#I felt it SO so so so much in my mid teen years. All the time. I am intimately familiar with it.

[jorvikzelda]

yeah like I might actually not be trans. It’s pretty likely I haven’t been repressing, I’ve just come to find I’m comfortable living as a woman. hey why are you bringing up the fact that I feel horrendously shitty in the specific way that, when I labeled myself as trans, I thought of as gender dysphoria every time I meet a transmasculine person in real life? I don’t think that’s relevant

[flamingpudding]

Not my Circus

A/N: I hate my brain and it's suckish timing...

Danny was a circus kid. He knew that, and so did his parents. Well, the once that took him in when he was five. He knew he had a loving family before the Fentons. Yet he doesn't know himself why he never put in more effort to return to them. No, wait, he had an idea what his five years old mind could have been thinking.

If Freakshow and his mockery of a circus had never shown up in Amity. Then Danny might have pushed the thought of his original family to the side forever. He had been a foolish kid back then, reckless and tempramental, unlike his older brother. He had tried to follow into his parents' and brother's footsteps, but he wasn't as graceful or acrobatic as they were. It was irony really with how much he liked flying and doing tricks in the air now. But still he remembered having a lot of frustrated fights with his brother about his inability to be like them.

When he got reminded he started to do a bit of a more serious research again and when he found out about his originals parents death half a year after he was first declared missing from the circus as well as his older brothers having gotten adopted too, he had dropped it all again. Pushing all of that back into the deepest depths of his mind again. His older brother was doing well. There was no need for him, for Danny.

That went well until Jazz went to university in Gotham and convinced him to go there to collage too, when he sort of forcefully retired from being a teen hero. It went well for a couple of years until his mid twenties.

Because despite Gotham being a city way bigger than Amity, there were still chances of you running into certain people.

The moment he entered the coffee shop and saw the others face, everything he had pushed aside in his mind came right back to the forefront of his mind.

How he foolishly trained in acrobatics behind his families back after another fight while they were moving towns and fell off the wagon.

How he had felt like he enjoyed not feeling presured to be like them and didn't put too much effort into returning to them when he was with the Fenton as well as thinking that his elder brother was probably happier without a stubborn little brother.

How when he looked them up he dropped it just as fast when he learned about their deaths and his elder brothers adoption.

He blinked wide-eyed at the man that stood before him a teen next to him while he held two cups of coffees. He, too, was staring at Danny frozen.

Now Danny had several options of how to handle the situation. And he most likely didn't choose the best one at first as usual. Because what he did in response at seeing Richard 'Dick' Grayson was to turn tail and run even using is invisibility and intangiblity.

What Danny didn't know was that Dick's first, thought, was someone cloned him and not that his missing brother from his days before the Waynes was back.

Thus a game of mouse was started...

[that-gay-jedi]

Save me imaginary younger siblings I made up as motivation to make responsible choices to bridge the gaps from when I didn't have sufficient self-love to do that shit for its own sake

save me imaginary older brother i made up as a positive male role model to account for the lack of a positive and present father figure

[dark-night-hero]

Imagine Kamisato Ayato who was in a good term with his former/ex significant other. Sure you were mad at him at first because why, why couldn't you be enough for him? Why can't he choose you over his family? You used to be so mad at him. Used to.

Imagine accepting the fact that the two of you were not meant to be together. Sure you were each others half, a perfect piece of puzzle that just suit each other but you were not what he needed and probably never. But he does needed you, it was just he was selfless. He needed you but they needed him too, his family needed him too. You were just aren't the best choice for his family. You used to hate him. Used to.

Imagine having to come up with the fact that he still loves you. Even after all the heartbreak and tears, he still care about you. But not as openly as he does anymore.

"You know. You don't have to do this anymore." You hate him. Looking at him kneeling in front of you trying to inspect your perfect fine ankle after accidentally tripping when you saw him in front of you. "I know." He replied, not looking up at you. "Then why-" "It doesn't mean that we're done that I stopped caring. I still does." He cut off before standing up. "I think it's all fine." "I told you it was nothing..." You trail off as he gave you a smile, a small sad smile while his eyes looked at you with love. So muh love that disappear in a blink of an eye like it was never there. "I'll get going now. It was nice seeing you again." You hate that even without asking, you forgive him. "Hey commisioner." He stop mid walk but never turn around. "Feel free to drop by the cafe if you need a break." Before he could turn around, you turn your back at him.

Imagine Kamisato Ayato who was in a good term with his ex. The way the two of you slowly went back to what the two of you were before. Friends. Acting like none of the heartbreak, tears, happiness and love happened. Things were much better of this way. Sure it still hurt when you saw him with his fiance that would surely bring back their clan to their former glory but. It was fine. It felt weird that it was fine. Not too long after he got married, you does too.

Imagine often coming to the estate with your kids. Life is okay. You are happy on how things played out, you are contented with the life you have. But sometimes, you would often catch gaze of Ayato looking fondly of your children. "Strange." You spoke out of the blue that caught his attention. "Now none of your children looks like you." You chuckle. "It would nice." Is that an insul- "A child that looks like you would be nice." "My spouse said that alot, maybe we should have one last try." "You should." Fool. You thought as you look away, stop looking like that while saying that. "But hey! Maybe you and-" "No. Once is enough." "... You have a twin though.."

Imagine once in a while, a small get together would happened between just the two of you in the first place the two of you met. In that old cafe you and your spouse now manage. "Are you happy?" It was a question that came out of the blue with a very serious tone that makes you look into him as you gently set your drink down. Following his gaze, you saw a familiar teenage blue hair guy and one of your children a few years younger than his son. A chuckle left your lips. That made him turn to look at you. "We're not getting any younger aren't we." You smile and continue to look at the teens from afar, fingers playing with your wedding ring. "I've been living the happiest moment of my life ever since, Ayato." "I see." Once again, there was a small sad yet genuine smile on his lips. "Are you, happy?" You asked back. You then watch him look outside, "I'm fine."

Imagine as you bid him goodbye, staring at his back. Its strange how the man who seemed to have everything looked so lonely as he walk away from you. But then once again, you just turn your back at him like he did. Walking inside your home were your family is waiting for you.

There was a saying that if who people remained friends after ending their relationship. There is a possibility that they never loved each other and the other being one of them still hold a lingerie feeling for the other. But who knows. Maybe in another life. He wouldn't have to chose anything else before you.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2024° ;)

:start na ng ojt ko the day after tom. I am so fucking nervous being a front desk trainee, wish me luck on the VIP desk.

[barleyo]

*licks teeth and pins u against the wall* so uh...how bout one of those big bro leon fics, *I say with a glint in my eyes*

Purist.

Big Bro! Leon X F! Reader (smut)

A/N: *quivers and covers chest nervously* w-w-well, i-i guess i could write a— a little something... *eyes shift awkwardly, avoiding eye contact with a gulp* uhm... here. i, uh, i hope you enjoy... (some of the dialogue is inspired by the 2007 movie teeth :3)

Tags: incest (brother-sister)/(daddy-daughter mentioned), coercion, dub-con, religious themes, allusion to p in v/a /no real penetration mentioned, fingering (anal and vaginal f receiving), brief mentions of previous sexual assault/abuse

Wordcount: 2.1k

You spent the entirety of your mid to late teen years obsessed with God. With purity. With salvation. Your parents dragging you and your brother, Leon, to church must've eventually struck a cord with you. Ever since the youth pastor chewed up that bubblegum and offered it around to everyone, making the point that nobody wanted a tainted 'treat,' the idea of staying untouched seemed to just click into place for you. Your body was a sacred thing, not to be touched or looked at lustfully by any man. 

Complete abstinence is easier than perfect moderation, as the great St. Augustine said. Why not swear yourself to chastity? A bond of complete celibacy, of purity, promised by you to your Lord.

Unfortunately, your big brother didn't seem to feel the same way.

Leon was your exact opposite, in the way that he couldn't spend a night alone. While you would sit in your room, reading or studying like a proper girl, the wanton sound of a random female companion of his would rip through the paper thin walls of your parent's house. Every night, or what felt like it, he would bring home a 'date,' as you called them, though, he would sooner call them 'easy sluts.' 

You weren't easy. Leon liked that about you. Every crude joke he made at your expense, wether at the dinner table or in the brief expanse of the hallway near your rooms, you shut down immediately. You were too maidenly for your own good, and unafraid to show it. Oh, he really liked it. Not like those other whores he'd snatch up on the way home, were you? His boyish, smug grins did nothing to bring you, his darling little sister, to your knees in the way it did other women your age. 

Maybe that was why he did it— bringing those girls over. He knew good and well you could hear them— hear him— through the thin walls. He could tell based on the way you looked at him with scornful eyes the morning after as he accompanied the umpteenth girl of his to the front door, tactfully kicking her out with the promise of calling her back. Of course, he did no such thing, the womanizer that he was. He'd wink at you. Taunting you. 

Maybe he did all of this to tempt you, to show you what you were missing out on. Maybe he was sending you a message. An offer? No. The more likely option was that he just liked to tease you. Yes, that seemed more 'brotherly.'

It was another night. Another sleepless night of being tormented by the lewd sounds coming from your older brother's room. You could practically hear the individual squeak of every spring in his old mattress as he used whatever girl he had with him now. You heard her muffled voice. Poor girl must've had her face pushed into the pillow. Maybe she was ugly. Leon always let the pretty ones look at him while he sexed them up— you could tell because you heard their voices much clearer in the night. 

It was nearly melodic. Hearing almost every movement between the two. You could piece it together in your mind, and before you knew it, you had your eyes tightly shut, imagining the scene.

You pictured it in more detail than you thought the Lord would be appreciative of. You saw your brother's toned back with his tapered waist, his taut muscles clenching and coated in a slick sheen of sweat as he worked his hips against a faceless girl's heat. It was a dance. You seemed to imagine it more passionate than it sounded. Where the girl next door was certainly getting pounded, your imaginary girl was being treated tender and soft. Gentle strokes accompanied by a firm grasp. 

You were yet again reminded the next day of how much different your real brother was to the version of him your mind conjured up the previous night. Not nearly as sweet, that was for sure. 

You pushed into his room, not bothering to give him the dignity of a knock. That was another thing he liked about you. For how meek and God-fearing you seemed to be, you could be a real bitch to your dear ol' brother. He found it sort of funny, the juxtaposition between how you really were and how his lackadaisical manner made you act. 

"We need to talk about your girlfriends," you said, slamming his door behind you. The breeze caused by the door made a few of his classless pin-up girl posters swish upwards, hanging on for their lives against the black walls of his room by the tiny scraps of tape he stuck them with. 

"Don't have any," Leon said casually, legs spread and arms over his chest. He tossed a baseball up and down, catching it in his palm as he leaned his head against his headboard. 

You huffed and stomped over to his bedside to snatch the baseball. He let you grab it, shooting you an amused grin as you palmed the ball far too big for your hand. 

"Well, whatever you want to call them—"

"Let's just call them whores, yeah?"

"I'm not going to call them that," you spat, eyebrows raising into your hairline. "Your 'friends.' How about that? Your 'friends' need to stop coming around. I can't live like this. I can't sleep!"

"Awh, poor thing. Your grade in 'prissy bitch' class must be dropping now. Y'fall asleep during your stick-up-the-ass exam, college girl?" he asked, nose scrunching teasingly as he eyed you. He reveled in how your offended look grew. 

"Can you take anything seriously, you ass?" You dropped his baseball to the floor and kicked it under his bed, to which he mumbled 'bitch' and an additional explicative or another under his breath. "Last night was ridiculous. I didn't get a wink of sleep. These walls aren't nearly as thick as you act like they are."

"Oh, you heard that? What, it turn you on or something?"

You stilled, arms rising back to cover your chest defensively. It didn't turn you on, per se, but it did something, that was for damn sure. You weren't about to confess that to Leon, though. Not if you had a choice. 

"No, it did not 'turn me on,' Leon. Do you hear yourself when you speak, or does everything come out on instinct?"

"Instinct. So, Virgin Mary, what're you harassing me about now? You don't enjoy the sweet, sweet sound of random chicks getting smashed?"

He sat up straight, back flush to his headboard now as he turned to face you. 

You got a good look at his features. Looked a lot like your dad. Score! Perfect excuse, suddenly coming to mind.

"No, I don't. I'm sure daddy doesn't appreciate it either," you said, trying to guard yourself with the veil of your father. 

Leon snorted. "Well, I guess daddy dearest will just have to come tell me himself then, won't he? Seems like he's too drunk nowadays to hear anything," he said, voice nearing bitter territory. 

"Don't talk about dad like that," your voice taking on a more protective edge in your father's defense. "He's going through a rough time. He doesn't need your shit."

"And I don't need yours. This whole abstinence thing has your horse pretty high, you know." Leon shifted his legs over the side of his bed, elbows resting on his knees. Most of the humor he had left in his voice had drained out, being replaced with a seriousness. "You aren't slick."

You narrowed your eyes at him, eyebrows pinching together. "What are you talking about?"

"Come on, sis," he said, mocking tone lacing the nickname, "we both know who you're saving yourself for, and I've been real patient up until now. I'm not gonna wait forever."

You wanted to repeat yourself, you wanted to ask just what the hell he meant by that, but he interrupted your train of thought.

"You think I couldn't hear you listening like a little pervert? Hell, even before I started bringing girls home. I couldn't jerk off without seeing you peeking through the crack in my door. Like I said, you aren't slick. You act like you're all hard and saintly, but you're just a nasty pervert, aren't you?"

So many thoughts ran through your head. So many emotions. Embarrassment, for one, at the fact that he knew of your dirty secrets regarding him. Anger at how casually he was airing this information. A strange warmth, as well, at how he teased you. You should've been screaming at him, at twisting this around on him, but you couldn't. 

"I'm sorry," you managed to squeak out, eyes dropping to your feet in shame. 

Leon just hummed in response, clearly not in dire need of an apology. In fact, he looked rather unfazed, like it was no problem for him at all.

"If you want to apologize, you can bring your little ass over here. Sit down, pervert."

"I don't know why you're acting so fidgety about this. You give it up to dad all the time, what's so different about me?"

Fuck. Leon really knew everything about you. This entire night was like having someone read your diary out loud to you, hearing every 'secret' you thought you had kept so well. 

"Shut up," you said, eyes clenched shut tightly as Leon curled his fingers up against your g-spot again. You bit back the urge to whine or moan. With how much he was teasing you, you didn't feel that he deserved the satisfaction. 

"Wonder what everyone would think. Daddy's good girl is good for more than she lets on, huh? Bet everyone already knows. There's no way a girl like you hasn't been taken before. Ain't a man on earth who wouldn't try it, y'know?"

You hated how that made you tighten around his fingers. Was that really what made you cum? Your brother calling you rapeable? The entire situation was so far out of your wildest imagination. A far cry from what the other girls he entertained had experienced, you were sure of that. 

Or, maybe, the way that he let your face upwards was what did it for you. Last you remembered, the rule was pretty girls faced up, ugly girls got flipped. Guess that counts for something. 

"I'm real fascinated by your pussy," Leon said after a few moments of silence. He was sitting between your legs, cock sprung free from his boxers as he kept his fingers plugged into your hole. He watched as your hole continued to kick and squeeze over his two digits. 

"I can tell. You won't stop lookin' at it," you mumbled, trying and failing to prop yourself up on your palms. 

"Not what I meant. Just meant it's pretty."

You don't know why you blushed at such a meaningless, near-objectifying compliment. A small part of you said that if Leon had seen so many in his life, and he said yours was pretty, then surely that meant something. You felt honored, in a weird way. 

"Bet it'll be even tighter around my cock."

"What? No, no, we can't do that, Leon," you said quickly, pulling away from his finger with a squelch. You tried to pull your panties up, but he stopped you. 

"Who says?"

You thought about it. You wanted it, sure. Really bad, actually. So, who says? Who said that you couldn't take a brief pause from chastity? You quickly told yourself what you said each time your father got a little too drunk a little too late a night and missed your mother a little too much. 

"Just be gentle," you said, exactly how you would on the nights where you looked a little too much like your mother. 

"Don't worry."

You expected to feel his cock swab against your folds. You expected to feel the eerily familiar pinch and stretch of being penetrated, but it didn't come. Your walls clenched almost eagerly around nothing. 

Instead, your eyes widened in shock at the feeling of a finger trailing around your asshole. Leon aimed his head forward and spat a fat glob onto your rim, rubbing it around to coat your hole. 

"Wait— Leon! Don't do that," you whined, feeling him finger sink in and stretch the ring of muscle. 

"You aren't a true-virgin anywhere else, sis. I wanna pop this cherry before someone gets to it before I do."

God, he was cruel. What was crueler was the way he prodded another finger into your hole like it was nothing. At least he had the awareness to spit again, coating the middles of his fingers in an attempt to ease the pain in your end. It worked, as well as spit could. 

His head dipped down and his tongue latched to your clit, giving it a few purposeful sucks before pressing a kiss to it too, piercing eyes looking at you from between your thighs. 

"Besides, anal doesn't really count, right? Isn't that what all you pure-not-so-pure girls say?"

[lilislegacy]

okay here are my own personal headcanons on pjo/hoo characters having kids, assuming certain couples stay together and no one dies. also my thoughts are subject to change lol.

percy and annabeth have three (mostly) planned kids, starting when they’re in their mid to late 20s and spanning about 5-6 years. and then another one comes along when they’re like 40. (total accident). a couple boys, a couple girls - all sassy hyperactive geniuses running around causing mass chaos 24/7. then when their bio kids are mostly grown and out of the house, they foster demigod kids who don’t have homes. i can also see them being in their like 50s and fully adopting a little demigod baby who doesn’t have a family (because they have plenty of love to give). basically at every stage of their life, their house is always chaotic, loud, and full of safe and loved kids. they are parents to anyone who needs them

grover and juniper are gonna have like 7 kids or something. their own little school of children. and all super close together, which is ironic since they don’t have the strict timeline that humans do.

frank and hazel have exactly one kid, probably in their mid 20s. and they are SO happy with their one. the kid is calm, sweet, quiet, and smart. much better behaved than most demigods (although there could be a rebellious phase in the teen years)

nico and will adopt one or two, maybe a set of siblings, but not until they’re in their 40s. because i feel like nico thinks he never wants kids, but then over time, he realizes he does. plus he wants to do it for will.

piper doesn’t want kids. she thought she did at first, mainly because she felt like she was supposed to, but as she gets older she realizes she loves the freedom of not being a full time parent. she can pop in, be fun aunt piper to all her friends’ kids, and then leave. and she’s super happy that way.

i think leo would be scared as fuck to be a dad, and never plan on it, but i can see him having a singular daughter. definitely not planned. maybe even naming her after his mom. i really see leo being a single dad for some reason, idk why or how though. but he would be awesome. he’d expect his daughter to be all troubled and messed up like him, but she turns out amazing (because she has an awesome dad)

[trippinsorrows]

with me + part one

authors note: well, i got some type of writers block working on two other RR wip's so opened a new google doc and ended up with this. prob gonna be 3 parts, maybe 4. there's an almost five year time jump after this one, can you guess why? also, joe's wife is an oc, not galina.

first time posting my roman writings on here and trying not to freak out tbh

warnings: angst, infidelity, language, suggestive content

song inspo: with me by destiny's child

word count: 4,000

You know that assignment everyone at some point in their education where they research what they want to be when they grow up and share it with the whole class for a grade? Yeah, that big mammoth of a question that somehow you’re supposed to have confidently answered before even reaching double digits.

That was always super easy for you.

From as far back as you can remember, you wanted to be a teacher. It took until you were in middle school, almost high school for you to settle on an elementary school teacher, college for a specific grade. But, the teaching profession always called to you.

You chalk it up to your grandmother, undoubtedly one of your favorite people in this entire world. She was also an elementary school teacher who taught until she was expectedly called home when you were 14. Some part of you wonders if you’ve never even allowed yourself to entertain any other professions because of her loss. She was your best friend, and following in her footsteps was wanted but also felt somewhat necessary. Like you had to in order to honor her and her legacy.

A couple years into your career, you still think about that, how you’ve known from such a young age what you wanted to do with your life. Well, one part. 

In other areas, maybe the most important areas, you were lost as all of the outdoors. Mostly in one area, if you’re being honest, and truthfully, it’s not even what you want in as much as it is how you get there. The path is relatively simple: find a man, fall in love, get married, have babies, live happily ever after.

It’s such a stereotypical trajectory, but one you’ve also envisioned for yourself since your late teens. You’d gotten partying all out of your system during the early college years, somewhat in high school as well. Now in your mid 20s, soon to be late 20s, all you want to do is prepare to eventually settle down. Sooner rather than later.

And the issue isn’t even having no prospects. You have a prospect, he’s just unavailable. 

Because he’s already fucking married.

But can you even call him a prospect when that implies there’s some chance? Because there’s zero chance. You know this. You know this very well, too well. So why you still allow him into your bed and inside of you is beyond you. Yes, the sex is out of this world, but you desire more than that. Maybe not at first, but almost three years deep into this arrangement, most definitely.

You still think back to your first meeting.

Your best friend won a contest that not only granted her two front row tickets to a Smackdown show but backstage passes as well. You met so many wrestlers that night, some you grew up watching on TV as the little tomboy that you were as a kid. But, it was one wrestler in particular: tall, muscular, hair more beautiful and silky than any silk press your beautician mother could ever style, that changed your life. Whether for better or worse remains to be seen. 

He was attractive, extremely, possibly one of the most beautiful men you’d ever met. But, the attraction was short-lived when you spotted the wedding band on his left hand. You’d be lying if you tried to say that was when the attraction sizzled out. It diminished, but it was still there. Still, you didn’t think much of it, that was until you received a call from a number on your phone that you didn't recognize. 

Why you even accepted the call is still a mystery. You never answered random calls, yet that one was an exception, an exception that resulted in you having an unexpected phone conversation with Roman fucking Reigns. He explained that he got your number from your friend who’d exchanged contact information with a wrestler she met that night as well. They were messing around too, that much you knew. And good for her. He, unlike Roman, was not married and therefore free to fuck around.

The conversation lasted much longer than it needed to, especially given the flirtatious nature it quickly took on. It was wrong, you knew this well, very well. He took vows, but you were also aware of those vows. And heat no point pressured you into anything, you could have cut it off. Flirtatious he was, but forceful he was not.

The conversations increased in frequency and length over a matter of weeks that turned into months, and before you knew it, your day started and ended with either a text or phone call from the wrestler. 

A small part of you knew that it would eventually escalate into more, a man like him seemed like he needed more. But, you stupidly tried to tell yourself that when that time came, you would remain strong and draw the line in the sand with just communication. Even if it was just as wrong as anything else.

It was a silly thought. 

Your resolve was weak.

You absolutely did not need to accept his invitation to fly you out to one of his shows, and you damn sure didn’t need to allow him to take you back to his hotel where your legs ended up wrapped around his waist as he pounded into you—among other things—until the early hours of the morning.

The days after that were rough. You felt absolutely disgusted with yourself. It was one thing to flirt with a married man, but it was an entirely different thing to fuck a married man. He wasn’t yours. He belonged to someone else. He had a life with some other woman. You had no right to insert yourself into that union, so you decided to sever contact with him, deleting his number from your phone and shoving the experience in the ‘biggest regret of your life’ box with no intention of reopening it.

Unfortunately for you, Roman, Joe, as he asked you to call him, was a persistent bastard.

You ignored his texts, so he called. You ignored his calls, so he texted. You ignored both, and this motherfucker showed up at your goddamn door. There were multiple times you could have and should have ended things, that being another perfect opportunity. If you told him to leave that night, not allowed him into your apartment, he would have listened. He was stubborn and resolute but also respectful. If you told him to leave, really told him, he would have done so.

But, you didn’t. You allowed him into your place and similar to the last time you were in his presence, ended up spread out on your bed with him balls deep inside you until you couldn’t feel your lower half. 

Now, fast forward three years later, not much has changed. You two don’t communicate quite as much in the day, and his visits are more spread out given the company’s current efforts at pushing him as the new face of the company. But, that doesn’t stop his visits to come see you and flights he puts you on to come see him, both of which always end with him leaving your legs jelly and throat raw.

All the while his wife sits at home unaware of her husband’s consistent residence between your legs.

The thought alone makes you sick, revolted at yourself, at how you’ve allowed yourself to reach this point in life. Closer to 30 than 20 and going on 3 years of being a mistress to a married man, a man who can never give you the future you want yet refuse to let go. 

Not that you’d ever allow yourself to really acknowledge why. 

That’s….that’s just too much.

________

Pillow talk was just something that naturally happened between the two of you. It made sense given that your relationship started out with just talking. He seemed interested in knowing more about you, about your likes and dislikes. He shared his as well. You weren’t beyond admitting that Joe was insanely easy to talk to, the flow of conversation always natural, never forced. There never seemed to be a dry spot between you two. 

And whether it was an innate ability to pick up on the emotions of others or just his, you could always tell when something was bothering him, could see when he came to you with a burden he didn’t want to discuss.

Not that that stopped you from asking. If he declined to talk about it, you respected it, didn’t push. But, more often than not, he would end up sharing things with you, mostly concerns regarding his career.

It seemed he visioned one thing for himself, while Vince McMahon saw another. He felt frustrated at times, especially when the fanbase started pushing back more. He never admitted as such, but you could see it hurt his feelings. How could it not? Kayfabe or not, Joe was still a real person with real feelings, regardless of the role he played.

And at some point, his visits to see you stopped always involving sex. That happened majority of the time, but there were occasions when he just seemed like he needed someone to be around, a distraction, someone to talk to. 

Someone like you.

“Come on.” You jumped up off the couch and offered your hand that he looked at with disinterest. “Don’t make me drag your big ass. It’ll probably break my back.” He lifts his brow, and you roll your eyes. “Joe, come onnnn.”

“Where are we going?” He finally asks, all the while sighing heavily and standing up. Though unnecessary at this point, he still takes your hand. You try not to think too much of the gentle squeeze he gives.

“To my kitchen.” 

Glancing over, he gestures with his thumb. “The place that’s like 3 feet away.”

You suck your teeth and shove against him. “Don’t be an ass. We’re gonna bake cookies.”

“Bake?”

“That’s what I said.” Though clearly skeptical, he follows you into the kitchen and watches as you start gathering supplies. “I spent a lot of summers with my grandma, and whenever either of us were having a bad day, she’d take us into the kitchen and we’d bake chocolate chip cookies. She’d always say there’s nothing a good chocolate morsel can’t cure.” 

Reflecting on those memories, so fond and cherished, brings a despondent smile to your face.

His eyes fall on you, sensing the sudden sadness. “You miss her.”

“Every day….” Shaking your head, you make a conscious effort to not make this about you and your grief. “Now, we need music.” You settle on some random “cookout” playlist that aids in setting the playful mood. To your surprise, yet not surprise, Joe keeps up without struggle. He's a fast learner, easily following along to your detailed instructions and explanations. Things get messy at times, as one does when baking, but it only causes the two of you to share laughter. Especially when you ‘accidentally’ get flour on each other. For you, it was an accident. His was definitely intentional. 

Still, between the laughter, light conversation, and New Edition serving as backdrop, it’s a sweet moment. 

“And now we wait,” you announce, plopping down on the sofa. “Wrestler by day, baker by night. Who’d a thunk it?”

He chuckles. “I never knew you could cook.”

At that, you nearly choke on the water bottle you’d grabbed off the coffee table. “Me? Cook? No. Not at all. There’s a reason every thanksgiving, my family only asks me to bring the drinks. My mom is the cook. Grandma was the baker. I can make cookies and a few select items. That’s it.”

You can still hear your grandma’s voice in the back of your head, chiding you for never allowing your mom to teach you how to cook. It just never garnered your interest, even when they swore up and down you’d never find a husband without knowing how.

Maybe they were right.

He joins you in the living room, settling on the other end of the sofa. “Maybe I could teach you then.”

His words—and offer—suprise you. “You can cook?”

“Don’t look so surprised.” He rolls his blue eyes. Some days you love the contacts, others you hate them. Today is a love day. They make his beauty even more exquisite. “Because of the big age difference between me and my siblings, it was just me and my mom a lot of times. They were either out and about or had either moved out. She’d ask me to help her out in the kitchen, and I picked up on a couple things.”

“You’re a fast learner.” That much is very obvious, in several areas of his life. “Was it ever hard? Like, not really having them around?”

He seems to think about her question before answering. “Yes and no. The twins moved to Florida when I was like three, and we became close instantly. It was like suddenly having two new brothers. Obviously, they didn’t live with us, so they weren’t always around, and those times were hard, I guess. But the older we got, the more we did together.”

The Usos. Also wrestlers trying to make names for themselves. He really does hail from a legendary dynasty. “I get that. It was just me and my mom, and she worked a lot to support us, so that’s why I spent so much time with my grandma. And I loved it, but sometimes it got lonely not really having siblings.” You look over at him, studying this massive specimen of a man who seems so unsure of himself right now, unsure of his future. He’d hinted at such during their prep, but you bookmarked the comment to revisit. “It’s all gonna work out, you know.”

His gaze is on you, partially disinterested, mostly in disagreement. Joe knows what you're referring to. He chuckles, darkly, “you sound sure.”

“I am,” you counter calmly. Moving to sit on your knees, you continue, “no matter what it takes, you make them respect you. You can do it, and when you finally find your footing, you’ll be one of the best to ever do it. Mark my words.” 

You’ve never been one to build up false hopes in anyone, far too familiar with the sting of disappointment. So every word leaving your mouth drips with sincerity. Joe is so much more than a “pretty face” or someone who got lucky by being born into a wrestling dynasty with a golden spoon in his mouth. He’s worked his ass off, you see how he works his ass off, so the last thing you’d want to witness is him become his own worst enemy by getting too into his head.

“You’ll see. They boo now, but pretty soon they’ll be cheering.” Moving to your knees, you lift your arms in a theatrical display. “Roman, Roman, Roman.” You yelp when his strong arms pull you into his lap, legs spread on either side of his thick thighs. “Would you let me hype you up? Like, damn.”

His smile, so beautiful and genuine, warms your soul. His spirits are lifted, and that’s all that matters. Joe’s hands are on your hips, palms massaging you through your shorts. You move your arms around his neck, resting on his strong shoulders “Thank you.”

It’s at this moment, you foolishly allow yourself to wonder. Wonder what it would be like for this to be the norm, for him to always return to your place when he has time off or in between shows. Wonder what it would be like to consistently be this safe space for him, to be in his corner and not just in the shadows, but in the light. To be supporting him ringside. To be his.

And for a second, you pretend. You pretend that you are his, and he’s yours. That this is your man, and you’re his girl. Just the two of you. Nobody else.

But the comedown from that is devastating, like a boulder sitting on your chest, a butcher knife to your heart. Because he isn’t yours. He never was, and he never will be. 

Mood sullen, you lower your arms to separate yourself. “I should…” You clear your throat, climbing off of him. The air is suddenly too stuffy, the room too small. You need space. “I should go check on the cookies.” 

Joe’s not stupid, far from it. You know that he has to pick up on your 180 in mood, yet he doesn’t pursue you, doesn’t ask questions, and you’re thankful for that. You need to not be around him right now, not so close, not so connected, not so in love.

You need to let him go. ________

“I can’t do this anymore.” 

Joe’s in the midst of sliding his shirt over his head, sitting on the edge of the bed when your voice, low and quiet, stops him mid movement. “What?”

“I said.” You blow out a big breath, unsure why your chest suddenly feels so heavy. “I can’t do this anymore.”

At that, he angles his body so that he can look at you, assess your face. He’s a big eye contact person. “What are you talking about?”

Irritation piques. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, Joe.” Gesturing between the two of you, you kick the blankets off and quickly reach for your t-shirt that got discarded last night. Being naked in front of him suddenly feels uncomfortable. “This. It’s done.”

He pauses for a second and then shakes his head, resuming his dressing. “Okay.”

His tone is dismissive, like he doesn’t believe you. Like he thinks you’re playing around. Of course he would be in one of those moods, where he’s more irritable, less receptive and fucking stubborn. “I’m serious.”

“I’m not doing this shit with you right now.” Joe gets up and continues dressing himself, prompting you to climb out of bed and move in front of him. 

He can’t avoid his way out of this. You won’t allow it. It’s time to finally rip the bandaid off. 

You’ve sat on this for the last two weeks, since he last left your apartment and you realized you’d stupidly allowed yourself to fall for this man. Fall for a man who walks around with a wedding ring on his left hand, who’s always had that wedding ring from the moment you met him. You’re not upset with him, not as much as you’re upset with yourself.

You grew up the product of an affair, felt the stinging pain of being rejected by a parent whose selfishness resulted in the creation of life, a life he wanted no part of. Seen how your mom literally begged your piece of shit father to be in your life, to play some role. Heard how he cruelly rejected her, rejected you, calling you your mother’s bastard. A mistake.

It devastated you so deeply that you still can’t really talk about it without getting emotional. 

And yet, you idiotically found yourself playing the same role you used to judge your mother for: the other woman. 

It’s a role you stepped in, and one you must now step out of.

“There’s nothing to do.” You run your hands over your face and shake your head. Choosing to have this conversation at almost 4 o’clock in the morning probably wasn’t the best move, but you also know that if you give yourself more time, you’ll find a reason not to do it. And you need to do this. “You have a wife, Joe. A whole ass woman who loves you and would probably let you fuck her just as much as you like to fuck me. Go be with her, and if not her, find someone else, cause I won’t be that for you. Not anymore.” 

You’re not exactly sure what part of what you just said registered with him, but it’s obvious something did by the change of tone he takes. “Where is this coming from?”

“It’s coming from where it should have come a long time ago,” you answer, crossing your arms over your body. “This was never right, and I refuse to partake in it anymore. I won’t be your whore anymore.”

You didn’t expect hurt to flash in his beautiful eyes nor for him to move closer to you, that hurt intensifying when you back away. He can’t touch you. You can’t allow that, because all it takes is only touch, one longing gaze, and you’ll be putty in his hands. This has to end. “Is that really what you think you are to me?”

“I don’t know what I am to you, Joe,” you answer, honestly. It’s something you’ve battled back and forth with for nearly three years. Just what is it about you that keeps him coming back, keeps him in your bedroom, inside of you. At face value, it’s the sexual compatibility between you. Below the surface level though, there’s maybe more. You’ve never allowed yourself to venture there, and you’re certainly not about to right now. You know how you feel about him, but you refuse to really ask yourself how he feels about you. “And truthfully, it doesn’t matter, cause it doesn’t change anything.”

“So, that’s just it?” His voice is wounded, handsome face painted into a mixture of scowl and a frown. “Almost three years, and you want to throw it all away, for what?”

“For what…..Joe, you are married. You have a whole wife at home. Whatever issues you have that cause you to step out, work that shit out. Learn how to be with her. Cause I’m not doing it any more. I—I can’t.” Emotion imbues your voice toward the end, and you hate that shit. You don’t want him to see, to know, how much this has been eating you up as of lately. “I’m gonna be 30 in a few years. I want to be married. I want to have a family. I deserve that, and I’ll never have it as long as I’m messing with you, so I’ve gotta let you go.” You swallow the deep lump in the back of your throat. “And you’ve gotta let me go.” 

This time, this time you can see the part that wounds him, that digs into his chest. You’ve gotta let me go. 

Joe is fast, fast enough to move directly in front of you, large hands holding your face. He says your name, desperate almost. “Tell me what to do, tell me what you want, and I’ll do it. Just….” He stops, and you close your eyes, refusing to see if it’s his own emotions coming up. You can barely handle your own cascade of feelings right now and refuse to take on his. “I can’t lose you.”

What you want…..

What you want is for him to never leave. What you want is for him to stay with you, to be with you. What you want is for him to have never met Jadah, never married her, never committed his life to her. 

What you want is for him to be yours and only yours, but what you want….is also what you can never have. 

“I—I want you to leave, Joe.” The words burn your lips, scorch your throat, ache your soul. “And this time….don’t come back.”

You can’t bring yourself to open your eyes, to see the result of your heartbreaking, even if honest request. It’s because you know seeing him hurt will only cause your resolve to crumble, and you can’t have that. You have to be strong, have to be the woman your mother couldn't.

So, you remain there, remain silent as he steps away from you, his touch vanishing. There’s such an emptiness in his wake.

It’s only when you hear the front door of your apartment shut that you finally feel it, the caving of your stomach, the heavy lump move from the back of your throat, the release of the loud sob you didn’t realize you’d been keeping at bay. 

It’s when you finally allow yourself to feel all of the emotions of a woman who just told the only man she’s ever loved to leave. 

If only you knew his departure was just the beginning of the rest of your life.

[borninwinter81]

Queer horror from my teens

I periodically wonder whether these books are still known and read by young goths and horror fans as they were all extremely important to me in my teenage years, so I thought I'd share them.

Though I'm cishet, during the mid 90s two of my favourite authors wrote primarily queer fiction: they were Anne Rice and another author from New Orleans who is now known as Billy Martin.

He came out as a trans man in 2011, however these books were published prior to that so unfortunately you have to search for them under his deadname. This is why I've used that name in the tags on this post. I don't believe the books were ever reprinted with his current name.

Though I loved Rice, I always felt a more immediate connection with Martin due to his vivid portrayal of subcultures like goth and punk, and how it felt to be a teenager who was part of them. I could see myself in many of his characters as I had the same interests, listened to the same music, and shared the same sense of social alienation. Remember in the 90s the Internet was still a reasonably new thing, and many of us didn't have a home Internet connection at all. There was certainly no social media, no YouTube, and no real way to meet and interact with like-minded teens unless you were lucky enough to have another "weird kid" at your school. If you were a weird kid, you likely had very few friends and were bullied.

That as much as anything else led me to seek solace in books written by an author who I felt understood me, and characters who became my friends.

Lost Souls is about vampires in a kind of Lost Boys/Near Dark way. Fans of the YouTuber OfHerbsAndAltars might be interested to know that this book is where the name of his channel comes from - it's a description of the taste of Chartreuse liqueur.

Drawing Blood is about ghosts, a "murder house", computer hacking, comic art and a very beautiful (if rather messed up) romance. This one is probably my favourite of the three.

Exquisite Corpse is about serial killers, set against the AIDS crisis of the 90s. If you like the Hannibal TV series you'll probably enjoy this one - imagine if Dennis Nilsen and Jeffrey Dahmer had somehow met.

Martin doesn't pull any punches when it comes to descriptions of blood and gore, violence, abusive parents or his portrayal of toxic romantic relationships (of which there are many in his books), but if you can deal with those things there is also a great deal of beauty, phenomenally good writing, and a somewhat unique perspective on the supernatural.

Maybe I'm biased, looking at these through the lens of my teenage self. Maybe they'd seem horribly dated to today's young audience. But I still wanted to make this post in case there's someone out there who will end up loving them as much as I did.

[simp999]

Ahem. Since my last request was a fumble, could I ask for a more platonic x reader where the reader is in their mid teens? They are pretty good at fighting, and almost never complain under any circumstances, but one day they come down with an illness that was worse than any other sickness they had ever had before. They try to tough it out, but end up breaking down in an isolated corner because they can’t take it anymore. Idk, after that I was just hoping for a Medic-centric comfort story.

Medic, Engineer, Sniper x Sick! Teen! Reader

Wc: 0.7k

A/N: No worries my guy!! Thank you for requesting!! I changed a few things up a bit and chose a few characters, I hope that cool- and I hope this isn't too short! I think I might start doing shorter fics from now on

Masterlist

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Your head throbbed and pounded as your clothes became more drenched with sweat by the minute. But you had to live up to their expectations, you had to continue making them proud. You heaved as you dragged one foot in front of the other, doing your best to drag your compound bow to the respawn room after cleaning it the night before, preparing for today’s battle. You had woken up like this- pain filling every inch of your body and barely able to walk on your own without the aid of the walls surrounding you. 

You had managed to make it just barely into the game room before immediately collapsing to the cold, hard floor. The last thing you heard was a few shouts and hurried footsteps, along with the sound of your bow clattering to the floor. 

You woke up in the lab’s bed, drenched even more. You felt somebody wiping a stray hair that was sticking to your forehead away, then it went to check your temperature. The action was cut short when they noticed your eyes flutter open, quickly beginning to ask you lots of questions. Your eyes darted and your brows furrowed as you tried to make sense of his words that seemed to mesh together. The lights being so bright and everything seeming so loud wasn’t helping. Medic quickly took note and did everything in his power to ease any pain or annoyances. He dimmed the lights, and only allowed two mercs to stay in the waiting area. You felt a nice cold, wet cloth on your forehead, calming you immediately. He spoke with a much softer tone, asking you questions slowly. He was still a bit panicked- this had never happened to you before. 

You had been with the mercs nearly a year now, replacing Scout as the youngest. Despite him being pissy at first, you were now closer than ever with a sibling-like dynamic. It was nice being the teen of the group, almost feeling like you had nine scary dads protecting you; but it also had its downsides, mostly stemming from the fact that you’re still all cold-blooded killers. Which meant the expectation was that you could do great in battle, or so you assumed. You placed all these high bards for yourself, always wanting to make the mercs proud. Some were harder to please than others, such as Spy compared to Pyro who would often clap and grow excited at any little thing you managed. Soldier was the hardest on you out of them all, seeing that you had lots of potential at such a young age. There’s a reason you’re here. Medic and Engineer often had to remind him that you were still a teen.

You did your best to never complain, even when you felt like you were too exhausted to keep doing pushups or run around the base for the 100th time. You had placed the expectation that you had to keep up with the grown men on your shoulders, and you’d gotten used to it.

“Did something happen?” 

You tried to speak, but your voice was caught in your throat. It burned. You lightly shook your head, and it felt like it was spinning. 

Medic’s brows knit with worry as he studied you, deciding to allow the two other mercs in for support in aiding you. Even just for moral support for yourself. With the sweetest Texan accent, one of them spoke;

“Awh, Honeybee, ya shoulda told us ya weren’t feelin’ well, sugar.”

The other one nodded and he adjusted his sunnies, continuing to wipe a clothe over your prized bow. He knew you did your best to take great care of it, so he opted to do it himself. 

“Mhmm. Worried ‘bout ya, Roo.”

Engie listened to Medic’s every word- from getting you water to removing or adding a blanket, while Sniper- despite not being a big fan of physical contact, allowed himself to hold your hand in his with a very loose grip, running his thumb soothingly over the back of your hand. He rarely whispered small nothings to you, reassuring you.

“You're gonna be okay, bunny. You’ll be okay. We’re here for ya.” 

.

.

.

Mar. 6. 24

[liexki]

𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖 + 𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐒 : 𝐏𝐈𝐋𝐎𝐓

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: When the first division of TOMAN, Keisuke Baji, passes away, the Commander, Manjiro Sano, take his younger sister, Y/N Baji, in and soon forms a gang in their mid 20s. Now being the leaders of the criminal organization BONTEN and entering the gang scene with a federal bounty on her head, what if love with her No. 2 and a bit of the past resurfaces?? What if there was a little sorrow and betrayal?? Some gang shit in the mix too!?

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: various substances (vapes, weeds, cigarettes, pills, ect.), curse words, mentions of sex work if you squint

“Sanzu, Y/N, respectfully, please calm down on the amount of drugs.�� Kakucho said, sitting across from Sanzu. Stubbly looking over to Mikey at the right of him — strangely attending the meeting at the head of the table — asking for approval to question such big figures in the way he did.

TO KEEP READING, YOU UNDERSTAND THE CONTENT WARNING MENTIONED ON THE TOP OF THE SCREEN ARE PRESENT IN THIS POST AND FUTURE EPISODES.

Y/N sent a sharp glare towards despite being on the other head, about a metre away from the number 3. Sanzu gave a cheeky smile that people would relate to the Cheshire cat. His pearly whites showed while Y/N rolled her eyes at the boy’s antics.

“I’ll only stop if I bring Mikey and the princess an issue. I do think Y/N should stop. She’ll age really badly!” He responded to Kakucho while a bit of fake sympathy laced his voice.

“I’ve bought enough for Y/n to not age badly. Great retinols and I’ve even showed her some botox places that were rated well. She gave me the same little pretty glare she’s giving you now.” Ran pitched into the conversation.

“Shut the fuck up Ran no one cares about you and your issues about being an old hag.” Sanzu bites the 31 year old to his side, the banter flowing freely among the trio.

“For once I believe I have to agree with the dunce.” Rindou reluctantly admitted.

“I think we should get back to the main problem right now.” Kokonoi started, “We need to start making connections with different gangs at the moment and we also need to work on our financial issue which is being affected with the substance use from all of you.”

“I don’t do drugs!” Mucho stated in defence of his use.

“You dumbfuck! Substances aren’t just drugs. I’m saying those shitty cigarettes you smoke, the vapes that teens these days use, to edibles or drugs that Y/N and Sanzu are using. They’re all substances and FUCK WE SPEND TO MUCH ON THAT SHIT!” Kokonoi explained with frustration.

“So, all you want is for me to stop using drugs? Well then, I’m out of this then. Mikey, Kakucho, Kokonoi, and Takeomi. Make an event sending regards and invite the top 15 gangs to an event at one of the Haitani's clubs. Ran and Rindou, you guys can decide a club you’re fine with being used.” Y/n ordered.

With a click-clack of her MIU MIU heels, Y/N pushed her chair back and walked out of the room. The sound of her footsteps echoed through the room as Mikey watched her leave. As a small grin decorated his face, entertained by the events. A quiet chuckle left Sanzu’s mouth with the same idea.

✈︎ ˖°ʚ 🐈‍ ɞ·˚ ✩

"You guys know the BONTEN event, right??" Kimiko sat with her legs crossed on top of a table.

"Yeah. One of my workers told me when their number 2 was high." Shu replied taking another hit of his blunt.

"OMG DON'T TELL ME YOU GOT US AN INVITE? KIMI!" Aria squealed with excitement while shaking Kimiko's shoulders rapidly.

"Yes, yes, yes. I was able to get myself on the list and asked the man if I could bring you. I also said that I could provide smokes and shit so Shu, you need to be there with something for about 150 people." Y/n rambled. "Aria, keep on the low though. You're not a present figure."

"Yes ma'am!!" Aria chorused.

Kimiko shot her an annoyed look but secretly felt a sense of happiness.

"What's the deal. Why would they hold an event?" Shu interrogated.

Kimiko didn't know but she had one thing on her mind. Build connections with the gang. The others in the room had a similar idea as well but they'd never admit that. As the leader, she needed to step up.

"BONTEN is uptight so I doubt they'd let anyone know but I'm thinking it's about business."

She glanced over to Shu and he cracked a grin to her gaze.

"Let's take this opportunity to talk to them privately and introduce them to us. Aria, you step down on this one. Me and Shu will do the talking, don't expect this to be free time though. Make sure you study the other people at the event."

Aria nods. Shu focuses.

'Y/N should be wary of who she messes with.' Kimiko thought.

✈︎ ˖°ʚ 🐈‍ ɞ·˚ ✩

“Hey, Kakucho. Who told that one bitch about our event?” Mochizuki asked him at the VIP section of the bar as they just finished the final few touches of the event.

Kakucho and Kokonoi got confused about what he was talking about. The 2 walked over to try and look at the phone he was holding and Y/N just took a glance from her side across the room.

“I told them.” Y/N said.

“Wasn’t it supposed to be underground?” Kakucho asked, “It kinda makes us look desperate…you know?”

Mochizuki looked at the phone in confusion as everyone was on the same page of this being laid-back and secretly trying to find someone to ally with. Nothing too public. That was indeed not the case though and Y/N had other plans that differed with the group.

“It’s just for a bit of excitement. We haven’t said shit or made any moves in a while. Keeps the people thinking and people might less pussy and actually talk to us.” Y/N explained.

The time had now been 10:45 and the rest of the members were doing their own thing while Mikey looked at you with his cold eyes. He was curious about the way you stood silent and looked at the ground instead of scrolling on your phone as usual.

The B2 tweet really got the people going insane and some envied the groups and those who had come out saying they were going. Your ego was as big as a pool but your cold demeanour covered it up. He thought you’d look at them as a laugh.

“Y/N. Let’s talk outside.” Mikey asked.

✈︎ ˖°ʚ 🐈‍ ɞ·˚ ✩

“LET’S GET THIS PARTY STARTEDDDD!!!!” Sanzu barged in holding a bottle of beer in front of the crowd of gang members who had arrived.

The crowd went insane after seeing the bubblegum crackhead’s words. Rindou was playing DJ that night and the EDM was echoing throughout the speakers set around the building. Girls were sitting on the speakers still looking pretty to attract the gangs and get them to feel themselves.

Mikey watched everyone from the VIP room. The security cameras had 8k quality. The average company could only wish to own the amount of cameras they have. He thought back to the conversation he had with Y/N. Something she had known.

“You have some plan. Something smartass type shit.” Mikey confronted her softly so she wouldn’t feel as if he was enraged.

“Mhm. Wanna know or something?” Y/n questioned back.

Now Mikey was faced with a sense of curiosity. He had trusted Y/N because it was mutual. She’d put her life for him and he’d do the same but they knew they’d never be in that situation. Y/N was smarts enough to cover for both of their hellish lives. Despite this, in that moment that was something that he wanted to question her on.

What Mikey didn’t realise is that Y/N knew his every expression. Even his pitch black eyes that held no emotions was something that didn’t stop her from figuring out how he really felt. His eyes staring into the ground was enough to tell her he was pondering about asking.

“I’m thinking of making small changes so we can catch these big gangs hitting their most vulnerable moments. More girls around to see how they respect women, seeing how they react under the influence of alcohol. It’s small things that set it up.” Y/n clarified.

What she said really had made a difference in how the delinquents around the club and bar were acting. Some were straight hooligans and some had acted like how old friends of his probably would’ve if they still were here.

As Mikey was attentively watching the cameras he soon realised all the members had left the room, he decided to walk out himself and become a little more social.

✈︎ ˖°ʚ 🐈‍ ɞ·˚ ✩

“I guess we have a lot more in common than I thought. Shu Yamaha, correct?” Kokonoi clarified to the man in front of him.

‘Insanely famous for exporting drugs across Hiroshima to Akita. We could use that. His brother’s motor company could be useful but I doubt he still talks to them when he’s doing shit like this.’ Kokonoi thought

“Yes Mr. Kokonoi. I’m glad I was able to talk business with someone in this industry. No one seems to think about the future in our work. All they do is think about throwing fists and updating their body count just to go home and hook up with someone they barely know!” Shu chats to the executive.

“Agreed. You can never know about what comes next but it’s still vital to stick to the present. Time is of the essence, am I right? Most of the people tonight are on wanted lists. Especially BONTEN. The moment this doesn’t work out we won’t be able to get proper jobs without people fearing our past.”

“Of course. I think I’ll be taking my leave.” Shu said

Shu walke away but before he could go too far, Kokonoi walked over behind him and tapped his shoulder.

“Do you mind if I got a business card?”

Here's the OPENING POST !!

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 : @burntmarshmallowchishiya @anahoyingkawata @yeppeun-riaa @miss-kayy @dystop4in14nd @butyfigers @oreologyx @rukiasluver @Itsruki @bbyspiiice @shoyosdoll @haitanibros0007 @pinksilk @Sunshine768 @itsruki

if you'd like to join the taglist, please fill out this form !! or copy and paste the following link; https://forms.gle/fMnDA3NS4kzp85Kq5

[steviebbboi]

Once Upon A Friendship: Bittersweet Symphony

Pairings: Childhood Bestie!Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Word Count: 3.2k~

Rating: Teens and up!

Disclaimer: Surprise, shawtyyyy~ submitting this sad lil number to 🍂Winds of Autumn Challenge🍂 made by @the-slumberparty // Chai latte ☕ caught in the cold rain // Melancholy ☁️ as the trees shed and the flowers wilt, we feel a sense of loss. Write a tragic tale. *this is a part to my fic Once Upon A Friendship. You may need to read it to get the full gist, but it could probs be read on its own-ish. *I wanted to submit a 3-part to this where it's a sad prequel, hope prequel, and then a post-OUAF fic for Chip and Steve. But not entirely sure, feel free to lmk if anyone would even wanna read that for these two <3 *i was inspired by Bittersweet Symphony by the Verve if you wanted to listen while reading!

Summary: Visiting home for the holidays has left you feeling sad and alone. Is it really the end of your friendship with Steve?

***I don't give any permission for this to be reposted anywhere! Pls do not steal work, plagiarism isn't cuteeee~~~~

Warnings: 18+ for the explicit language. This is a sad one y'all get ready for the angst, explicit language/curse words. ends with some kind of hope. this is not beta'd so please be kind!

*Any comments/reblogs are much appreciated and are so encouraging - more than you know. Pls don't hesitate to interact with me <3

“Shit!” Ducking underneath the small alcove, you exhaled a sigh of frustration as you tried to wrang your damp hair, trying to rid it of the sudden extra moisture thanks to the abundant waterfall that was the rain. 

It was a rainy Autumn season this year, it was out of character considering that the weather around your hometown was usually well-adjusted. You were just out to go to the grocery store to see if you could scramble a last minute grab for some cranberry sauce. With Thanksgiving being so close, you knew that the shelves would likely be empty but your stomach outwon logic once again.

When you saw the gloomy clouds and the wind-blown fall leaves scattered all over the neatly trimmed lawns of other people’s houses, you should’ve known that you fucked up by not bringing an umbrella, much more, by not wearing appropriate clothing.

Leaving the house, you figured it would be a quick trip, in-and-out. Have hope and then feel disappointment (or if you were lucky, leave the store just skipping down the sidewalk with the dreams of eating the can full of gelatinous tart of cranberry goodness that would be clutched in your hand). Naively, you left the house wearing a pair of thin leggings and a crochet sweater.

Now, as you sat along the rainy road, seeking shelter underneath the small bus stop corner, you cursed your craving stomach and realized that you needed to listen to your intuition a lot more than you have been. The thick sweater left you feeling even muggier than you were before with you getting drenched in the rain and your thin leggings left you shivering with nothing to protect you from the gusty autumn breeze.

Trying desperately not to cry at how frustrated you felt, you sat there trying to replay the last few days. You were currently on mid-semester break, back home to celebrate the Thanksgiving weekend. Since you booked your flight tickets back home, you were dreading coming back as you knew that this would be the first time since graduation that you would see your family. Not only your parents, but Natasha and Bucky.

Steve. 

Natasha, being the friend that she is, tried to comfort you the best she could over the phone before you went on your flight. Apparently, Steve may not even be there for a long period of time since his semester was scheduled differently from all of yours. Word from Bucky was that they also may be visiting his mom’s side of the family’s Thanksgiving celebration. 

You did your best to coordinate dates and times so that you wouldn’t see him but one scolding from Nat bucked you up. 

“It was your decision to leave the way that you did. People are going to be naturally curious and so will Steve. It’s time to pull up your big girl pants, and come home.”

You knew that she was right, however cruel her words sounded– you knew that she was speaking from a place of reality. It was your decision to leave suddenly, even though you knew that the escape wouldn’t last forever. Your families were all so close, it was inevitable to see him again.

You just didn’t think that you would be feeling this much pain at this point. 

Grief is a funny thing - you’re still mourning this person who is alive, but in your eyes, Steve was basically gone. Seeing him there in that dimly lit bedroom, the thumping sounds of the music downstairs just reverberating in your ears, seeing Sharon’s lips on his as she laid on top of Steve. 

Tears brimmed to your eyes just at the image of it burning in your mind’s eye. The shock, anger, and hurt flooded through you as if you were still there. You didn’t regret what you said at the party. 

“I wish that I had never met you.” 

The words escaped you in such an impulsive fury. You never imagined that you would be the kind of person to ever feel that much hate. Towards anyone, but especially towards Steve, your best friend. The person that would never fail to make you laugh and would always help you feel less alone.

A wave of genuine sorrow washed over you because you weren’t spending the holidays laughing with your friends. You weren’t smiling. You were wet, cold and sad. 

And you were certainly, and most definitely, alone. 

You could feel yourself distance from what was happening around you slowly as you opted to wait out the rain. It was too much effort to call one of your parents, or Nat, even Buck – to come up and pick you up. Then, you’d just have to explain all the reasons as to why you’re wet and sad and you didn’t really feel like receiving that look of pity again.

You sighed again as the sounds of car’s splashing against the wet roads came back to you. After some pondering, you ultimately decided to head back home and took a look at when the next bus would be coming. Looking through the bus’ schedule on your phone, you heard footsteps rush in your direction but you assumed that it was another person just trying to outrun the rain. It was only when you felt someone sit next to you on the bench did you turn to the person.

Steve.

He was panting hard, his breath fogging in the air with exhilaration. He looked over at you as he sat down, he looked hesitant– as if he were attempting to say something. Your mind and body couldn’t move all of a sudden, you couldn’t help but just stare at him. 

You haven’t seen each other since that night – seeing him in the flesh, to see him in his stature just made the pain more real. 

Out of pure fight or flight instinct, your body broke the frozen barrier as you got up with lightning speed and turned to walk away. Before you could take one step, Steve’s strong grip clutched onto your wrist before you could go. 

“Wait, chip, don’t–” Steve pleaded at first until you whipped around to roughly take back your wrist from his touch.

“Don’t touch me!” 

The words felt like they echoed despite the loud platters of rain on pavement. You clutched your hand in reverence of his warm touch on your cold skin. Like you were clutching a burn, you held your wrist close to your heart where you felt it once again break like it did that night. 

Underneath the heartbreak, you could feel your younger self just utterly despair at the look on Steve’s face. He seemed to pale even in the ghastly weathered temperatures and fog-ridden air. His eyes held a shock that you recalled was present on the same night that you told him those shelled words. 

“I wish that I had never met you.” 

The words echoed again now too. It touched both of your ears whilst you stood there in mild panic as you both stared at each other. It truly felt like your friendship together really had never existed. 

Time passed a bit until Steve’s chapped pink lips suddenly moved, “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to grab you like that.” His speech was slow, as if he was trying to be very careful of what was actually coming out of his mouth. 

You only broke your stare away from his to look down at the darkened pavement, still clutching your wrist to your chest. You could feel the torrid rain from earlier brisk down into a soft mist, droplets catching in your eyelashes as you flit your gaze back to Steve. 

“What are you even doing here?” You mumbled to him, eyes wandering back and forth between him and the pavement.

Steve looked embarrassed before he stood up to meet you at arm's length. Both of you withstanding the mist falling from the sky. With a frown, you noticed the shortened distance between you two and attempted to back away until Steve reached his hands out as if to placate you. 

His resounding sigh let you know that he wasn’t going to come any closer as he responded, “Buck told me you were back home. I went over to see you and your mom told me that you left for the store. Figured I could try to catch you mid-route, and I did.” His words left a clear mark on what had transpired from the time since you came back home.

Steve was keeping tabs on you. Steve went to visit you. Steve came out in the rain to try and catch you.

Your eyes glazed over with a mist thicker than what was coming down. A burning sensation and tingling in your eyes overpowered you as you recognized the grief of missing him once more. More than anything, you wanted him to chase you. Follow you. But he never did, hadn’t for a long time. Until now. 

Grief, that’s an old friend. 

Doing your best to mask up your tears, you couldn’t catch the one that rolled down your cheek as you eagerly wiped away at your face. You tried to pretend you were wiping away the rainy mist but from the look of devastation on Steve’s face, you could tell that you didn’t do a good job of hiding your tears. 

Ignoring his look, you sniffed harshly against the cold air and a stoic expression overtook your flushed face. “Okay, and? What do you want?” 

He blanched further at your reduced and stoic tone but his eyes took a hopeful turn, “I was hoping that we could talk, chip. Last time that I saw you, I didn’t get the chance to explain or talk to you.” 

You frowned at his words, “You’re hilarious if you thought that I’d even want to talk to you, Rogers.”

Steve took the opportunity to say, “Well, I mean, we are technically talking now…” His eyebrows raised in attempts to invite humor into the space. His expression fell when he saw your furrowed expression.

Suffice to say, you were not buying it nor did you want to engage in humor about your pain with Steve.

“Chip, I want to apologize for what happened. I never meant for you to run into Sharon and I…especially not in that way. I mean, of course, at all– I never wanted you to run into Sharon and I doing anything–” Steve stumbled upon his words as he ran into a word salad in his brain. 

Your annoyance at his continued rambling cut through his random speech, “Rogers. What do you want from me?” 

Steve cut himself off at your decisive tone and said, “You never, never, deserved for that to have happened. It was a complete accident. I’m so sorry.” 

Fury. It was the only emotion that was coming through as you let Steve’s dead apology deliberately hang in empty air. 

You couldn’t hold it back.

“You’re sorry? You’re sorry?! Steve, the way that you looked at me when I walked into that fucking room–,” Steve’s eyes widened at your speech and he flinched as he saw your crossed arms fall to your sides dangerously calm. 

“It was like you didn’t want me to exist. As if my very presence annoyed you,” you continued, your breath coming in hot and fast. You didn’t even seem to notice your feet leaning and stepping closer into Steve’s space. Something else took over you. It was the former best friend of Steve Rogers that was in so much pain. 

“If you really ever truly cared, instead of chasing me out here to give me this half-assed apology, you would really need to apologize for the fact that you treated your best friend like shit for a long time, way before I even found you in that stupid house! When you blatantly ignored my calls and when you brushed me off in the library. For when you would stand me up at the diner or for when you would break so many promises that you couldn’t keep! For the times that you said that you would never betray me but then you did. For the times when you promised to protect me from bullies, like Sharon– until you went and became one.”

You couldn’t catch your breath. You could feel your chest heaving and the rain wasn’t misting anymore. The air was dry and stale and lingered a sour and gray aftertaste that could only be translated into a bitter melancholy.

Your body was only one step away from Steve now. Unbeknownst to you, you threateningly crept closer to Steve as you spoke at him. For all of Steve’s bravery, he planted himself like a tree as he wreaked your havoc. Your angry words washed over him like the rain, it felt truly deserving and sad.

“You shouldn’t be apologizing for what happened in that house Steve. What you should be apologizing for is for ruining a friendship that we can never, ever, get back. You did that. You.” 

Your accusing pointed finger poked harshly at his dampened chest. Your last resounding accusation of ruining the friendship made Steve harshly flinch once more. Bitterness didn’t allow you to break your gaze from his. A sweet and vicious victory started to fill your chest at the sight of Steve’s blue eyes tinting with unshed tears, the space in your heart that used to be sustained by love and adoration was replaced by pure resentment.

You stuffed down the pain as you finished off, “I don’t give a flying fuck about your apology. You were dead to me the minute that I left that house. I don’t want to be friends with you. I don’t even want to be around you. There isn’t anything here anymore so if I were you, I’d go back to Sharon and your other friends. Don’t worry! You could celebrate your untethered friendship with the loser nerd that you always just felt sorry for – you’re obviously really good at pretending.”

Sarcasm and disdain dripped from your words as you sneered at Steve’s now dulled eyes. He gave a slow shake of his head as if to try to reject your words and what he was witnessing and hearing from you. 

Steve blinked away his tears harshly as he shook his head again, almost like he resolutely decided on something. “You don’t mean that, chip.” 

Quickly, you corrected him with your name. Steve gave one last hurt flinch at that. “You don’t get to call me that anymore. Only my real friends get to call me that. And I did mean it. God, why do you even care anyways? You’re free! You obviously never cared about me. So I don’t care about you either. That’s it!” 

You frowned and grimaced bitter tears away as you made your claims. Looking back in Steve’s eyes, there were tears still present but something was different in them. A glint that you’ve only seen a few times in your friendship growing up. 

Steve determinedly shook his head again and refused to consider your cutting remarks, “That’s not true. I’ve always cared about you and I still do. You’re right – I treated you like crap and you didn’t deserve that. So you can keep insulting me and hurting me, chip. I deserve it. All those times that we protected each other, I wasn’t trying to protect me. I was always just trying to protect you. It was you who never deserved to be treated like that by anyone, most of all, by me. But I know that I failed you and betrayed you, and I am so sorry. I’m sorry.” 

His tone was hopeful once more and you couldn’t believe it but– you couldn’t help but recognize  the undying, caring nature that was Steve Rogers. You just said the ugliest and most horrid of things to him, beat him down, terrorized him – and he was still trying to meet you with compassion that you would allow, and he seemed to know it too. 

It was your turn to experience disbelief as your vision blurred, it was like the clock turned back time as you took in his words – you didn’t see the stocky and tall build of the man in front of you now, you could only see the skinny and small Steve Rogers. Your best friend. 

“I’m not free, chip. And I don’t want to be. I miss you. I don’t deserve to have a friend like you, but I’m not going to give up. I’ll do whatever I need to do to earn your forgiveness and trust back. Anything to be in each other’s lives again.” Steve seemed to regain the confidence that he needed since the beginning of this reunion as he stood at his full height, broad and statured. His face was determined and his voice was steady. The reverence in his body and words made you draw back again as you took one step back. 

“Just please, don’t give up on me.” His eyes downcast again as he desperately clung onto the tense silence that held the potential for repair. 

You didn’t know what to feel. Numb heaviness took over your body and it was like any words or response was trapped inside of you. You said all that you could’ve said, it felt like. You frantically tried to find the anger and bitterness again but they seemed to retreat into far enough depths where they couldn’t be found. 

But with his words sinking in, his seemingly urgent request touched something inside of you. The only thing that seemed to shine was a halting jolt of reluctant hope. 

Almost as if he could see it too, Steve allowed his own small hope to seep through as a small smile endeared his handsome face. Silence continued to fill the space as it became clear that you weren’t capable of responding, he took two steps back as he finally gave you the space that he knew you didn’t ask for, but now respectfully gave. 

“I’ll go back home now. I’ll see you in a few days at the party.” He nodded at you, his eyes shining with glimmers of promise as he turned the walk back from where he came. The same direction that you would have to go down too eventually. 

You remained frozen with bated breath as you watched Steve’s form slowly distance farther and farther as he walked away, until you couldn’t really see him anymore. 

It wasn’t until later during the party, you plated your cranberry sauce and dipped a selfish spoonful into your mouth did you fully register what happened. You got what you wanted from the taste, but this overall unsatisfied feeling overcame you. Unsure of this feeling, you glanced over at the living room filled with laughter and cheer, the air smelling of mouth watering food – your wandering eyes froze again as you stumbled upon Steve. He was standing with Bucky and Natasha, laughing with them but his blue eyes seemed to have already been seeking yours. 

Even from afar, you could tell that the promise in his gaze from earlier was still there. 

A/N: What are our thoughts? Chip really let him have it! This is one of those interactions that they have had together before the main fic where she would try her hardest to not speak with him. But as we could see, Steve is always persistent! I think that this may satisfy some of y'all who have been feening for a more angry-at-Steve response lol I'm hoping that it can satisfy some of the anger at him. He knows he fucked up, but he isn't going to give up their friendship! And as we know, he could do this alllll day. Thanks for reading laddies~

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[dasha-through-the-snow]

This is gonna be long and rambling, but it's something very personal, so strap in, I guess.

My "trans awakening" was in the mid-00s, back when a lot of language was not set, the community was atomized and it was just not an Accepted Thing To Be.

Back then, you had to scour shady self-hosted websites to get in touch with anyone. But because I was not ready to go out of the closet, I mainly lurked. And, because I was a horny teenager, I consumed a lot of "magical gender transformation" erotica.

Being trans overall was rough back in the mid-00s. Trans men were basically invisible and trans women were assumed to be either predatory drag queens, parodies of women, or demure housewives.

To this day I feel uneasy around drag queens, through no fault of their own. I didn't want to be a parody of a woman. I didn't want to be loud and over-the-top and exaggerated in femininity.

I just wanted to be Me, but a cis woman.

True, I probably would've allowed myself a more feminine expression than I even allowed myself during my brief skinny and on HRT stint. But I would've still acted and had the same interests as myself.

Now let's get back to that pesky erotic fiction.

Mostly I consumed written erotica. There was just more of it and with the lower entry barrier, it was easier to find. It was also, for the most part, garbage.

There were four main types of stories. The Bimbofication, the Stepfordication, the one-off stint and The One I Actually Liked.

Bimbofication and the one-off were mainly sex-based. Focused on the pleasure you would experience in the woman's body and how much you would be driven mad with lust. Obedience and shame kink were also pretty heavily involved.

The Stepfordication went a step further and involved a complete mental shift into a 50s housewife stereotype, complete with a pregnancy fetish.

I never liked those. They never spoke to me and, frankly, grossed me out. They had the same general vibe as the drag queens I feared. An adoption of shallow stereotypical femininity and an embracing of all the sexism that came with it.

The few stories I actually liked were more thoughtful. They never destroyed the protagonists' personality and even if the newly-acquired womanhood influenced them, it was more subtle and never radically changed them. Oftentimes it was about the internal struggle, the acceptance, the contemplation, with some sexy times thrown in.

What can I say, I was in my teens.

But those stories were rare. And as the time went on and I tried interacting with more trans people, I found that the majority of them I found online kind of aligned with the first three types more. I felt alienated and withdrew into myself.

Then the 2010s came. I was an adult, I had my own views and my own very complicated relationship with gender. And I saw a wave of very young, for the lack of a better word, punk people, treat being trans as a fun game of dress-up.

I lashed out. I was an asshole to them, when I didn't need to. I felt like they were making a mockery of my complicated journey of self-acceptance.

I made a some transmed friends. Mostly angry trans dudes, who loved slinging shit with me. But then the community fell apart. Some of it was just people getting exhausted. Some, like me, realized the pettiness and the pointlessness of it all. Some did a 180 and went full TERF.

And, once again, I was left alone.

To this day, it's hard to me to interact with other trans people. Especially trans women. I feel othered and alienated, because their experience doesn't resemble mine. Regardless of how much erotica I consumed, it never was a fetish for me. I just... Tried to explore my sexuality, while accepting that I can't be called a cis straight men, like the society expected me to identify.

I don't fit in with the old, I don't fit in with the new.

I just feel isolated and I don't know how to break this.

All through the lens of my horny teens, 20 years ago.

Being an adult trans person sucks, kids.

[eatbread-besoft]

it occurs to me, after thirty minutes standing at the stove caramelizing onions, that I love cooking.

I recently mentioned to a friend that I wished my parents taught me more about cooking when I was growing up. he was surprised; he assumed my parents had taught me. well, sort of, I told him. my parents made sure I knew how to feed myself, how to prepare dinner for the family, how to chop and peel and boil and roast. what I meant, though, was that I wished they'd taught me how to love food and prepare food I loved.

my mother did not teach me to caramelize onions. my father did not teach me to make a meatless meal. my parents did not teach me how to make vegetables interesting, or how to create balanced meals that satisfy emotionally as well as physically, and they certainly did not show me the simple pleasure of homemade bread and real butter. (we were a margarine household. NEVER AGAIN.)

the last time I had friends over, this was the menu:

penne with scrambled tofu in a roasted red pepper & garlic sauce

creamy carrot soup with peasant bread for dipping

apple galette and vanilla ice cream

I am very much a home cook. my meals are elevated basics, nothing too fancy. but they do take time. and it is one of the best ways I spend my time.

so I can't help but think, what would have happened if I'd found this love earlier? it was only in my mid-twenties, after I bought a home and had my own kitchen, that I really embraced cooking. but what if it had been during my teen years? what if I could have processed my big feelings in the kitchen? what if mealtimes were sacred? what if I hadn't tracked all those goddamn calories for all those years???

I know not everyone will love cooking. I sometimes hesitate to talk about the life-changing impact it's had on my life, lest I sound like I'm proselytizing. but I was standing in my kitchen after a long day at work, caramelizing onions...and I felt so at peace. when my friends were at my kitchen table, eating my apple galette, I felt contented.

all I want, truly, is to find a lover I can invite into my kitchen who will recognize it as a site of peace and pleasure.

[junktastic]

I had a drawing months back that went kinda viral I guess, and it getting out of my normal sphere of followers meant that I got to observe how folks far outside of my twitter sphere interact with twitter and others. For reference, I am talking about this image:

The context, besides getting to draw my friend Jenny, was that I saw a picture that was of an anime girl that said "lets be in our early 30s together" and I was like "haha, I will make my own version of this." Part of it was also that I think aging is fine, and we need to stop stressing so much over staying young. "Lets be in our mid-thirties together" is not a joke, I sincerely wanted this image to be warm and inviting, to maybe give people hope that there will be friends and people who love you once you get to that age. I never thought I was going to make it to 30, and I just turned 35 this year, and I'm the happiest I've ever been.

Some responses were obviously teens/early 20s people saying they don't want to get that old, which is whatever. When you're that young the dirty thirty sounds so ugly. No one cool is in their 30s! Well, if you ignore the people who make all the things they like. These responses I waved these off.

I saw the typical twitter experience replies of "this doesn't apply to me?" Ok bitch! Go make your own like I did! And show me when you do, I'd love to see it!

There was a handful of people who were saying "retweet to scare a twink" which I felt was kind of rude. Not to me, but to the twinks out there. Aging doesn't make you less of a twink.

Lots of people were sending it to their significant others or saying they hope to find someone to be in their mid-thirties with, which I love. :3 It makes me happy!

The one kind of response which is what I made this post for and I'm so sorry that I've been rambling, that I found weird was the people who will reply to just you. The OP. As if they are replying to everyone in the thread. I'm not talking about in QRTs, just straight in the replies. "Don't forget how tired she looks in this." Brother I drew the picture. I know. And ever since then I feel like, as someone who loves to read the replies on other people's tweets, I notice this a lot more often. Who are they talking to? Is this what people are referring to when they say "Main Character Syndrome?" Or should I be lumping these together with the "why isn't this about my exact personal life situation" people?

My fiancé says I'm thinking about this too hard (I got engaged last month btw), and he's probably right. I can't help but be curious about how other people choose to interact with the internet and images and people on it. And, I guess, am I supposed to reply? How should I feel about these. I guess I have to decide that on my own.

For the record, you are all very normal/understandable when it comes to what you guys tag my stuff with. That you love the girls (same!), that they're very gender (love this), or wow is this [insert fetish](not my intention but that's the internet). I feel like the slime girls get the "gender" comment the most and you are all so right for that. Every time I see people reblog my ocs I think "Thank you for loving [name]."

That's all! This was a pointless post but I'm unemployed right now so I have too much time to overthink things for no reason. How do YOU feel about how people interact with your posts? Are they weird? Or are they normal about it.

[hfjonewiki]

please please talk about the osc dark ages. i avoided it for awhile i think. i need to know just how shitty and poorly-made object shows were back then. looks at you with my big wet eyes.

when i talk about the "dark ages" of the osc, i'm specifically talking about a time period spanning from the mid-to-late 2010s.

the "dark ages" are marked by a sudden drop in activity from most popular object shows, and the prominence of cringe culture in that era. around this time, a lot of popular object show creators were at an age where they were now full-time college students, leaving them with very little time to work on their shows. inanimate insanity was releasing about one episode per year at this point, and bfdi was completely inactive. i don't know much about what the huangs were doing during this time, but i do know that for ii, things were MESSY behind the scenes. i followed adam's deviantart journals pretty actively around this time, and he often talked about his struggles with his decision to study animation professionally, and how he was unsure of the show's future. there was actually a time where he briefly stepped down of the director of the show, but it thankfully didn't last long. (fun fact! baseball's monologue in s2e10 about his inability to lead his alliance was ad-libbed by adam, and was a reflection of how he felt about his ability to direct the show and its team at the time.) the inanimate insanity kickstarter was launched towards the tail-end of this time period, and it's extremely likely the show wouldn't have continued at all had it not been funded.

the other major contributor was the rise of "cringe culture". we're talking about a time where youtubers like filthy frank and leafyishere absolutely DOMINATED youtube. the internet was not an environment that appreciated any kind of joyous whimsy and unabashed love of your interests. many osc creators and alumni were in their late teens, which is already an age where you become mildly to severely irony-poisoned, but the culture of the time only made it worse. object shows were seen as Dumb and Lame, even by the people who had spent years of their life working on them. multiple "joke" object shows released, the most famous of which being object redundancy (i actually can't find the year this one released, as its only kept alive via reuploads now, none of which have a date), and my goat, object show 87. if you want to get a feel for the community around this time, os87 is the poster child for it. it's full of edgy and offensive jokes (i mentioned this already, but there's a character who's name is straight up a slur, or at least a very offensive term), outdated references (keemstar is a contestant.), and an almost unrelenting hatred for popular object show tropes. object show 87 is a show that HATES the fact that it's an object show. it's honestly fascinating to me, and i've considered making a video essay on it. and it wasn't even a show made by some randos, object show 87 was made by SAM THORNBURY and XANYLEAVES. these weren't some random assholes with a hateboner for the genre, these were some of the most prolific creators and animators in the community.

it was an absolutely miserable time to be an object show fan. the stream of new episodes and shows had dried up, and what DID come out was just a bunch of edgy teenagers going "haha object shows are so doopid. i am going to say a slur now". it was not a good time to have object show autism.

[envy-of-the-apple]

My affection for older!reader actually comes from the other direction!

I'm still pretty young by modern standards but the march of time is relentless, you know? I'm hitting these birthday milestones and it's like "damn I once thought people this age were OLD"

Especially in the context of a yandere, I WANT to relate to the nearly-40 reader who is still so desirable that hot young Gojo is literally going insane for her. Part of the fantasy of a yandere IS being so desirable that it's actually a problem. Feels awesome to think Gojo would see me so many years older and still get heart eyes.

It's one thing if the reader and the character are BOTH young, I don't mind that, but 28 year old Gojo and 18 year old reader just has me feeling the same way I felt about Leonardo Dicaprio and his 25 year thing. Like damn. I guess only teen girls are desirable and all women should fantasize about being teenagers haha :')

Don't get me wrong, teen girls get so much shit, and I want them to live their dreams in fic, but like. No reason it has to be set when Gojo is 28.

thats a part of the reason too! ages 16-25 (ew) are the beauty standard for women and once you're past that age you're sorta....trash. its so refreshing when older women are finally being sought after for the beautiful creatures they are (granted I write that not in the most healthy way but its the thought that counts). Like i'd rather read a story about two mid-aged office workers falling in love rather than a college romance. but we rarely ever get that. if anything its always a sick mix up where a middle-aged office guy falls for a 20 year old intern and his old hag of a co-worker (shes the same age as him) keeps getting in the way ughhh disgusting.

also, ive seen a lot of 30+ readers say they enjoy my content because they can relate to being that age instead of trying to picture themselves as still in college. For all my lovely older readers im gonna try my hardest to accommodate yall too!