, her tone informative. “The Silver Spur from that era is renowned for its craftsmanship and elegance. Securing such a model would indeed be a notable acquisition.”

Denki, always the joker, couldn’t resist chiming in. “Just make sure you don’t blow your entire trust fund on it, Bakugou.”

Laughter rippled through the group, easing the earlier tension. Yet, amidst the camaraderie, an unspoken understanding lingered: the auction ahead promised competition, and friendships would momentarily be set aside in the pursuit of coveted treasures.

As the evening progressed, the grand hall began to fill with the city’s elite, each guest a testament to opulence and influence. The Brat Pack, though accustomed to the limelight, couldn’t help but feel the weight of the event’s significance.

Suddenly, the grand doors swung open, drawing the attention of many. Y/N entered, fashionably late, exuding an aura of effortless grace. Her entrance, though delayed, was nothing short of spectacular, capturing the gaze of attendees and ensuring all eyes were momentarily fixed upon her.

Katsuki’s gaze followed her, a complex mix of emotions flickering across his features—annoyance, admiration, and something else unspoken. She liked good. Her trip to Monaco treated her well, her skin rich and sun-kissed.

Her gaze swept across the room, sharp and discerning, until it landed on familiar faces. A slow, radiant smile spread across her lips as she strode toward them, unbothered by the eyes that trailed her arrival.

“Apologies for my tardiness,” she said smoothly, her tone light, effortless.

Shoto stood without hesitation, pulling out the chair nestled between Katsuki and Sero. With a gracious nod, she sank into the seat, crossing her legs.

“Yn, stunning as always,” Sero drawled with a smirk.

She let out a soft laugh, tilting her head. “And you clean up quite nicely yourself.” Her gaze flickered over him, amused. “I have to admit, I was surprised when you asked for an invitation. What convinced you to make an appearance?”

Sero shrugged nonchalantly, the lens of his video camera catching the light as he waved it around. “Gotta pay for college somehow,” he quipped with a grin.

Yn nodded thoughtfully, her attention shifting to the man sitting beside her. Her smile softened as she turned toward him, the faintest hint of mischief in her eyes.

“Bakugou,” she said, voice smooth but with a playful edge. “How’ve you been?”

Bakugou’s gaze flickered to her, his expression immediately hardening, but there was a glint in his eyes that didn’t go unnoticed. He leaned back in his chair, taking another sip of his sake, the amber liquid almost matching the fiery look he shot her way.

“Better now that you’ve graced us with your presence, princess,” he grunted, his tone rough, but the slight smirk tugging at his lips said otherwise.

Yn raised an eyebrow, her smile widening. “Oh, how charming, Bakugou. I didn’t know you cared so much.” She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a more teasing pitch. “You usually seem too busy glaring at people to show any real interest.”

“Unlike you, I don’t waste time on things that don’t matter,” he shot back, eyes narrowing. “Not like you, sitting here playing nice with all these rich idiots.”

Yn’s lips curled in a sly smile. “Oh, don’t worry. It’s just a game. Something you’d never understand, huh?” She tilted her head as if considering him. “You’re a bit of a lone wolf, aren’t you, Bakugou? Too busy sulking in your own little world.”

He scoffed, leaning forward slightly. “I’m not sulking. Just keeping my distance from fake people like you.”

“Fake? That’s rich coming from the king of acting like he doesn’t care about anyone,” she shot back. “Tell me, Bakugou, do you think this 'I hate everyone' act is working? When everyone can see how you clearly care so much?"

He growled low in his throat, clearly agitated but undeniably intrigued. “I don’t need to put on a show for anyone,” he muttered, eyes flickering with something between irritation and amusement. “At least I’m not pretending to be some perfect little angel.”

Yn leaned in just a bit more, her gaze never leaving his. “I’m far from perfect, Bakugou,” she said softly, her voice dangerously close to a whisper. “But I’m definitely better at keeping people on their toes. Especially you.”

The challenge hung between them, a dance of words that neither of them seemed willing to back down from. Bakugou clenched his jaw, but there was an undeniable tension in the air, one neither of them could ignore.

And neither could anyone else.

Momo cleared her throat, an amused glint dancing in her eyes as she subtly interrupted the unspoken tension between Yn and Bakugou. “So, what exactly are you planning on bidding on, Yn?” Her voice was casual, but there was a knowing smile tugging at her lips.

Yn’s gaze flickered momentarily toward the stage, her expression lighting up with excitement. “An ’86 Silver Spur Rolls Royce, owned by the Swedish Royal Family,” she said, clasping her hands together in eager anticipation. “I’ve had my eye on it for a while now. Can’t resist a classic, especially one with such a… storied past.” Her lips curled into a sly grin, a mixture of excitement and confidence in her tone. “I’ll have to send a thank-you note to mother for pulling some strings and getting me this invitation.”

“And what makes you so sure you’re going to get it?” Bakugou shot back, his voice thick with challenge.

Yn turned to him, a confident smirk playing on her lips. “I can only hope.”

“Well, your hopes are getting crushed tonight, Fushikage.” Bakugou leaned forward, his gaze intense. “That Rolls is as good as mine.”

Yn raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “And what makes you so sure? Hope, like me?” she teased, her voice dripping with mock sweetness.

“No,” he said with a sharp grin, leaning even closer. “I know I’ll get it.”

Yn rolled her eyes, a small laugh escaping her lips. “Don’t get too cocky, Bakugou.”

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the auctioneer’s voice cut through the banter, echoing in the room, bringing the playful exchange to a sudden halt. Everyone turned toward the stage as the bidding began.

“The auction will now commence,” the auctioneer announced, his voice reverberating through the room. “Our first lot: The 1986 Silver Spur Rolls Royce, previously owned by the Swedish Royal Family. The bidding will start at ¥25 million.”

“¥26 million,” a man called out from the front, raising his paddle confidently.

“¥26 million, do I hear ¥27 million?” The auctioneer’s voice rang out.

“¥27 million,” Yn’s voice chimed, her paddle raised in a fluid motion. A bright smile lit up her face as she watched the auctioneer acknowledge her bid.

“¥27 million, do I hear ¥28 million?”

“¥30 million,” Bakugou’s voice boomed, cutting through the room with his signature intensity. He raised his paddle, turning slightly toward Yn with a smug grin. She shot him a sideways glance, smoothing the fabric of her Givenchy dress with a slight frown.

She sighed, her smile returning as she raised her paddle. “¥35 million.”

“¥40 million.”

“¥50 million.”

“¥51 million,” Bakugou said firmly, the competitive fire in his eyes never wavering. The tension in the air thickened.

“¥51 million and 100,000,” Yn shot back, her lips curling into a defiant smirk.

“¥51 million and 200,000.”

“¥51 million and 300,000.”

The back-and-forth continued, each bid escalating in increments, but neither willing to back down.

“Are you going to let them keep going?” Izuku leaned in toward Momo, his eyes glued to the rapidly escalating bids.

Shoto chuckled, watching the battle unfold with a bemused expression. “God, please let them. This is the most entertainment I’ve had all month.”

The auctioneer’s gavel hovered above the podium, ready to strike at any moment. The bidding had become a near standstill, both Bakugou and Yn locked in their silent, competitive stare-down, each unwilling to break first. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife, and the crowd could feel the heat between them.

“¥51 million and 500,000,” Bakugou finally grunted, breaking the silence, his eyes never leaving Yn.

She tilted her head, her lips curling into a small, mischievous grin. “¥51 million and 600,000.”

“¥51 million and 700,000.”

“¥51 million and 800,000,” Yn retorted smoothly, her voice carrying the slightest edge of playful arrogance. The room grew quieter as the bidding soared, no one daring to challenge the pair.

“¥52 million,” Bakugou declared, his tone even more firm. He leaned back in his seat, his smirk widening as he glanced over at her. “You’re getting too cocky, Fushikage. This is as close as you’ll get.”

Yn’s eyes sparkled with challenge. “Not yet, Bakugou.” She raised her paddle once again. “¥53 million.”

At this, a few heads in the audience turned, some clearly aware that the two were no longer bidding solely on the car—it was a battle of wills now, each determined to claim victory. The auctioneer, barely able to keep up, shifted uncomfortably but pressed on.

“¥53 million. Do I hear ¥54 million?” he called, almost reflexively.

Bakugou leaned forward, a little too eagerly. “¥55 million.”

Yn’s gaze flickered to him, her grin widening. She raised her paddle one last time. “¥60 million.”

The room gasped. Even the auctioneer stopped for a moment, momentarily stunned by the audacity of her bid.

Bakugou, who had been so certain of his victory, paused. His hand hovered above his paddle, fingers twitching as if considering whether to keep going or concede.

There was no way she’d go higher. Right?

The silence between them stretched, a slow realization dawning in his mind. Bakugou was about to give up when he caught sight of Yn’s triumphant smirk, and his pride refused to allow him to back down.

“¥70 million,” he blurted out before he could stop himself, his voice gruff but determined.

Yn’s smile faltered for a split second. She’d pushed him far enough, but she knew she could go one more step.

“¥80 million.”

Bakugou’s face hardened, and his eyes narrowed. She was playing the game.

The auctioneer was getting impatient, his gavel almost falling.

“Going once… going twice…” The auctioneer began.

Yn leaned back in her seat, the smirk never leaving her lips. “Sorry, Bakugou. Looks like you’ve been outbid.”

Bakugou opened his mouth, ready to argue, but the auctioneer’s voice rang out, sealing the deal.

“Sold. ¥80 million to the lady in the front.”

Yn sat back in her seat, exhaling sharply, her heart racing with the high of victory. Bakugou stared at her, jaw clenched, clearly holding back the retort that was bubbling in his throat.

“Looks like I win, Bakugou,” Yn said, her voice smooth, teasing.

Bakugou growled, "Like always."

inside scoop!

kirishima rode the metro with mina in solidarity 

izuku is being groomed to be the successor to the Fortune 500 company, All Might Enterprises, by Toshinori Yagi since he never had children and wanted it to be someone he picked rather than just the next in line at the company 

Shoto finds their relationship concerning 

mina has never set an alarm or reminder in her life. thats what dorota (and eiji) (and kyoka) is for

bakugou is obsessed with cars. hates spending his parents money rashly but makes exceptions for vintage vehicles 

mina is more blair/serena coded than yn will be and you'll see that 

however yn and bakugou will have a relationship lightly inspired by blair and chuck

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