#I hate that sports must be equal now

[unusualtfs]

The Roommate Compatibility Program

this is my first time posting something like this to tumblr, hope it's an enjoyable read !

Arthur and Jimmy may have had the same last name, but that was the only thing they had in common.

Arthur Lee was, by all accounts, a nerd. When the Asian math major wasn’t dutifully taking notes on complex equations at his lectures or studying in silence at the library, he could usually be found holed up in his dorm, gaming until the wee hours of the morning. His only extracurricular activity to speak of was his weekly participation in the Chinese Student Union, if by “participation” one meant “sitting in the back of the room and not speaking to anyone.” His naturally pale skin was made even more so by a lack of sunlight, and his messy black hair resisted any attempt at styling. Short, shrimpy, and gay, he had clearly never seen the inside of a gym. In short, he was the exact opposite of his roommate.

Jimmy Lee was everything Arthur was not. Tall where Arthur was short, buff where Arthur was skinny, popular where Arthur was friendless. The straight white jock spent his days living out the all-American college fantasy — playing sports, pumping iron, and partying all night long. Of course, that hardly left any time for Jimmy to work toward his comms degree — but that hardly mattered, because everyone knew he was as dumb as a bag of rocks. His brutish Neanderthal features, extensive body hair, and blond buzz cut only added to that impression.

Maybe it would have been unrealistic to expect Arthur and Jimmy to be friends, but certainly no one could have anticipated the sheer antipathy that defined their roommate relationship. Arthur’s reasons for hating Jimmy were predictable — he was dumb, loud, and obnoxious; he left dirty clothes and sweaty exercise gear everywhere; and he stank up the dorm with his alpha musk. Jimmy equally couldn’t stand his prissy, prudish roommate. Arthur nagged him constantly, and he shot down all his invitations to work out or go out. Not to mention, he forbade Jimmy from getting laid while he was in the room, which was all the time. Nothing said unsexy like the presence of a judgmental Asian nerd hunched over his gaming PC at two in the morning.

Needless to say, it was not an ideal situation for anyone. So when a flier for the Roommate Compatibility Program was slipped under their door one evening, their interest was piqued.

Having issues with your roommate(s)? The Roommate Compatibility Program is here to help! Our trained experts use scientifically proven methods to ensure you and your roommate have a lifelong bond. 100% success rate, guaranteed!

In a rare moment of agreement for them, they decided they had nothing to lose.

That was how they found themselves entertaining a stranger in their dorm the next day. The man, who had introduced himself as “Mr. Thompson-Filipowski, from the RCP — but you can call me Mr. T.F. for short” had shown up out of the blue, giving them no time to prepare. So now they sat in their respective beds, answering Mr. T.F.’s questions as he appraised their living space thoughtfully. He wore a loud blue suit and had in hand a clipboard that he occasionally used to jot down notes, but otherwise he had no distinguishing features to speak of. Everything else about him, from his build to his skin tone to his hairstyle, was somehow impossible to pin down. He must have just had one of those faces.

“Thank you, boys,” he said after he was done interrogating them about their (lack of a) relationship. “I just have one more question for each of you before we can officially get started.” He turned to Jimmy first. “Jimmy, what would your ideal roommate be like?”

Jimmy had to think for quite a bit at that question. Finally, he responded in his vapid baritone: “Uh, I dunno… I guess he would just, like, be my bro.”

Mr. T.F. nodded, scribbling something on his clipboard. “Okay, excellent.” He turned to the Asian nerd next. “And Arthur, what about you?”

“My ideal roommate would be someone who’s, well, similar to me,” Arthur said, wincing at how his voice still cracked at every word. “Someone who shares my interests, and who I can spend time with, and… yeah.”

Mr. T.F. returned to his clipboard. “Right,” he said. “So, to summarize — Jimmy, you want your roommate to be your bro. And Arthur, you want your roommate to be similar to you. Is that correct?” There was a strange weight to his words, exuding the sense that something significant was carried within them, but Jimmy didn’t register this and Arthur thought it irrational, so both roommates ignored it. They nodded.

“Excellent!” Mr. T.F. said, the ominous presence now gone from his voice. “Okay, so often what we’ve found at the RCP is that roommate incompatibility is often a case of misapplied expectations. Often, our roommates do meet our expectations, you just need to keep an open mind about it. I’d wager you boys have much more in common than you think.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and Jimmy audibly scoffed at that, but they both kept listening anyway.

“For instance, looking around your dorm room, I can tell that both of you have a pretty similar fashion sense, wouldn’t you say?”

Arthur wanted to protest that all of the clothes strewn about belonged to Jimmy, not him, but the more he looked, the more he realized that wasn’t entirely true. That jersey on the floor definitely belonged to him, as did the baseball cap hanging from his bed and the sweaty white socks next to his desk. In fact, now that he thought about it, roughly half of the clothing he could see actually was his. Huh, he supposed he did dress similarly to Jimmy, then…

“I guess so,” Jimmy said as Arthur was distracted. “It’s hard to remember whose is whose sometimes because we dress the same and wear the same size, huhuh.”

As Jimmy spoke, his words became reality. He didn’t notice, but he shrunk down a few inches from his previously monstrous height until he was just under six feet — still respectable, but no longer anything more. Meanwhile, Arthur rose dramatically to meet him, until they stood at the exact same height. Since the two were equally small and shared the same taste in schlubby, sporty clothes, they essentially owned one wardrobe between them, borrowing and swapping constantly — although what looked tight and well-fitted on the muscular Ajimmy was loose and baggy on the lanky Jarthur. Curiously, the shirt Jarthur currently wore was the one item of clothing he wore that didn’t update itself to match his new reality; as such, it was now uncomfortably small on him.

Mr. T.F. continued, “And judging by the sports gear and gaming equipment in here, it looks like you also have similar interests, isn’t that right? Have you ever tried bonding over that?”

Again, it seemed Mr. T.F. was mistaken. Yes, their room indicated their respective interests in fitness and video games, but those interests were far from shared. Jarthur wanted to correct him, but then he had to reconsider. While he wasn’t into sports like Ajimmy, he certainly knew his way around them. He got as hyped as any other guy watching the Super Bowl, and he had fun whenever he was invited to play a quick game of basketball or soccer.

Meanwhile, Ajimmy was trying not to laugh at the implication that he liked video games. What did Mr. T.F. take him for, some nerd like Jarthur? But now that he thought about it… he did have fond memories of owning his bros with his mad gaming skills. He didn’t really want to call himself a gamer — he wasn’t into any of that anime or Nintendo kiddie shit. But Madden, CoD? Yeah, he fucked with those.

Imperceptibly, the dorm room shifted to match the roommates’ changing interests. Posters of popular players duplicated themselves from Ajimmy’s side of the room and pinned themselves into the wall above Jarthur’s bed. At the same time, the gaming computer vanished from Jarthur’s desk, swiftly replaced by a small TV between their beds. Well-used controllers popped into existence, one for each of them. The roommates themselves weren’t spared from the wave of changes, either. The tan leached out of Asjimm’s skin until he was quite pale, although not unhealthily so. Meanwhile, muscles made themselves known for the first time all across Joethur’s body. He was still lanky, but there was a definite sculptedness to his body that had never been there before, demonstrating his newfound appreciation of physical activity and straining his shirt even further.

“Yeah, all the time,” Joethur responded to Mr. T.F.’s questions. “I can destroy Asjimm at basketball in real life and in 2K,” he bragged.

“As if!” Asjimm retorted good-naturedly. “Next time, I’m kicking your ass, nerd!”

Joethur laughed. He may have had some problems with his roommate, but their shared competitiveness was not one of them.

“Ah, that’s lovely to hear,” Mr. T.F. said, checking a box on his clipboard. “The best way to become closer is to spend time together, after all. But that should be easy for you two — I’d imagine your class schedules are quite similar, since you’re in the same major.”

What was Mr. T.F. talking about? Joethur had never taken a comms class in his life, and Asjimm would certainly never be caught dead in a math classroom. But then Joethur went over his class schedule in his head again, and he realized that he did share most of his classes with his roommate. There was Accounting 101 on Mondays and Wednesdays, and Entrepreneurship every Thursday morning… In fact, aside from Joethur’s one math class and Asjimm’s lone comms class, their schedules were identical! But how could that be the case…?

“Well, I mean, yeah, I guess we do,” Asjimm said. His face twisted into a cocky smirk. “But just between you and me, it’s not like we bother to show up to class most of the time, right Joethyr?”

Everything suddenly snapped into place for Joethyr. Ausjim was right, of course — being a business major required confidence, charisma, and leadership skills more than anything else, and both Joethyr and Ausjim had that in spades. It certainly didn’t require studying or smarts, which was fortunate for Joethyr, as his brain was rapidly shrinking to match his meatheaded roommate’s. In fact, it was even smaller than Ausjim’s — he had scored highly enough in high school math that he was able to take an elective comms class for an easy A this semester, while Joethyr was being forced to struggle through calculus for a second time.

Records across campus rapidly rewrote themselves to reflect this new reality. Ausjim’s grades rose slightly, even as Joethyr’s GPA dropped from a 4.0 to a 2.0 — but whatever, C’s got degrees. In turn, the two roommates underwent their own changes. Joethyr’s unkempt hair retreated into his skull, leaving behind a slick fade. Moreover, the spark of intelligence retreated from his eyes, leaving them dark and hard. Ausjim’s hair experienced the opposite change, growing out into an impeccably groomed quiff that perfectly framed his face, neutralizing his unattractive Neanderthal features. His body hair also faded into nothingness, leaving him totally clean-shaven. The business classes he was taking had taught him the importance of presentation, after all.

“Yeah, bruh,” Joethyr agreed, now speaking in the same vacant timbre as Ausjim.

“Well, how do you boys spend your time then?” Mr. T.F. prompted. He was nearly at the bottom of his checklist — this far into the process, he didn’t even need to guide the roommates’ transformation. Their new personalities had largely subsumed who they used to be, and would be happy to fill the remaining gaps by themselves.

“Isn’t it obvious, bruh?” Ausjim said. “The gym — duh! Gotta get those gains!”

At his roommate’s proclamation, Joethy underwent a startling change. At last, his muscles ballooned all across his body until they were identical in size to Ausjim’s. No longer did he have to settle for merely toned — he was well and truly ripped. So dramatic was the change that his shirt was instantly torn apart, revealing his glorious pecs and washboard abs for the world to see. The Asian hunk subconsciously flexed as he thought about his answer to Mr. T.F.’s question, realizing something funny in the process.

“Hell, we probably even spend more time at the Chinese Student Union than class, right bruh?” Joethy nudged his equally jockish roommate.

The word “Chinese” resonated in Ausjin’s mind as he experienced sudden changes of his own. His lush hair was quickly thickening and inexorably staining itself midnight black. And as for the rest of his body, his lack of hair down there became much easier to maintain, as he naturally had less of it. Meanwhile, his facial features were shifting all at once — brow softening, nose broadening, eyes narrowing, lips plumpening. Eventually, they settled on what the rest of his body had already become — a carbon copy of his roommate.

“Yeah, bro, totally…”

At the word “bro,” the roommates’ final changes began. The physical refinements were over, but there was still work to do mentally. Ausjin’s brain was purged of the faces of his former family, their white features morphing into far more familiar Asian ones. Fond memories shifted as his mother’s famous meatloaf became her authentic dumpling recipe, and the destination of his childhood summer vacations was corrected from Europe to China. Through it all, he remained the dumb, popular jock he had always been. That was also true of Joethy, who could no longer remember being a lame, skinny nerd. Nights spent studying were replaced with nights spent partying, and members of an extensive social circle easily entered the parts of his brain that had never experienced true friendship. His memories of his family remained the same, however — with one key addition. The newcomer’s face was blurry, but the more that he focused on it, the more familiar it seemed. Almost like… his own face…? Or was it Ausjin’s face? That seemed closer, but… 

By Joethy’s side, Ausjin found his memories haunted by an identical face. The two jocks sat there in dumbfounded silence, both trying to recall who it was that featured so prominently in their memories. What was his name? Not Joethy or Ausjin, but rather… rather…

“Joey! Austin!”

Joey and Austin Lee snapped back to attention, refocusing on their strange guest.

Mr. T.F. chuckled, putting his clipboard away. “You boys zoned out there for a sec! It’s okay, I’ll get out of your hair soon. I just have one last question for you — are you getting along as roommates?”

“Well, of course we’re getting along, bruh!” Austin exclaimed.

“We’re basically the same person already!” Joey finished his twin’s sentence with a pure, dull guffaw.

Because it was true. Joey and Austin Lee were clearly cut from the same cloth: The identical twin Asian jocks were both brainless, buff, bisexual business-major bros. The only appreciable difference between the twins was their hairstyles. Austin fancied himself a pretty boy, spending hours by the mirror meticulously maintaining his gelled hair. Joey, meanwhile, rocked a utilitarian crew cut, confident enough to put his angelic face on full display. But other than that, they were totally inseparable — everything they did, from working out to gaming to partying, they did together. (Rumor had it that they even fucked together, only bringing a lucky girl or guy home when he or she was willing to share.)

“Great to hear that! Thanks for participating in our Roommate Compatibility Survey, you two — although I don’t know what results we were expecting from twins like you… Anyway, have a great one!” As Mr. T.F. exited the room, he allowed himself one last glance back at the Lee twins as they mindlessly bantered. Both of them had certainly gotten their wishes. Joey was exactly like Austin, and Austin was exactly like Joey, and they were certainly each other’s bros — in both senses of the word. Another success for the Roommate Compatibility Program.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind Mr. T.F., the Lee twins promptly forgot he had ever existed, returning to their existences as paragons of young Asian American masculinity.

“So, what’s the plan for today, bro?” Austin said. “Hit the gym, then hit the streets?”

Joey smirked, admiring himself and his twin in the mirror. “You know me so well, bro!”

[renthony]

On "Consuming Content"

Every now and then a post crosses my feed that follows the vein of, "you have to do things other than consume media or else you'll be a dumb person who doesn't know anything about how the real world works and does nothing but pointless fandom stuff."

I hate those posts for three major reasons, not counting the inherent ableism and classism of "you must have approved Smart People hobbies or else you're worthless" rhetoric:

You don't know what people do or talk about outside of what you see on their social media. Responding to fandom communities on a fandom-driven website as if all these people are one-note cardboard cutouts of people is asinine. In many cases this genre of post feels like repackaged 2012 tumblr "not like other girls" and hipster discourse. Yes, yes, you think you're better than everyone else on this website because your hobbies are less mainstream, more morally pure, and have greater intellectual merit, we get it.

What do you even mean by consuming content? As someone who purposely avoids using the phrase "consuming content" because I find the term too vague to be useful, please be more specific. Are you including every single form of media engagement and art enjoyment? Are you just talking about mainstream TV and film? What about novels? Plays and scripts? Nonfiction books and instruction manuals? Do you mean to imply that going to a book club is a worthless non-hobby? Are you including academic reading? Are you including going to the art museum? Going to the theatre, concerts, or other performances? Taped liveshows? Watching sports events on TV? Are you including news media? Are you including YouTube tutorials about how to do various tasks, crafts, or other hobbies? Are you including trade magazines? Are you including industry publications in various fields? What constitutes "content," and what constitutes "consuming" in this discourse? Define it. "Consuming content" is a nothing phrase that people use to mean multiple different things depending on what they, personally, judge as valid media. It's a buzzword at best, and when the same buzzword can be used to describe both "idly scrolling social media" and "reading and discussing a book," it's a meaningless phrase.

As an artist and author, if engaging with media is bad and worthless, am I supposed to conclude that making it is equally worthless? If "consuming content" is a bad, lazy, worthless, fake hobby, what makes creating art a worthwhile pursuit? If I am constantly being told as an artist that engaging with media isn't a worthwhile pursuit in its own right, and the people who want to engage with my art are just brainless fandom losers, what incentive do I have to make that art anymore? Furthermore, to everyone reading this paragraph and thinking, "that's not what content creation is," I refer you to bullet #2: If the phrase "make content" can be used to mean "low-effort posts made to advertise cheap and useless products" as well as "being a novelist" or "getting a gig as a writer on a TV show," it's a meaningless phrase.

None of that is even getting into issues such as the way influencers are preyed on by both brands and targeted harassment from trolls. Influencer culture has major issues, but boiling those issues down to "stupid vapid young people who are too lazy to make real art or get real jobs" (which is a mindset I see frequently online) is unhelpful. So many people pursue influencer deals because they're living in poverty but are skilled at various social media and advertising related tasks, and just like any worker, they're being exploited because they need to eat. Labor rights for influencers are a huge topic that entertainment industry unions have been actively discussing and working toward. (Related links for further info: [x] [x] [x] [x])

"Consuming content is not a hobby" is a worthless statement unless you define what you mean by both "consuming" and "content." Quite frankly, you also need to define "hobby," because if you're putting requirements on what is and isn't allowed to be a "real" hobby, you mostly just seem like you're moving goalposts and defining "worthwhile hobby" as "hobby I, personally, think is good." Use more specific language to articulate your actual problems with the entertainment industry, the art world, influencer culture, or whatever else you're actually upset by.

Media and fandom can involve any number of enriching, satisfying hobbies that take up a perfectly acceptable and healthy space in someone's life. If you aren't into it, go find hobbies you do like and stop policing how other people spend their precious free time in this nightmare hellscape of a world.

[thedivineden]

Thin Ice

Summer Olympics Collab w/ @tetzoro

pairing: gojo satoru x reader

genre: smut

words: 5k+

notes: dubcon, enemies, breeding, jujitsu kaisen au!figure skaters, slight mentions of sexual harassment from Gojo, obsession, controlling behaviors, jealousy, drugging, peer pressure, slight manipulation,

AN: I had so much fun writing this, you should see the notes I scribbled at work because we’re not allowed to have our phones! Thank you so much @tetzoro for allowing me to be apart of this lovely event. ૮꒰˶ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ˶꒱ა˖⁺‧₊

You and Gojo Satoru have been competing against each other since the day you were placed in the same class at nine years old. He was favored due to his family standing within the figure skating community but you had raw, unfiltered talent which shook him and his family to their core. Despite all your talent, he’s managed to win almost every single competition. You’d bet big money that it had to do with his family status but you don’t upset the balance until you’re both picked for the Olympics.

And boy were you fuming. “I ALONE have went through hell and back to be where I am whereas he gets placed just because of his family name! It’s preposterous Shoko!” you’ve been ranting to your coach for an hour about the competition; how you didn’t believe that he deserved to be here and wish you didn’t have to compete along side him. “That spoiled brat doesn’t have a INCH of talent in his bones even if it was injected with a needle!”

“Aw do you really hate me that much? I thought we were friends?” You turn to the door to see the lanky white haired man standing against its frame smiling down at you. “Friends? Satoru please, you know I never enjoyed your company now leave. I’m having a discussion with MY coach or are you wanting to take her away from me too?” Shoko stifled a small laugh and stood up. “Gojo, don’t stress my prodigy out. What do you want?”

Gojo never took his eyes off of you; he saw your annoyance as just another game. You roll your eyes and say, "Well, I was just coming to check on my favorite figure skater but I don't think she was to see me." Despite your request to go, Gojo slips into your room and envelops you in his arms. "I'll break all ten of your toes in five seconds if you don't get off of me."

Gojo chuckles at what you've said because he adores your fierce personality and is confident that you will follow through. You lost a tournament at 15 after he "jokingly" slapped your behind for taking first place and your only recourse was to throw your ice skate at him. His parents complained to the judges and got you disqualified.

You were more concerned about scuffing your brand-new Eden Piano ice skates than you were about the blade nearly striking him. You could feel his breath on your ear as he said, "Aw, must you struggle so much, you know you love it, and I know you love me, why don't we meet up later? My room?” You're furious now and shove him away from you. You're about to charge at him when Shoko, sporting her signature side grin, stands in between the two of you.

“Shall we maintain the calm? Alright, sweetie?” The man behind her laughs audibly, saying, "Yeah, sweetie! Let's maintain harmony.” Even though you were angry, you wouldn't allow him or anybody else to sour your mood. "Shoko, you're right; I won't have to deal with him for very long. After the Olympics, I'm heading to Brazil, and I have no intention of returning to Tokyo.” That touched a nerve; your coach's gasp indicates to Gojo that she was equally clueless. You had no idea that your remark had the man fuming.

You? Leaving? The young man finds just such idea absurd. Ever since he first saw you in class, you have been everything to him. You were not impressed with Gojo's antics, even if he is accustomed to getting his way. No matter how many pranks and tricks he performed or how many gifts he put in your locker, his efforts were consistently disregarded.

The man continued to essentially harass you every day despite your denial. He would make harsh remarks about your body, clearly taking care to point out that you are curvier than all the other figure skaters in the class or that your ass is "so massive that you might tip over," which would ultimately be the undoing of you. You could not care less, and all he wanted was the thrill of having your undivided attention.

Gojo needed and desired you more than anything else, and this only made his fixation worse. Without saying anything more, the young man left the room, leaving Shoko to ask all the relevant questions and provide the information later. He's going to make sure that you remember him forever.

It took hours for the two of you to be back together again. You were seated close to each other for the opening ceremony. The opening ceremony typically features the entrances of the head of state or other official of the host nation as well as the president of the International Olympic Committee. The national anthem and flag are then raised and played. Then the tournament started.

You have a strong passion for figure skating, and when you're on the ice, it feels remote. Nothing could distract you from your quest for excellence in each trick, flip, and turn. Everyone in the stadium is quiet, appreciating your stunning appearance and captivating performance. Your candid feelings convey a tale of bereavement.

You jump off the backward outside edge on one foot, using your toe pick to help you get airborne, then use your other leg to reach across your body and back to pick into the ice. Gojo is an enormous admirer of your performances and would do anything to spend time on the ice with you.

You were actually quite flexible, as required by the biellmann spin. You spin on one foot, stretching the other leg behind you and above your head to make the shape of a teardrop, and Gojo is staring at you in astonishment. You release your leg and step off the ice again. You can turn the odds in your favor with just your pure resolve.

You release everything forward, shift your entire weight on your takeoff left leg, raise your arms, and release your right leg back at the same moment of takeoff. At first, it looks like a typical axel leap, but in order to complete the trick, you have to make four and a half rotations in the air. When you land perfect, everyone in the stadium goes crazy. Gojo was aware of the announcers' adoration for your flawless quadruple axel.

Interviewers are waiting in line to chat with Japan's figure skating prodigy as soon as you step off the ice. Gojo heard all of the inquiries: "Wow, it was incredible! "How long have you been practicing your quadruple axel?" "How long have you been training?" and "Do you ever see yourself performing routines in pairs with?" You were brisk even off the rink, graciously and enthusiastically responding to every inquiry.

Gojo is the next to go, but not before he interacts with you. "Looks like you're going for the gold, but we all know who's really taking it home." Your smile quickly disappears and is replaced by a frown. "If you already know you're the winner why are you trying so hard to convince yourself that I'm not?" You grin again and walk past the gaunt man before he can respond, heading toward Shoko.

God, you made him so hard.

Despite what you previously stated, Gojo is without a doubt the greatest for Japan, and his mesmerizing methods are hard to ignore. Every now and then, Gojo stretches out his palm and takes a tiny step forward, sliding across the icy rink with effortless ease. Not long after he picks up speed, he throws his right leg over his head and balances on his left foot. He spread his arms, almost making a T or possibly a K. Gojo never fails to demonstrate to his own nation and the rest of the world that he was a showman in addition to a prodigy.

He swung his body in fluid motions, bending his knees. He was able to move down the rink more quickly and farther as soon as both of his skates were facing in the same direction and parallel to one another. Watch as the man launches himself and lands on the back outside edge of the opposing foot. You see him use his free leg to assist with the takeoff. Gojo starts off across the rink once more; he has the appearance of a swan on a quest. Despite his solemn expression, he manages to pique the audience's interest by molding his face to suit his intended message.

Your thoughts are interrupted by a tap from another skater. "Hi!"You're — correct? The most beautiful man you have ever seen is revealed when you turn around. "Yes I am and you are?" Your smile was enough to break any man's heart, and it certainly broke Gojo's. His eyes caught you talking to the low-level figure skater during his back bend. To get your attention, Gojo slowly lifts his body upward while making sure to circle close to you.

You paid no attention to anything, not even when the crowd chanted his name. He saw you gazing passionately at the man, touching him, and grinning during his performance. He'll make sure that everyone is aware of your connection. Interviewers swarm Gojo as he emerges from the ice, asking him questions about the tournament, his emotions, whether he predicted Japan would win, and what he loves best about the Olympics.

He took great pleasure in watching you, even though you were hostile toward you. He enjoys watching you on the ice and knows that all of these eyes will be able to see and appreciate your beauty and brilliance, even if that's not a suitable answer to the question. “I had fun watching my girlfriend accomplish a quadruple axel on the ice, going above and beyond the norm!” The interviewers are going crazy over the exclusive insider information that Japan's Olympic candidates are a couple! “I'm very proud of her!”

“How long have you two been together?”

“Could you two come on my show to give more information about your relationship and experience in the competitive skating world?”

“Do you plan on marrying her?”

Gojo has a broad smile, but it widens when he notices you approaching from the corner of his eye. He ensured that there would be enough disturbance to draw in people from a 50-mile radius. He quickly puts his arm around your waist to hold you close once you are arms length apart.

He undoubtedly knows that you are extremely conscious of your appearance and would never intentionally make a fool of yourself in front of thousands of people. "Hello my darling, don't you want to tell them about how our love blossomed?" Even though you're terrified, you swiftly avert the interviewers' attention to the man by saying that he always tells story better than you. He makes fun of you and tells a made-up tale of jealousy, hate, and love. Gojo lets the interviewer know that you two are deeply in love, plan to be married, and want to start a family.

He knows when you get uncomfortable in his arms and knows it's time to finish the interview and express gratitude for the interviewers' time. Curses fly from your mouths towards Gojo the moment you two are out of earshot. You attempt to escape his hold, but it's firm and powerful, and he won't let go until he proves that you are his.

Because he would be pressed for time, he had everything set up before the competition day. After his performance, he asked to have a car ready for him so he could take you to the Olympic village, to his room, and finally to his bed. You sound even more enraged now that you're practically yelling at him.

“Are you out of your fucking mind? Why in the hell would you tell them that?”

"I just want you to realize how much I adore you, now hush and enjoy." Gojo hurries you into the back of the tinted Range Rover, entering on the left side. He signals the driver to shorten the route and closes the partition — his hand finds contact too high on your thigh and his look is exceedingly strained. "I'm not your enemy but you treat me like one, why?"

You chuckle and roll your eyes at his assertion, "You've been tormenting me since we were seven, and you think I have no reason to want you away from me?" When you look at him, his expression is one of perplexity. Torment? I used to put gifts in your locker, and from what I remember, you threw them out." Your face flushed from the accusation. "Well, I'd have kept them if you hadn't said anything about my physique. "Everyday, you said something demeaning which encouraged other people to say hurtful things. Now you all are in my shadow, I’m winning the gold ."

You turned to face Gojo and said this with the biggest smile on your face, but as soon as you saw the tear streaming down his hot cheeks, your smile fades. "What's wrong, you?" Even with a hint of worry in your voice, your countenance suggests dissatisfaction. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize, but I'd like another chance." In all honesty, Gojo doesn't give a damn about earning your favor. All he wants is what any man would want.

To win.

Gojo makes sure to be the ultimate gentleman as he ushers you out promptly as the car arrives at the village. When he offers his hand to help you out of the car and opens the compound door for you, he can see you're nervous and cautious because you pause. To be honest, you felt anxious at every turn, and when Gojo came up behind you, his arm clasped tightly around your waist. You didn't know why you two were at the compound without your coaches, or what he wanted, but you weren't enjoying it.

When he arrives at his room, he stops at the entrance and looks at you intently. "I set everything up for you because I want you to know how special you've been to me," he says as he opens the door. The smell of cinnamon and vanilla greets you, along with the sight of candles and petals scattered on the corridor floor. Gojo releases his hold on you as his hand travels to your lower back and softly presses you inside his room.

Although your instincts are going haywire, the environment appears in the opposite way. When you step fully into his room the corridor floor is only the tip of the iceberg. Gojo, rather, the person he hired to arrange the space, created a lavish pallet on the floor and surrounded it with a heart made of flowers. accompanied by a bouquet of flowers and a selection of finger appetizers. There are images of you from previous competitions, including ones where you lost, hanging on the walls with the term winner printed on them.

"Do you Iike it?" The pleasure on his face is palpable. In a normal situation, you would do anything to erase Gojo Satoru’s smile, but right now, it would be bittersweet. The amount of work he put in is both sweet and a little alarming, given that several of the images on display were taken when he was alone himself in the booth. You feel the silence begin to take on an unsettling note, so you turn to nod your head at the man, a small grin on your lips.

“Sit down, try the foods. I’ll be back with drinks!” Gojo disappears down the corridor and out the room door leaving you and your rapid heart alone. Thoughts were swirling in your head.

You could just leave.

What does all of this mean? I mean he did give you gifts when you were kids but you just chalked it up to him trying to buy you and throw you off your game.

Does he actually like you? Could it have been your announcement about you leaving?

You sit down on the pallet allowing your weak legs to rest and distract yourself with the white chocolate covered strawberries. Halfway through the patch and uncontrollable anxiety, Gojo comes in with a drink tray with two bottles of martell cognac l'or de jean and two glasses. “I see you enjoyed the strawberries, I made the beef yakitori but you have to try it with the miso ranch” he places the tray on the pallet and sits extremely close to you.

You take a seat on the pallet, allowing your ailing legs to relax, and use the strawberries coated in white chocolate as a distraction. Gojo enters with a drink tray with two glasses and two bottles of Martell Cognac L'Or de Jean halfway through the patch and uncontrollably anxiousness. He lays the tray on the pallet and sits quite close to you, saying, "I see you enjoyed the strawberries. I made the beef yakitori but you have to try it with the miso ranch." He picks up a piece of beef and dips half of it in the homemade ranch.

“Open” you look at the man as if he grew three head and laugh. You try to take the meat, saying, "I'm perfectly capable of feeding myself," but Gojo pulls his hand back and gives you a stern look. Without a second thought you open your mouth to allow the man to feed you. Not only did you let him feed you once but the whole plate of beef along with the miso ranch.

Surprisingly, the beef is really soft, and when mixed with the miso ranch, it is exquisite. Gojo fed you the trend of white meal options, asking you what you thought of whatever he served you next and ensuring you finished at least half. You attribute it to his big ego, and he is still making whatever this is about himself, albeit in a minor way.

You begin to feel lighter, and your discussion with him has become comfortable, flirtatious even. Only when he places his hand on your thigh does your body react.

Your face is now hot, your mind is muddled, and his hand rubbing your thighs makes you want him to move his hand up higher under your skirt. You clear your throat and remind yourself who you’re with. "So, why did you actually do this? I didn't expect Gojo Satoru to be romantic” he hasn't taken his gaze away from you, but appears to be getting closer.

“Because you’re leaving and I know I won’t be able to stop you but I want to give you something to think about while you’re 17 thousands miles away.” It's the first time you've truly appreciated his appearance; he has subtle muscular physique. His lips appear smooth and plump, while his jawline is sharp. And his eyes? Women who testified about losing themselves in his gaze weren’t lying.

As your stare deepens, Gojo notices and seizes the opportunity to slide his hand up your leg and under your skirt. You pretend not to notice the precarious situation you've placed yourself in. Truthfully, all you want is for him to be beneath your skirt, to slide your panties to the side, and finger fuck you. Despite your increased heart rate and anxiety you don't stop him.

"Strip for me, princess," and your body becomes frigid instantly, making you appear almost ashamed. His eyes narrow as he leans in to whisper to you how much he wants you, how amazing you are, how he put this whole thing up for you, and how he begs you not to waste this lovely night. “You’re the one who let me put your hand up your skirt, don’t you want it?” You started to stammer and your pussy's heartbeat is becoming unbearable, but are you going to let this man defile you after he has attempted to humiliate you and make you feel inferior?

Gojo rolls his eyes and scoffs at your apprehension He starts to stand up, but your hand catches his arm and stops him instantly. "No, I think I want—" Before you can even finish speaking, Gojo covers you with his lips and hands. His thin fingers are hurrying through your clothing, admiring every inch of your body and snapping a mental image of your exposed breasts and pussy. His touch is light but frenzied and every kiss feels like it’s scorching your skin leaving an imprint on you.

Your body reacts beautifully to him which makes him hungry for you. Gojo is above you, staring down at you as you lie flat beneath him. Your gaze is locked on him, as though you're trying to assert your power and take charge of the circumstance in an effort to look less desperate and eager. He smiles and ask how much do you want it— with a cunning look on your face, you glare at him and repeat his question. The young man chuckles at you and pushes your legs apart by swiping his palm behind them.

Once your legs are spread, Gojo places his face close to your pussy, basking in its magnificence. "Is all of this for me?" He says before swiping his tongue through your slit. Your legs snap without warning, but his grip keeps you immobile. He revels in your flavor, the way your body heats up, and the way you try to hide your pleasure in your . This time, he didn't want to come up for air; he wanted to be buried in your wetness and hypnotized by your moans.

Your skin feels as like it is being scorched by every kiss and lick to your clit and hole. Gojo commands you to hold your legs up so he can stick two fingers into your dripping hole and curls them to give you the most ecstasy possible. He may be selfish, but he's definitely not when it comes to pleasure. You abandon your position to position your legs on his shoulders and tangle your fingers in his snow-white hair.

"Gojo~ I need- my head..I can't," you say as your legs start to tremble and your eyesight becomes white from the pleasure that has been building up. “You can take it princess, just hold on a little longer for me” he knows that he won’t stop until you've created a mess; you begin to urge the young man to stop so you can regain your breath, but he doesn't hear you at all. He looks up at you with his bright blue eyes and hums at the sight.

You have a face of pure bliss, your eyes are closed and your hair is starting to stick to your sweat covered body. Gojo has an unrelenting pace — you could do nothing but focus on releasing yourself on his blessed fingers. All he can hear after coming up is your ragged breathing which forms a smile on his face. “I would ask you how everything was but I can see you thoroughly enjoyed yourself”

“You fuck like a virgin who just got some for the first time.” Gojo smile is immediately wiped off his face. You sit up on your elbows but he pushes you back down and pulls out his angry throbbing member. “A virgin huh? Let me lose my virginity with you then” without warning he slides himself through your gummy walls. Now hovering over you, Gojo uses his hands to push one leg up and bend the other to your side. His face is beet red and you can tell he’s enjoying himself more than you are right now.

You want to fuck him, you can’t deny how he has you begging for him to move, yet everything feels forced in your mind. As your face starts to well up with tears, he notices and bends in to get near to your ear. "Aw, don't cry, I'll make it all better, okay?" you nod your head, and he replies "good girl.”

As much as he loves to tease you, he can no longer control himself. Although he intentionally uses deep, languid strokes, the louder your moans the quicker he thrusts into you. He's been saying in your ear all along how gorgeous, wet, and tight you are. How ever since he met you, he's been dreaming of this and wants to be the one man who can win your approval.

You become this lustful shell of yourself that just wants him to consume you, and everything begins to feel like an out-of-body experience. You cry out in desperation for him to go deeper and use you till he is unable to. When he lets go of your legs, you encircle them around his torso while wrapping your arms around his neck forcing his face into your neck.

Your mind is foggy and all you can think about is using your legs to drive him inside of you and lock him in place as Gojo takes advantage of this opportunity to leave as many markings on your neck as possible, intensifying the pleasure you're experiencing.

The young man is breathless at your actions and he makes a mocking tone saying you’re a desperate slut aren’t you? how about I give you something to remember me by”. He lifts his body up untangling your legs from his torso placing both of his palms behind your knees to extend them to the sides of your head, you whine at the lack of contact but he calms your hunger by pounding into you. Even if the action took you by surprise you start to moan and praise the man for fucking you so well.

The young man is breathless at your actions and remarks in a mocking manner, "You're a desperate slut, aren't you?" What if I gave you something to carry me with you forever? You whine at the absence of contact as he lifts his body up and separates your legs from his torso, extending both of his palms behind your knees and push them to the sides of your head. Gojo slams into you stifling your hunger. Even if the action took you by surprise, you start to moan and praise him for fucking you so well.

His climax happens quickly when you mutter, "I-I may just stay for you," in a breathless manner. He closes his eyes in an effort to continue for as long as possible considering he feels his balls getting tight. He desires to relish each instant spent within you, the way your walls enclose him, the firmness with which your hands clasp his arms, and the volume with which you utter his name. Gojo leans back toward you abruptly, giving you a passionate kiss and cums inside of you. Though you're mentally panicking out about the lack of protection, you quickly forget about it as he releases your hold on your limbs and turns you onto your tummy, telling you to lift your ass.

"That fat ass has to get love too, princess, don't be shy." Your embarrassment is the only reason for the heat that is starting to appear on your face. He scoops you up by your hips and slams into you, rolling his eyes at your hesitancy. He is aware of your sensitivity, but you wouldn't be aware of Gojo's struggle to endure the pain in order to prolong this time. Your ass jiggling with each thrust has him spellbound, and as he slides out of you to slam into you again, his dick is drenched.

At this moment, your pussy is hurting and you're crying, but the heatbeat is becoming worse. Then it dawns on you that he is the only one who can stop the excruciating feeling underneath. Your mind is immediately repulsed by the idea. Gojo Saturo, of all people, fucking you senselessly is shameful, but the young man wipes that notion away as soon as it occurs by grabbing your hair with one hand and playing with your clit with the other around your waist.

You were too high and fucked out to realize that Gojo had taken the remote and turned on the television before seizing you. You were so overstimulated that your legs were trembling, and your tears were blurring your vision. "Gojo, please, I just can't handle it any longer." The teleprompters are now announcing the male single winners, “Just let them announce the winners pretty, if you win I’ll give you a present okay?”

Your body became heavy and you can feel your thighs become wet from your climax and hear his win being announced. All he could hear from you now is sobs begging him to give you a second, this is what he wants, for you to break down on his dick. It goes without saying that Gojo takes home the gold, he saw the camera move to his coach; who was very upset over his absence and had a stone-cold expression on his face.

He didn’t want his movements to be soured by the display and leans his head back in bliss. He’s beyond sensitive and doesn’t want you to see the tears coming out of his eyes to. Not only did he win literally but he’s achieving his life long goal of ruining you. His next words are winded, “make sure you come back in nine months for your next present princess.”

Leaning his head back in delight, he didn't want the event to ruin his moves. His sensitivity is immense, and he would prefer that you not see the tears welling up in his eyes. Not only has he literally won, his lifelong ambition to ruin you has been achieved. He continues, "Make sure you come back in nine months for your next present, princess," in a taunting manner.

You continue to sob as Gojo bullies your overworked cunt, cumming again coating your tantalizing walls in white. He lets you go and once you hit the pallet your world goes black. Waking up you notice the space around you is pitch black, you attempt to get up and survey the surroundings but your body is incredibly sore.

You sob on and on as Gojo abuses your overworked cunt and once more covers your alluring walls in white. After he lets you go, you strike the pallet, and everything goes dark. When you wake up, you discover that the space is pitch black. You want to stand up and take in your surroundings, but your body hurts so much. From your head to in between your legs, you look and feel around for a light or at least your phone.

You jump back and scream as soon as you feel warmth and skin when you reach to your left. Your head is throbbing and you try to recollect the last few hours, but when you discover you can't, it just makes you feel more anxious. You stand up despite the fact that your legs are weak and sprint to the closest corner to make yourself appear smaller. Your final recollection is leaving the ice and talking with the interviewers. Besides that, you don’t know where you are, why you’re naked and who that is laying next to you.

“Why are you yelling princess, it’s late.”

Princess? When you hear the voice, your blood starts to boil, and you start to remember what transpired. "FUCK, FUCK, FUCK! GOJO SATORU YOU WAKE THE FUCK UP AND TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED," the man gets out of the duvet and moves across the room to turn on the light. He can't stop laughing when he sees you in the corner. "Princess, get up. I got you something."

The man walks to the nearest dresser, throws you in the shorts and shirt, and walks to the bathroom, seemingly unaffected by your outcry. It's amazing how calm someone can be when he's clearly done you some harm. But you get dressed immediately, grab your stuff from his room, and run out of there. "You sick bastard, I hope you know that I'm going to the authorities." A flurry of flashes from microphones and cameras jammed against your face greets you as soon as you open the door.

Questions about why you were in Gojo's room, whether you were actually unwell or if you skipped the rest of the competition to spend time with him, and why you were leaving in his clothing suddenly burst out of the seemingly small gathering. The sensation of his arms enveloping you, his naked chest resting on your back, and his murmur in your ear, "Gold winning Olympian misses her win to share intimate time with her new boyfriend," further intensifies your feelings of overwhelm. “I believe that is a catchy headline.”

Gojo got what he wanted, attaching you to him forever, hopefully in more ways than one.

[ebullientheart]

sleep mad. spencer reid x reader

content — hurt comfort. bau!reader. mention of bau case. short fic.

you don’t let spencer leave your hotel room after a fight.

it was a perfectly normal reaction, to storm out for fresh air after a tense argument. spencer didn’t expect you to literally scream ‘no!’ from behind him. he turned on his heel so fast, recognising the fear in your voice from case victims, preparing himself to see you being attacked. he wasn’t prepared for the onslaught of tears, and no criminal presence.

when the two of you disagreed, it was almost always with quiet voices and levelled frustration. this time was no different. neither of you had yelled, cursed, or become enraged. it was irritation and exhaustion at the root of it, and it wasn’t worth the look on your face now. his own eyes shot wide in concern, spencer saw how you visibly trembled in the doorway, despite the evening being uncharacteristically warm, humid even. in the dingy light from the hotel hallway, he could hardly make out the contours of your face, but he could imagine what it must have looked like. why had you shouted?

you swiped messily at the damp rivets dug into your cheeks from the sudden fit of crying, effectively willing yourself to stop as you folded your arms defensively. your voice was wavering but firm as you said, “no. if you want space, i’ll go sit on the fire escape, but you can’t… you can’t leave this late spence.”

he raised a brow at you. usually, he disliked being told what to do, but that clearly wasn’t your intention here. spencer could clearly see the terror on your face, but he couldn’t decipher what you were so afraid of. so, forgetting the rule to not profile each other, he asked. you reached forward and tugged him into the room by his forearm, ever gentle, before spinning away to leave him be. but he didn’t want space anymore, he wanted answers.

“what’s going on?”

knowing you could never successfully lie to spencer, you sighed and dug your hands into your pockets. you felt guilty for not allowing him what he’d needed to cool off, but you couldn’t let him leave like that while working this case. each of the three victims left behind a brokenhearted spouse, each of which you’d been interviewing since eight that morning. the last was the worst, breaking down fully in jj’s arms, wracked with uncontrollable sobbing as they explained the last interaction they’d shared was a verbally vicious fight. their last words were venomous, and no peace was made.

“tell me.” spencer’s demand was soft. he sat on the edge of the hotel bed, and your heart twisted as the new angle enunciated the dark circles stamped beneath his eyes. you were sure you sported a matching pair.

you tried your best not to shut down, to communicate, “we… we see so many grievers. how many tell us that their last conversations were full of anger? they… can’t ever accept what happened, move on, because they never go to say ‘i love you’ that last time. they think the other died hating them. if we’re apart, and something happens, and our last words were just mean…”

he listened as you struggled through your explanation, but when you finally trailed off and dropped eye contact, he stood slowly. you heard him pad across the cheap carpet to get close enough to find the palm of your hand, and you let him take it in his own. a light rain had begun to batter the small window.

“you’re right,” spencer whispered, something you rarely hear when dating a genius, “you’re right. our lives are dangerous. but i don’t want us to fight anyway. i’m sorry.”

you sniffed and tried to not think about how pathetic you sounded when you repeated his final sentence back to him, equally as sincere.

spencer thumbed lightly at the dip between your eye and cheekbone, “i love you. now, and when we fight. i- i always love you.”

again, you echoed his sentiment, accompanying it with the sweetest kiss you could press to his jaw. your fingers curled into his hair, carefully undoing a tangle, and simultaneously undoing every knot of tense muscle in his body.

most couples just worried about going to sleep mad. you weren’t sure what it said that your worries centred around one of you being brutally murdered before making up, but you supposed that unique thought process just came with the territory. there was no blanket pulled over your eyes, the world wasn’t hiding it’s most sinister corners from you. or if it was, you sought them out. but those fears that usually haunted you just melted away when you held spencer. you were just like most couples.

two young adults, completely in love, swaying back and forth to the rhythm of your breaths in a crappy hotel, blissfully ignorant to the residents of the rooms either side of you grumbling about being awoken by your hallway confrontation.

a mess of entwined limbs, you eventually made it to bed, to sleep. one of you, or maybe both, uttered an “i love you” every few minutes. an enforced reminder to linger in your half-asleep state, lulling your minds to rest.

sleep came easy, for once.

[miyamiwu]

Unpopular opinion: There is no Link Click “trio.” It’s just the ShiGuang Duo + Qiao Ling

Now, before the Qiao Ling fans come after me, I just want to make it clear that I do not hate Qiao Ling. She’s a queen, and I love her. What I do hate, however, is the writers’ neglect of her character.

Warning: This will contain major Link Click season 1 and 2 spoilers.

Cheng Xiaoshi, Lu Guang, and Qiao Ling have been marketed as the main trio right from the OPs and EDs all the way to the different official artworks and PVs. But despite this, Qiao Ling has never been portrayed like a protagonist in the story itself. Her value has always been tied to some other character, and what’s sadder is that even as a supporting character, she’s still being neglected by the writers.

Cheng Xiaoshi and Lu Guang both have something in themselves that push the story forward. Cheng Xiaoshi’s recklessness in s1 is what gives tension to the dives and what leads to the overarching plot related to Emma. His planning in s2 also keeps the plot going. On the other hand, Lu Guang acts as the voice of reason, grounding the fantasy aspect of the show. His hypocrisy revealed in s2 also reshapes how we view the entire story.

But what about Qiao Ling?

Throughout most of season 1, she’s been kept in the dark about ShiGuang’s powers, which in turn excludes her from a big part of the story. In s1, it was only during the kidnapping arc that we see a bit more about her, but the focus wasn’t on her at all but on some random extra. And at the last episode when she finally gets to be in on the whole eye power thing, Li Tianchen possesses her, overshadowing Qiao Ling entirely and redirecting our attention and interest to him. (Extra: In season 1, between Qiao Ling and Emma, would you dare say Qiao Ling is the protagonist? I bet you won’t.)

Then in s2, despite Qiao Ling’s extra screen time and more involvement in the plot, the neglect of her character is even more palpable. She got possessed by a murderer, nearly killed her friend, and even tried to stab her own brother, but even after all these, we barely get to see how she had to process everything.

It’s really no surprise many people loved this scene:

This, for me, is the one time, the ONE time Qiao Ling is portrayed as a character on equal grounds with Cheng Xiaoshi and Lu Guang. If Link Click were a sports anime, this would be the scene where she discards her role as the female manager over a bunch of male athletes and expresses her desire to become a player as well.

But unfortunately, after this episode, Qiao Ling is once again pushed to the sidelines. She’s a player now, yes, but a player who’s just being pushed along the game. She may take the initiative in some things (like talking to Li Tianxi), but even then, the things she do are all still just to help her friends. You know, like a supporting character. None of what she’s doing is for herself alone. (If any Blue Lock fans are reading this, Qiao Ling has no “ego,” so to speak.)

Qiao Ling has no goals of her own, and this is how the writers failed her.

All the other major characters have their own goals. Heck, even the antagonists are more like protagonists than Qiao Ling.

Cheng Xiaoshi wants to find his parents. And he also just wants to help the people he meets in dives

Lu Guang selfishly broke the rules of time travel just to keep one man alive and will do it again if he must

Li Tianxi betrays her brother and Qian Jin just to find a way home

Li Tianchen approaches ShiGuang and later kidnaps Cheng Xiaoshi because he also wants to go home

And Liu Xiao wants to, I don’t know, change the rules of time and space entirely?

God, writing that last bullet makes me realize that even Liu Xiao, who only showed up in the last episode of season 2, has more weight in the story than Qiao Ling. This is ridiculous.

Seriously, what is Qiao Ling even here for??? Play big sister???

Just market her as a supporting character. It’s fine. She’s still badass.

I also don’t have much hopes over how she will be in season 3 because of how season 2 ended. Qiao Ling seeing Lu Guang’s memories means her worth in s3 will inevitably be tied to this secret. It’s the s1 ending all over again. At the end of s1, her worth was tied to the mysterious Red Eyes. At the end of s2, it’s tied to Lu Guang.

If the Link Click writers are gonna keep pushing her as a protagonist, then they better start treating her like one!

It’s not enough to just give Qiao Ling a goal, by the way (although it is very important too). She must also become a player who has the power to control how the game goes. If she ends up inheriting Li Tianxi’s powers, as many theories have said, then may the drama around her not be focused on how she may leak Lu Guang’s secret at any time.

I don’t know what she could do with her powers, but I think it would be very interesting if she ends up opposing Lu Guang.

Lu Guang wants to keep Cheng Xiaoshi alive, but...

...he’s no longer alive. The Cheng Xiaoshi we see is just a glimpse of the past...

What if… as Qiao Ling sees more of Lu Guang’s memories, she sees more of the real Cheng Xiaoshi and suddenly… wants to let go… wants to move on?

The fandom have talked a lot about how ShiGuang may react once the secret is out. But what about how Qiao Ling would react to it over time as she realizes those memories weren’t just her overthinking things?

In season 1, she couldn’t bear to face that kid’s father for years, and at the end of s2, she couldn’t bear to confront Lu Guang… In s3, how long can she bear looking at her dead brother?

The chances of her “giving up” Cheng Xiaoshi and returning to the original timeline is slim, though. I’m just giving an example of how she can be more like a protagonist.

Anyways, I’ll end here… I still have so many thoughts, but I can’t figure out how to organize them. This has also been in my drafts for over two weeks and I just want to post it already!

[neptunescore]

zak brown hater anon here and heheh. I can’t explain how happy I am seeing Zak Brown look of disappointment after the race. Literally giggling and kicking my feet. I think I’m thriving. McLauren and RedBull were pretty equal but of course McLauren had batter pace at the end. Honestly I’m not mad about this race but also not too happy because this is a triple header. As a McLaren hater I pray on their downfall but as an Oscar fan if they must be successful I hope he’s the one winning.

ANYWAY, while I’m here I guess I’ll talk about the recent drama with Mercedes. My personal opinion, I’ve been thinking about this for a long time but I think Mercedes wasn’t pushing Lewis aside. Did they make questionable decisions? Yes 100%. But at the same time I don’t think they’re purposefully disregarding him just because he’s moving to another team. He’s been with them for years and while I heard Mercedes didn’t offer a promising deal to him in the end it was up to him. Lewis is getting older and it’s his career. Like what he said in DTS to Toto that Toto can continue being in the sport but he can’t. That’s just not possible.

It’s great progress that Mercedes is finally picking up the pace but I do not think the reason the car “magically got better” is because of the recent drama. Some people may have been joking but to those being serious, improving a car does NOT take a weekend. It takes weeks- months- even until the end of the season- to improve the car. We have seen that over the past few races Mercedes have been increasingly faster and a better race pace but it is not because of Lewis and his fans saying he’s being sabotaged. They are still a team and they have their morals and competitiveness- they want to win- why would they push it all away just because their driver is moving to another team?

One thing to note, I do think the social media admin was feeling a bit goofy and was not paying attention to Lewis as much as George. In one way, it’s reasonable with their standings but in the last few races I think it became apparent that the admin is just not paying attention to what’s happening with Lewis. So I understand people’s a very towards that.

I think it’s important to factor in that most of this escalated mainly because of the fanbase. And it kinda disgusts me how everyone is joking (and agreeing with the person who wrote the email) about the email that proceeded to defame the crew in Mercedes (especially Toto and George). If there were any members that WERE against Lewis, I believe it still shouldn’t excuse putting it up against the entire team because then it’s punishing the entire team for a few people that might not even hold important positions to make a difference. (In this scenario I’m talking they aren’t on the same level as who’s on the pitwall). Everyone saying “oh, car is better and not f**ked because of the email” is kinda bs. I will say Mercedes is now making sure they equally support both Lewis and George on social media but on track, the car was always the same. Strategy made the difference and you can argue that George gets the better strategy than Lewis but in the end they are a team. Whoever is in a better position to gain more points will receive the better strategy.

Lewis will always be Mercedes champion but it also doesn’t mean Mercedes can’t win without him. I’ve seen some recent tweets defaming George and- hate him all you want- but he’s a competitive driver. He may not have the skills to make up for it like Nico, but he’s consistently gaining experience and has shown his growth. A good example being the amazing start in the Spanish GP. Yes, he complains a lot, but don’t all drivers? People forget George looks up to Lewis and even if their relationship may have changed over their years as teammates it does not change that Lewis was and still is his role model.

anyone can disagree with me on this ofc. You can think Lewis gets the short end which is totally fine (I can understand your points, don’t get me wrong) but at least do not praise the email for defaming multiple people that might not even be involved if there is anything happening behind the scenes. I love Lewis and I was giggling and kicking my feet seeing him on the podium. I’m super excited to see what else Mercedes can bring to the table and try to fight for wins in the upcoming races. I’m a max fan but Lewis is really close up there (funny, isn’t?) so I can’t wait to see them fighting on track again soon. I feel like I my lifespan extends whenever I see them together on podium and fighting on track.

thank you for coming to my ted talk 🫶

ZB❌️ ANON!!! I missed you pookie😔✋🏽

God, SAMEEE. Like after his comment on how lando could be winning championships if they had the best car, the visceral and pure need that arose in me to see him swallow his words, literally none of u will understand how deep it went😭. BUT LOOK AT MY MAXY FULLFILLING ALL MY DESIRES AND SHOWING THEM THERES A REASON HES CONSIDERED ONE OF THE BEST!!! I LOVE HIM!! And I agree on the oscar part as well, like I'm the biggest mclaren hater to exist (the TEAM, NOT the drivers, please don't come at me ppl😭), but if they're doing anything successful I'd love to watch oscar bring it, acc... ugh, I don't know, I never wanna see that ugly orange on the podium (this is NOT me hating on the drivers, if they're on the podium then they deserve to be there, I just hate mclaren alot guys😔✊🏽)

Moving on to the mercedes drama, I've already made so many posts abt it, but ur ask summarises my opinions perfectly (as always🫶🏼). The main thing pissing me off is the fact that some fans genuinely believe that email, or if they don't, they still joke abt the things that were being said in it. Like, do they not understand how VILE the whole email was?? It literally accuses george of SLEEPING WITH HIS BOSS, says they're plotting to KILL LEWIS, and then makes the most indirect threats against George's own wellbeing. That's absolutely batshit crazy. There's no way anyone should believe/ joke abt that.

As a young POC girl (and just as a fan in general), I literally adore lewis, but the fact that when he was asked abt the hate george was receiving, he just chose to brush it aside and say how 'he's never heard of it' rlly got me irritated. Like, at least tell ppl that any kind of hate, in general, towards any driver is just straight up wrong❌️ and should not✋🏽 be a thing they do.

Anyway, fans that r saying lewis ended up on the podium bc they finally stopped sabotaging his car after the email are just a new level of delulu. I won't even explain this because no f1 fan needs an explanation on how long cars take to be built/ adjusted🙂. Also, in the end these comments are just taking away from lewis' efforts, bc despite the shit car, he STILL managed to put it up on the podium (tho the car rlly did seem to suit this track)

Overall, I personally (none of u need to agree with me) think merc is NOT sabotaging lewis (why would they, the team needs points so bad😭) but they ARE acting shit towards him, especially the social media team.

I love ur Ted talks ZB❌️ anon, come by whenever u want❤️ (what's ur opinion on the carlos and charles situation btw)

[petitelepus]

Genya x male or gn reader. They are sharpshooter rivals.

Summary: You and Genya are rivals or at least in your mind.

Warnings: None

A/N: Modern!AU, Kimetsu Academy, Gender Neutral Reader, Genya Shinazugawa

It was a calm day in Kimetsu Academy and after an equally calm school day, Genya was getting ready to head home. He was packing his bag when suddenly the classroom door was slapped open and someone shouted his name.

"Genya Shinazugawa!" You shouted as you burst into your rival's classroom, "Fight me!"

"You again…?" Genya grumbled as he looked at you and you huffed and puffed your chest in pride, "Yes, it's me! Your rival! Now, Senpai, fight me and we will see who is the ultimate sharpshooter!"

"Stop shouting about fighting, people will get the wrong idea!" Genya snapped, but you just laughed, completely ignoring your senior's words, "Then come with me and we shall see who is superior now!"

"Fine fine…" The young man sighed as he got his bag and stepped past you, "Let's get this over with."

"Yes, that's the spirit, Senpai!" You cheered excitedly as you followed him to the shooting range behind the school. Since Genya was the club's ace and best shooter there was, he could march in to practice his shooting whenever he felt like it.

"Alright, Senpai, best out of 10!" You said as you got your rifle and Genya sighed as he prepared his, "Why are we doing this…?"

"To see if I have finally been able to defeat you, the Kimetsu Academy's star shooter!"

"Fine fine, let's get this over with-!"

"Not so fast!" You exclaimed, "Let's make this interesting!"

"Ah," Genya sighed again, "Sure, what do you have in mind?"

"If I beat you, you must acknowledge me as a far superior sharpshooter!"

"Uh hu," The young man nodded, "And if I win?"

"I'll buy you a whole watermelon!" You said, knowing that Genya had a weak spot for his watermelon. Hearing this made Genya's eyes widen as he realized what was at stake here.

You huffed smugly as you took your place and aimed for the target, "Here I go, watch and learn!"

And you shot as best as you could, getting an impressive 9 out of 10 right? You smiled as you lowered your riffle and looked at Genya who was getting ready with his own target.

"See that? 9 out of 10! Impressive, right? Aren't I just amaz-!" You were saying when you heard 10 rapid shots and your jaw dropped in shock when you saw that Genya had shot all a perfect score, all 10 out of 10, and in less time than you!

"Dammit!" You cursed as you fell on your knees and hung your head in loss. lost yet again to your Senpai. You had underestimated Genya's love for watermelon!

"I can't believe I lost to a melon lover like Senpai…!" You grumbled and Genya looked at you, "Don't call me that, people can get the wrong idea!"

"But I lost!" You cried out and the other young man sighed as he put his rifle away, "So, that watermelon?"

"I hate this!" You ground your teeth together as you hit your fist on the ground, "I can't keep losing like this!"

Genya knew you were a personality, but there must have been a reason for your obsession with beating him at his own sport. So he looked at you and asked, "Why?"

"This is all I got!" You cried out, "I'm not academically good or talented and I lack people skills so I don't have any friends!"

Genya blinked as he listened you open up and he nodded, understanding that school might have been hard for you since based on what he had heard, you enrolled in the middle of the semester, and you had trouble making friends due to your… Eccentric personality. No wonder being number 2 might be frustrating to you.

"Hey," Genya called your name.

"What, what is it?" You asked as you looked up and to your shock and surprise, Genya was offering his hand to you, "Wanna share that watermelon and talk? I could give you some tips on how to improve your aim?"

"Y- You would do that for me?" You asked, stunned by your superior's kindness, "Why?"

Genya smiled, "I'm your Senpai, my job is to help my Kohai to one day surpass me. And maybe, if you want, we could try and be friends also?"

"Ah, of course, you must also be a better winner than I am…!" You growled, but you still grabbed his hand and Genya smiled as he helped you up.

"Alright, I…" You blushed slightly as you looked away stubbornly, "I'll… I'll accept your friend request!"

"That's great," The young man nodded with a small smile, "Now let's put our rifles away and get that watermelon you promised me."

"Okay," You nodded as you grabbed your rifle and followed close behind Genya. You couldn't help but pout a little, "One day I will surpass you…

Genya hummed as he nodded, "I'm looking forward to that day."

[forever-fan]

Jason Todd, the World's Most Decent Dad

(My headcanons about him as a father. May be added to later. I'll comment when new headcanons are added to the list.)

I imagine Jason would have more than one child. Biological or not, this man can't only have one kid.

Jason would be the kind of dad to have bonding time with his kids by teaching them how to cook. If they want something new for dinner, he'll have them right there, making it with him.

Jason always makes whatever cake/cupcakes/other birthday sweets from scratch. No cake mix, just him and the base ingredients. His kids now hate store-bought foods and can tell when a bakery actually makes something from scratch.

Jason would read his kids bedtime stories every night. This is one reason they are so literate and advanced in their English classes.

Jason's kids are also extra literate because he never spoke to them like most parents speak to young kids. He talked, and talks, to them as his equals.

Jason always taught his children to talk out their problems, rather than using violence. His kids have grown up learning how to properly express issues and emotions with words. Jason makes sure to communicate with his kids, and in turn, they always communicate with him.

There are very few secrets in Jason's household. The only secrets are really small ones that Jason, and his kids, make sure won't hurt anyone. For example: if someone's going to pull a harmless prank, then they can keep it a secret until the prank happens. No harm has been done. The one specific rule about secrets is at least one other person in the household must know your secret and then they can advise you on whether or not it is harmful from an outside point of view.

Honesty is one of the main things in Jason's household. (He isn't gonna be another Bruce Wayne.)

Jason always encourages his kids' interests and education. He's the kind of dad who you would come out to the moment you realize you are even in the closet. His kids would never even think of hiding that stuff from him, because they have no reason to think he would ever have a negative reaction.

Jason would teach his kids self-defense techniques and make it a bonding exercise. Training days are often fun for everyone, and at a certain point, when Jason decides they can protect themselves well enough, the kids are given the option to stop taking lessons.

Jason tries to never force his kids to do anything. When his kids do something against his will, he explains what they did wrong and why it was wrong. When he wishes for his children to do chores and they refuse, he makes it into a game or competition.

Jason never wants his kids to be vigilantes, but if they insist it will make them happy, then he will make sure they are the best damn vigilantes in Gotham history. He'll be in Papa Bear mode for at least the first year of their vigilantism. (He'll probably never get out of Papa Bear mode, but he will hide it better after the first year.)

Jason will learn everything he can about any mental or physical disability if his child/children have it. He will consult the greatest psychologists in Gotham (Arkham staff and prisoners alike) just to make sure his kids are comfortable.

Jason can't take his kids out of the country, because he is legally dead, and even outside of Gotham is iffy. Plane travel is basically impossible. But, Gotham itself works well enough. (Everyone in Gotham knows Jason Todd is alive, it's one of the Waynes' worst-kept secrets.)

Jason is at all of his kids' events. Science fairs, school plays, field trips, sports games, etc. It doesn't matter what it is, he will drop everything to be there. The other vigilantes can handle the workload that he's putting off.

[not-poignant]

Hi Pia! Do you have some advices to deal with 'this one opinion'?. When everyone likes your stuff and you are happy with it too, but this one person didn't like/said smth bad, and then you are in spiral that everyone's pretending and actually this one just had the balls to say the truth? I'm struggling and you are in this for a long time, so maybe you have some advices? Take care <3

Hi anon!

It might help to know a little bit of science here.

Humans have what's called an in-built negativity bias. This means that when two things exist, one negative, and one positive, of equal weight, humans will biologically/cognitively automatically give the negative one a lot more weight. No one escapes this, and you're experiencing something extremely universal.

Human beings are also likely to think that negative words are more negative than often intended, and that positive words are less positive than intended.

Because this is in-built, it often requires conscious work to overcome. Many authors on AO3 as an example know the experience of one shitty comment 'undoing' how good all the previous comments felt. It only takes one person saying 'I really didn't like this story' for many authors to trick themselves into thinking this a) must then be universally true and then b) no one else actually likes the story or it doesn't mean anything to them, even when there's literally words right there that strongly suggest otherwise.

The first thing is to acknowledge your negativity bias and that your brain is kind of lying to you. It's doing this to try and protect you from harm, but in a way that's actually hurting you, because brains do stuff that don't actually help us all the time. The reality is that the vast majority of people do not waste their time and 'lie' in comments about how much they like something, because everyone has more important things to do in their life. They're only going to say something positive, for the most part, if they think what they've experienced is positive enough to warrant that. This is more and more true the less well you know someone.

The second thing is to then remind yourself that something negative isn't more true just because it's negative. This is also negativity bias in action! It feels more true, but emotions =/= actual reality - they're real in that 'they are very real and valid when I feel them, but I might not want to make big decisions about other people's thoughts and actions based on them, especially when negativity bias is active.'

And then the third thing is to just remind yourself that everyone is experiencing this. Right now thousands, maybe tens of thousands of creators - artists, authors, show-writers, poets, comedians, sports people, etc. are literally experiencing this right this second. Anon, all your favourite celebrities have likely experienced this (unless they're complete asshats who don't care about other people). Your favourite writers, artists, and more have experienced this. Would you tell any of those people whose works and creations you love, to listen to the few haters that come after them? Do you think they should go 'oh, that means everyone else is lying to me.'

Of course we feel pretty down sometimes. Because I have the ability to delete negative comments, if I get some hate, I tend to delete it. I don't want to see it again. It's my prerogative because my AO3 account and my Tumblr account etc. are 'my space.' When it comes to hateful book reviews, I...don't read my book reviews anymore and haven't for a long time. (I got misgendered too often, even in the nice reviews, so I just stopped).

And then create like a document or notes page or something to write down the positive things you've heard and actually reread them sometimes.

Sometimes negative comments are actually useful. Someone pointing out an incidence of actual racism (like, unintentional, but still happening) or something that is culturally offensive in a story can help us to consider editing the story or change the way we write about that subject. Someone saying they couldn't read a story because of all the typos, might get us to use some free editing software.

For the most part negative comments aren't worth your time. You can't make everyone like your stuff anon. People are going to hate your stuff. That's reality. It's completely inescapable.

But if more people like or enjoy or love your stuff, that's how you know you're on the right track. <3

If your goals in the world are to have most people enjoy what you do, you're already achieving that. One negative comment feels like a bit of a hit (or a lot of one), but it's a cognitive bias that's quite detached from reality. When you take it really personally, it's often a sign to just disconnect and reconnect with loved ones. Talk to a friend, hang out with a loved one, watch something you really love (and even remind yourself that some people hate that thing lol and you wouldn't want those people to stop what they love doing either because it means you couldn't watch the thing you love otherwise), get some rest. Our brains lie to us more and more loudly if we a) are tired, b) are dehydrated, c) haven't been eating or eating well, d) have certain mental illnesses, e) have certain chronic illnesses that cause pain or fatigue.

So addressing all of these factors can help a bit too.

And, I hate to say it, some of it's just practice. I've been doing this for long enough I've lost count of how many hateful things I've heard about my writing. They all still hurt. Some can ruin my day. Some will make me not write that day. Some still play in the back of my mind when I'm feeling really insecure. But they used to ruin my week or month so, like, progress. *sad smile*

But they're still not the majority of the people who talk to me about my writing therefore... negativity bias in action! Very interesting to know about, very horrible to experience!!

[crybaby-bkg]

sᴄᴏʀɴᴇᴅ | ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɴɪɴᴇ

Bakugou x f!reader Warnings/Tags: brief PTSD flashbacks, talks about having a quirk, jealous bakugou once again!, more kissing ^_^ Word Count: 5k Minors/blank/ageless blogs DNI!

Main Masterlist AO3

A couple days had passed since your first kiss with Bakugou, an official five weeks since you moved in with the hero. You had kissed a few more times in passing since then; once when he fixed you that sleepy tea right before bed, again when he came home bruised and busted one night after reopening his stitches during another battle, a couple times after rewatching an old fighting video of you and how you flipped a guy twice your size over your shoulder. 

You would’ve never guessed that you could progress this fast, could trust a man you had hated so vehemently half a year ago. But here you are; sitting in the passenger seat of his dumb expensive sports car as he drives you to work with him. 

It’s your first day, officially, of training to become a hero. Only, instead of having the traditional three year long courses most have to go through, you’re taking advanced courses. AKA—the lessons are going to be crushed into months instead of years. 

You’re a little nervous, to say the least, once the reality of the situation actually sinks in. You’re going to be surrounded by heroes all day long, ones that are good and bad, deplorable and commendable, and you have to treat them all as equal. You’re going to have to treat the people who need saving as equal. You’re going to have to be fair and just and play by the book, lest they throw your ass in jail for all of the vigilante crimes that they have chosen to forgive for the time being. 

To say you’re on probation is probably the best way to describe it all. 

“Doing okay over there?” Bakugou hums, eyes glancing over to you before focusing on the road again. The closer you get to the agency, the more your stomach starts to turn in knots. You swallow thickly with a nod, eyes trained on the passing cars in front of you. 

“Yeah,” you lie, and you must sound unconvincing because Bakugou turns to you with a frown. 

“Are you?” He asks, voice accusatory. You pout, sinking a little further into your seat as you grip the seatbelt around you. 

“No,” you sigh, gaze focused out the window. “This shit is making me nervous as fuck.” You admit to him, voice low as your hands start tightening. Bakugou sends you a concerned look though, unused to your faltering confidence, even in the face of danger. 

“What are you nervous about?” Bakugou’s voice is gentle, smoothly turning the wheel to pull into the underground parking lot of the agency. You don’t say anything until he finds his spot on the second level, the soft darkness now concealing the way your hands start to tremor. 

“What if I fuck up?” You whisper, eyes staring straight ahead at a truck across the lot, gaze unseeing. “What if I fuck up, and they decide to not forgive my previous crimes? And my true identity is outed? What if,” 

I’m not good enough. Your mind is going a mile a minute, throat closing up as the overwhelming thoughts start to cloud your mind. As much as you try to block out the memories, they always come flooding back to you in crashing waves. 

You’ll never be good enough, you hear me? Nothing you ever do will be worth it. Only thing you’re good for is serving me. 

That’s not true, and you know its not true, but its so hard to negate those same feelings that were beat into you. You know you were good as a vigilante, that you’ll be even better as a hero with more accessibility, but its so fucking hard to believe sometimes when not being good enough is your core. Can you change it, your center? Can you change the fundamentals of who you are, of what makes you an individual? Can you find it in yourself to be good enough today, to always be good enough?

“I won’t let them fuck with you.” Bakugou says, his body turned in your direction, his voice stern and steady. It forces you back to reality, out of your head and in the present moment shared with him. You blink away the tears you hadn’t realized were forming with every second, sniffling quietly as you turn to him. He looks so pretty like this, with his sharp features softened by the contours of the dim lighting, his carmine eyes focused solely on your own. 

“You hear me?” He asks, ducking his head to keep your eyes on him when his gaze becomes too much, curling in on yourself. “They can try whatever the fuck they want, but I won’t let them succeed. You’re gonna do your fuckin’ best, and they’re gonna accept it.” He tells you, firm. You laugh a little shakily as you wipe your eyes with the backs of your hands. 

“And how are you gonna make them accept it?” You ask him, smile crooked as you face him again. You can tell the question stumps him, as he pulls back a little with a confounded frown on his face, his eyes searching for an answer. 

“I dunno, probably beat them the fuck up and then burn their houses down.” Bakugou shrugs, his face as serious as ever. It makes you snort, quickly covering your mouth as you shake your head at him. “What?”

“You’re willing to commit assault and arson just for me?” You ask him jokingly, voice sweet as your tilt your head in his direction. You expect Bakugou to laugh with you, but his face falls serious, his eyes darting every which way but on your face, and you even see the tops of his cheeks starting to redden under the muddy lighting. 

“‘Course I would. Shouldn’t have to do it yourself anymore.” He mutters, looking down at his hands, start picking at his nails. It makes your smile fall, tiny now, as you rest the back of your head on the seat cover, looking at him from the corner of your eye. 

“I don’t need a man to take care of me.” You snark at him, tone not as biting as it used to be when it came to subjects like this. There’s a seriousness in your voice that Bakugou picks up on though,  despite how it underlies in your joking tone. 

“Yeah, but you shouldn’t have to get your hands dirty anymore, either. That’s what I’m here for.” He tells you, finally looks at you again with this—this face that makes your heart pang in your chest, makes it squeeze a little tight, suck the air from your lungs. You want to ask him a million questions; what are you here for, then? Why are you here for me? What did I do to deserve to have you here for me? 

It’s overwhelming to think of, honestly. To know that Bakugou was merely a stranger just six months ago, someone you had such a vendetta against. And now here you are, with your heart in your throat, hoping for an answer too complicated for you to easily accept but yearn so achingly for anyway. Instead, you ask him, 

“And who are you here as?” Despite the teasing lilt of your voice, you both know what you mean, what you refer to. You swallow the same time he does, your gaze falling to his parted lips, the tiny cut he received on them a few days ago healing. You want to kiss it just to see whether or not the skin is raised, if you’ll feel it against your own scarred mouth, but you wait. Hold off until his answer his clear, until it rings in the quietness of the car. 

Bakugou swallows again, licking his lips slowly. His gaze hasn’t left yours once, and you feel your palms start to get sweaty. He could say anything. Are you ready for anything? Are you ready for the embrace, the rejection? Do you want any of it? Should you just run from all of it? He opens his mouth and then closes it again, does the same once more before his voice finally murmurs out, 

“A friend.” His voice is hesitant, unsure. “I’m here as a friend.” He tells you, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen the explosion hero this unsure of himself. And for some reason, his response makes you deflate, makes you sink in on yourself. He doesn’t look as pretty in the rose tinted glasses you’ve slid on yourself, the muddy color of reality flashing in front of your eyes. 

You’re…disappointed for some reason. You expected another answer—of what, you convince yourself you’re not too sure of—but shouldn’t you be satisfied with this response? Especially to know that Bakugou doesn’t call just anyone his friend, not even the people he’s known for almost a decade now? Shouldn’t you feel satisfied, feel joyed that he considers you to be close? 

So why does it feel like such a rejection? 

“Yeah, a friend.” You chuckle humorlessly, eyes staring at the same truck from before, gaze void of anything you tried to let yourself feel. You two sit there in silence for a few beats, Bakugou staring at your profile, the way your silhouette curves around his dashboard. When he opens his mouth to speak again, you glance at the clock, and quickly grab an impromptu book bag you found in his closet filled with papers and pencils. 

“Let’s go inside, you’re making me late for my first day.” You try to say lightly, but you slam his car door a little harder than necessary when you leave out. He doesn’t chide you for it, but the etched on frown and furrow in his brow shows his disapproval. You can’t find it in yourself to care much though, stomping behind him as he walks to the hidden elevator in the garage. 

You two make your way around the agency, both silent, everyone clearing the way for the two looming clouds of frustration and tepidness. You stand far away from each other on the elevator up to his floor, and you follow him out until he leads you to another room across the hall from his office. He opens the door for you, and you walk in, finding a few familiar faces on the other side. 

“Hey! I’m so glad you agreed to become a hero!” Kirishima’s loud voice rings out the moment he turns around and sees you. It helps lift your spirits a little, making a small smile form on your lips as you meet his extended fist bump halfway. It only makes Bakugou’s mood worsen, especially when he watches you wave at Deku next with another smile. 

“Gonna go get changed.” Bakugou grunts as he turns on his heel quickly, exiting out of the room just as soon as he entered it. The two heroes watch him go in confusion, looking to you for answers, but you only shake your head at them. 

“I’m ready to get started as soon as possible.” You tell them after a moment’s lull in conversation. They both perk up at that, turning to a whiteboard sitting on the adjacent wall, and another person leaning against a desk that you hadn’t seen before. 

“This is Mrs. Kubo, and she’s going to be teaching you the fundamentals of what it means to be a hero.” Deku answers for her, and you bow to the middle aged woman. She’s pretty, with bright yellow hair cut into a bob and a kind smile gracing her soft features. She bows back before putting her hands on her hips. 

“As I’m sure you were told, these lessons are going to be a speed run, and you’ll quintessentially be moving backwards in order to get you on the streets a little faster.” Her voice is raspy and delicate but so commanding, makes you hold onto your book bag straps a little tighter and your back straighten as you nod in understanding. 

“First, Mr. Red Riot here will take you to the agency’s tailor in order for you to get a hero costume thought out, designed, and made.” She looks between you two, watching how Kirishima pumps a fist into the air. 

“I love designing hero costumes! It’s the best part.” He tells you, Deku agreeing with him with a quiet affirmation. 

“I think saving people should be the best part.” Deku interjects though, when Mrs. Kubo sends Kirishima a confused look. The redhead looks between the two before changing his answer, nodding his head quickly. 

“Yeah, that too. Definitely.” He looks a little unsure, and smiles sheepishly at you when they stop staring at him. It makes you laugh under your breath as you shake your head at his antics. 

“When you return, we’ll discuss your quirk, unlearn vigilantism, and start relearning the legal way of helping your community. Okay?” Mrs. Kubo says, her words making your chest tighten in anticipation. Your quirk? Unlearning? Why does it feel like such a dig at the fundamentals of what makes you, you? 

Kirishima must take notice of the way you shrink in on yourself, as he ducks his head down a little to get your eyes on him again. His smile is friendly, short eyebrows slightly turned up as he hooks a thumb over his shoulder. 

“Ready to design a badass hero costume?” He asks you, and you nod slowly, mind still going. You set your backpack down on a nearby chair, following after Kirishima as you try to get your shit together to focus. 

Why would Mrs. Kubo need to know what your quirk is? Why does it even matter? Well, you know why it matters, but you just don’t get it. Don’t get why the general public is so contingent on what powers you have, how you can contribute to society, your individualism when it came to supernatural abilities. You did a damn good job being a vigilante that was quirkless—even if it wasn’t all the way true. Obviously, you didn’t need one to save people, as you have saved a countless amount, despite what the media has convinced everyone to think.  

Before you know it, you were on another floor in a brightly lit room, and Bakugou was already in there, still frowning with his hands on his hips. He looks around the room, speaking lowly to an eccentric looking man with two toned hair and too tiny glasses. They both perk up when they see you, Bakugou looking down at the floor when your eyes meet. You sour a little at that, at the torrent of emotions you’re already feeling, and you huff a little. Kirishima pretends he doesn’t notice the tension between you two, but the designer really looks oblivious to it all. 

“It’s so nice to meet you!” The designer says after calling out your name, making you bristle a little. You still gotta get used to hearing your actual name and not your vigilante name, and soon, a new hero name. 

He comes up to you entirely too fast with a grin, but Kirishima sidesteps him quickly to block him. You can’t see the redheads face, but you watch the surprise on the designer’s, looking back to Bakugou in confusion, to which the blond just raises a single eyebrow. They all share a silent conversation you’re not privy to, which makes you frown, before a look of recognition passes over the designers face. 

“My apologies,” he says sincerely, bowing before he turns on his heel. “Dynamight here, has been giving me a few suggestions of what he’d think you might like for a hero costume.” 

The designer tells you over his shoulder, waiting for you to follow him as he makes his way back over to the table he and Bakugou were standing at. You walk around Kirishima, nodding your head to him in thanks as he winks at you in return, before you follow the eccentric man. 

Bakugou leaves the moment you stand beside him, but only to whisper something to Kirishima, his voice a little louder than a whisper but you can’t make out much of what he’s saying. The designer is too loud, as he starts pulling out different colored pieces of fabric, pointing down to his iPad, his hands moving wildly the whole time. 

“We were thinking something green, maybe.” He starts, pulling out an ugly electric green that makes you pull away from him. “Something opposite of red, if you know what I mean.” He winks at you, and you only stare back at him unamused before he turns back to the iPad with just as much enthusiasm as before. 

“Maybe some earthy tones? So a good green and brown mixture.”

“I don’t wanna look like bear shit hiding in the forest.” You tell him bluntly, and wonder if you were a little too harsh with your words. But the designer only laughs, throwing his head back and all, and it makes the corner of your mouth lilt up a little. 

“Good comparison, but I would never let my work look like that!” He tells you, swiping his pen through a few greens in the color wheel. You watch him all the while, taking note of Kirishima turning on his heel to leave the room before Bakugou is making his way back over to you. 

“That one.” You say quickly, finger pointing at the square of color in the corner. “I think that green is nice.”

“Ah, yes.” The designer agrees with a nod. “Sage green has become very popular amongst you young folk these past few years.” He tells you, pushing his glasses up on his nose, speaking as if he isn’t only a couple of years older than you. You and Bakugou share a look as the designer pulls out the perfect sage green piece of fabric, laying it on the table before he starts scrolling to find a brown next. You guys look for a minute, before you direct him to a darker brown, almost black, picking a color you like. 

“That brown compliments it well.” You murmur, pointing again. The designer hums for a moment before flitting off to the openness of the room. You and Bakugou watch him pick through a pieces of fabric before he finds one that’s closest to what you said, skipping back over to place it next to the green. He takes in both colors with a finger on his chin before nodding quickly. 

“Yes, that would be nice. Drab in color, but not too gloomy. Fits perfectly.” He mumbles to himself, whispering something else before his head swivels up to your own. 

“Okay, now that we have colors, what style were you thinking?” He asks you, and you open your mouth to speak, but he cuts you off quickly. “And what quirk do you have? We usually try to design something that best accommodates your abilities.”

Instantly, your mood sours again, and your face must show it. The designer looks between the two of you in confusion, and you wonder whether or not is a good time to be honest with yourself and them. 

Maybe…today isn’t the day for that just yet. 

“I don’t have a quirk.” You mutter, eyes glued on the iPad once more. You can feel Bakugou’s eyes stuck on the side profile of your face, inquisitive. You never shared that part of you, afraid of what he might do with it, how he might feel knowing you presented yourself as one thing to the media. But if he knew, he’d understand why. He’d understand all of it. 

“I’d like something that isn’t form fitting and covers all of me.” You speak up after the awkward silence hangs in the air. “And a mask too, maybe.” You nod, trying to envision a new costume. It’s hard to, when all you toted around was the Red Medusa; black and red rags in the beginning, before you found your friend to design an actual costume for you. Still, always, black and red, except your chest tattoo of Medusa exposed, your face fully covered, multiple holsters for guns and knives and ammo. 

You’re not sure if the Hero Commission would let you continue using your guns and knives, but it was the best way for you to fight. You’re not sure you would continue doing this if they wouldn’t let you. 

The rest of the conversation goes by dully, except for the part when the designer, who finally told you his name was Eddie, started sketching out the fabric on a wide expanse of paper. Two arms grew from his sides, and the sketch was completed in only a minute, before they retracted again. 

“What do you think?” Eddie asks as he presents his work to you. Bakugou stares at the sketch beside you, and it just…doesn’t feel all the way right. You’re not sure what it is exactly, but it doesn’t fit who you want to become. 

“I like it, for now.” You say honestly. “But let me sleep on it. I think there are a few changes I’d like to make, maybe talk it over with him.” You tell Eddie, hooking your thumb over to Bakugou who raises his eyebrows in surprise. You can tell he has something snarky to say, but swallows it when you shoot him a knowing look. For the first time since you two entered the building today, does he smile just the tiniest bit at you. 

After that, Bakugou guides you back to the room you originally started in. He walks with his hands in his pockets, his face deep in thought as you try to keep up with his long strides. He doesn’t say anything until you two stand outside of the office turned classroom door, folding his arms as he stares down at you with an inquisitive look. 

“You don’t have a quirk.” He states more than asks, mouth forming a straight line. Your stomach drops a little, and you swallow thickly, trying to figure out what he’s thinking. 

“Uh huh.” You respond back, neither answering his question nor confirming your status. You two stare at each other for a long while, before he nods, tongue in his cheek, opening the door for you. 

“Have a good lesson.” He tells you without looking at you, his eyes far away, questioning. You don’t say anything else to him, only scurry inside of the room before he closes it behind you, holding your breath all the while. 

The truth is going to come out, sooner or later. But with the truth, comes everything else that barricades it from spilling all over yourself and everybody you know. So for now, you think you’ll keep it all locked away, for your own safety of drowning. 

…

The rest of the day goes by quickly, with an overload of information being presented by Mrs. Kubo. Deku and Kirishima occasionally pop in with their own input and questions for you, even Shouto coming in once to drop a bit of information into your lap. You scarcely see Bakugou though, only glimpses when he goes into his office across the hall after patrol and handing over the lunch that he packed for you. 

When the day is finally over and you think you have officially fried your brain from information overload, are you finally allowed into Bakugou office. You knock once before entering, find him hunched over his desk with a pair of glasses on as he types at his computer. He looks up irritatedly for a brief second before he realizes that it’s you, face softening. 

“How was your first day?” He asks you, typing a bit more before he pulls back, pushing his glasses up into his hair. It makes his bangs stick up, exposing his forehead, that you don’t know whether or not you wanna kiss or pluck. You lean against the front of his desk with your hip, head turning over your shoulder to speak. 

“It was great, dad.” You snark at him, mouth quirking up at the way he bristles at your words. He narrows his eyes at you, scoffing under his breath as he types something else on his computer before the screen goes black. 

“Shaddup, dumbass.” He sighs at you, pushing away from his desk as he stands at his full height. You snicker at that, fully sitting on his desk now, just to be an asshole. Bakugou rounds his desk, rubbing at his forearms as he starts to head to the door, before glancing over his shoulder. 

“Get yer ass off’a my desk.” He tells you, turning on his heel when you only huff and cross your arms over your shoulder. You shrug, watching him walk closer to you, feeling something deep settle in your belly (you can’t tell whether its nerves, excitement, anticipation, or all three). 

“Make me.” You tell him, chin jutting out in defiance, a line that you’ve found yourself quite fond of as of late. Bakugou squints his eyes at you, only a few feet in distance separating you two, although he feels a mile away. You don’t feel like you’re on the same wavelength right now, and it makes your gut churn when he opens his mouth instead of stepping up to kiss you again. 

“Did I upset you with my answer in the car earlier?” Bakugou says instead, and it makes your chest squeeze tightly behind the safety of your ribs. You blink at him, watch the sweat run down his forehead, the eyeliner smudged underneath his eye, how his lip twitches when you take too long to answer. Your head tilts at him, your eyes distant as you think about it, how to verbalize every complicated emotion you’ve felt these past ten hours. 

“Hmm, yes and no.” You tell him solemnly, mouth twisting a little, watching how his brows furrow. “Our reality in the moment is where it is, and it should come as unnaturally as we allow it.” You tell him, shooting him a look as you referenced what you said moments before your first kiss together. Bakugou smiles softly at that, nodding, as if to remind himself of your words, before you continue. 

“But, I don’t think I would mind jumping a little into the future.” You say softly, your words dying out as your fingernails become the most interesting thing in the world. You glance up from under your lashes when you hear Bakugou let out a huff through his nose in amusement, his big grin and light eyes making your own face soften. 

“So, are you telling me that you wanna be more than friends?” He asks you, head tilting to the side as he walks up to you, slowly, until he stands in between your legs. He doesn’t touch you, keeps his hands hanging loosely at his sides. You want him to touch you, wrap his arms around you, pull you in close, but your body keeps trying to convince you otherwise. You try not to listen to it, shrugging when he tilts his head the other way to get your eyes back on his. 

“Maybe, I dunno.” You whisper, chin tilting in his direction as he slowly starts to descend to your level, his hands gripping the edges of the desk beside your hips. “I’d have to think about it some more.” You say fleetingly with another shrug, teasing, and it makes the explosion hero hold the desk even harder. (Is it bad that you wish it were your hips or your waist he would grab like that?)

He doesn’t ask if he can kiss you this time, and surprisingly, you don’t mind. You expect it, if anything, would find yourself offended if he didn’t kiss you with the urgency that he does now. His hands stay on the desk, but yours pull him in even closer by the thickness of his throat, the nails on your other hand scratching at the exposed flesh of his shoulder. 

You moan into his mouth when his tongue glides against yours, smooth and delicate and gentle and everything you’ve ever wanted in a kiss. His head tilts this way and that, his nose bumping yours, but you don’t seem to mind, mouth falling open in a pant when he kisses the corner of your mouth, your cheek. You bring him back to your lips, hips scooting to the edge of the desk, hope he’ll catch you before you fall—with his strong hands—with his own hips—with—with his knee between your—

“Oh, I’m sorry.” A monotonous voice rings out, makes you pull away from Bakugou sharply with a gasp. You both look over his shoulder to find Shouto standing there with a few stacks of papers in his hands, his eyes a little rounded in surprise. 

“The fuck do you want, Icy Hot?” Bakugou snaps at him, shielding your body from the hero, but its not like there’s much to hide. Still, you shuffle a little, trying to quell the ache somewhere you hadn’t felt in so long, face burning at the reality of your situation. 

“For you to sign these papers, but I’ll just catch you tomorrow, I guess.” He says with a sigh, nodding his head to you once before turning on his heel and exiting. You two watch him go, bodies suspended in hesitancy, unsure if he would come back or if someone else might come through the doors. 

After a few seconds, Bakugou turns to you, with kiss swollen lips and a red tinge to his cheeks. You find yourself biting your bottom lip, and his eyes follow the sight. 

“Wanna continue this in the car?” He asks you, breathless, leaning in for another quick peck. You kiss him once, twice, have to pull away in order to compose yourself and your thoughts. 

“That would be nice.” You whisper, smoothing a hand through his hair. Bakugou nods quickly, leaning against your palm before kissing it. He helps you down from his desk, grabbing his duffel from the couch in his office, as he pulls you out of there and down the hall into the elevators. And you go with him, giggling all the while, waving at Shouto and a red faced Deku as you pass them, feeling like a giddy, un-traumatized, harmless teenager all over again. 

chapter ten

please do not repost or rec on tik tok!

tag list: @endlessfreaky @iamaconfusedpan

[ballxbuster]

I'd like to introduce Luciel (@mini-moonlight's !!) and Theo.

❝You don't really hate my company, do you Himeros?❞

❝No, I suppose I don't... Lupin.❞

LUCIEL is our Kenshi. He has raven coloured hair, fair, freckled skin, and the most mesmerizing blue eyes. Luciel is an enigmatic personality, to say the least. Always was. Tense and cold, Luciel never enjoyed the company of other people; Theo included. He rarely speaks about his family, but Luciel found a new family in his trustworthy group of childhood friends. He's 6 foot 5, doesn't particularly like sports (but loves to cheer Theo on) and enjoys baking as a hobby. He's one of few people that can melt down Theo's ego and turn him into a puddle ;) Theo would like to be suffocated in his chest thanks.

THEO is the Johnny of the relationship. With equally as black hair as Luciel, his eyes are as silver as the moon, and his skin tan with beautiful freckles littered all over his face, he's popular amongst men and women. He has siblings he barely gets along with, a father who only sees him as a tool, a pawn of which must obey his father's every whim (spoiler, that mfker dies). He's 6 foot exactly, athletic, flexible, and uses "bro" "dude" and "man" as nouns. All of these contribute to his ever growing ego. Oh, and he's got a mean punch. Like shit, he may be built like a stick but he's strong. Did I mention he's a werewolf?

L: What Theo is to me? Well, Theo is my sun but he's also so much more than that. He's a warm touch and a guiding hand when I cannot bring myself to be. He's a bright and playful laugh over late night cookies. He's the man with the moon reflecting in his silver eyes that stare back at me like I'm the most precious thing in his life. He's my rock, the reason I'm able to love and let myself be loved again. He's the one thing I cannot live without. Theo is my lover, mine all mine.

T: Luci is.. everything to me. At first, he was a challenge, an enemy, perhaps. But then he became my friend, my best friend. And now? I love him so much I couldn't imagine my life before meeting him. He's saved my life, on multiple occasions! *laughs* He is my soulmate, which I think is something I knew from the moment we met. He was more than just an experience, Luciel has left a permanent mark on my life.

NOW SOME FUNKY QUOTES

Theo: That was so hot, Luciel.

Luciel: I literally called the person who just flirted with you a degenerate dog and told them I hope they get dragged through the streets.

Theo: I'm so in love with you.

Theo: Your smile looks forced.

Luciel, clearly annoyed: That’s because it is.

Theo, sweating: Luciel, there’s something I need to ask you-

Luciel: Finally! You’re proposing!

Theo: How’d you know?

Luciel: Theo, you’ve dropped the ring five times during dinner.

Luciel: I even picked it up once.

Theo: Bro-

Luciel: No, no, hold up, rewind.

Luciel: My tongue was down in your throat just a second ago and now you're calling me bro??

Theo, trying to flirt with Luciel: I think both of our families suck.

Theo: running towards Luciel with open arms

Luciel: moves out of the way

Theo: Hey, why'd you move?!

Luciel: I thought you were going to attack me.

Theo: I was going to hug you!

Luciel: Why would you hug me?

Theo: WHY WOULD I ATTACK YOU!?

Luciel: Do you want to explain the text you sent me last night?

Theo: It was autocorrect.

Luciel: Autocorrect wrote "You're so hot. Please step on me."?

Theo: ....Yes.

Luciel: Is something burning?

Theo, leaning seductively on the counter: Just my desire for you.

Luciel: Theo, the toaster is literally on fire.

Theo: We have a problem.

Luciel: No, YOU have a problem. I have an idiot who keeps making them.

guess whos the top and whos the bottom lol

-> I may reblog with headcanons at a later date!

also gonna tag @euphoricbi and @shinshoyu

[anneangel]

WTF, what is happening to the world???

Don't like using my Tumblr for other things than fun and fandoms that I use for escapism of the real world. But, WTF, what is happening to the world???

I can't understand all this “free speech” nonsense/ absurdity, because for me it's very simple: "freedom of expression of opinion/ free speech" is one thing, but slander, defamation, hate speech, attacks on minorities, etc, IS NOT "freedom of opinion/ speech", it is verbal violence (which, if disseminated, turns into other types of violence).

It's not that these people don't know the difference between “freely expressing my opinion” and “violent and hate speech”, they PRETEND not to know the difference in an attempt to legitimize their "hate speech", claiming that it is nothing more than “free speech ”. And the more people believe this, more lost we'll be as a society.

And, another thing, it's very easy to perceive prejudice, but in case you are in doubt: when someone who enjoys rights, but wants another group of people not to enjoy the same right, segregates and restricts them, that is prejudice. Then:

If you have the right to come and go, and I don't. This is segregation, and it is prejudice.

If you are white and you can freely access a building, but I, who am black, have to use the employee service elevator. This is racial prejudice, it is racism.

If you can go into an expensive store, or restaurant. And I'm blocked or watched closely by security, just because of the way I dress and because I look poor, that's prejudice. It's class elitism.

If you are a man, and can drive or play a sport, and I am a woman and I am restricted from enjoying this same right because I am a woman. This is prejudice. It's misogyny. It's sexism.

If you are heterosexual, and you can go out holding hands with your boyfriend/girlfriend, you can kiss them and show affection, but you think that because I am from the LGBTQIA+ community I cannot do the same, I cannot enjoy the same right as you, then you are being prejudiced. This is homophobia.

If you have the freedom to believe in and practice cult in a religion, but believe that others should not have the same right, just because their religion is different from yours. This is prejudice. It's religious intolerance.

If you think that someone different from you, that people with disabilities/PwD, if you think they are not capable or are inferior to you, that is prejudice, that is ableism.

I can't believe that in the 21st century, someone would still say that won't assist someone who is LGBTQIA+ and justify that “I have that right!”. What? Once you justify it this way, and the Court agrees with it, becomes possible to segregate ANY person. Do not doubt then that tomorrow black people will not be served either, because “I have that right”. Or “I'll not provide service to you in my store because I do not agree with your religion, your way of thinking, or your way of living, I have that right”.

And now this fake discourse of"free speech", this madness is spreading to other places.

No, you do not have the right to prune the rights of others!

So, repeat with me: when you want to enjoy rights, but you don't want others to enjoy the same rights as you, that IS PREJUDICE AND SEGREGATION. It is not freedom of speech, not freedom of opinion.

If rights are equal for everyone, then everyone MUST be able to enjoy them, regardless of who they are, whether you like it or not. If we leave room for some to enjoy something and others not, that will not be a free society based on equality and freedom.

No. These people are not defending "freedom of speech". They are defending segregation. They are defending slander. Defending the right to defamation. Defending the right to lie. Right to Fake News.

[purplesurveys]

1898

Do you ever wonder how Atheist people raise their kids? I do. There's admittedly some envy in there somewhere lol, but it's mostly intrigue about what the dynamics at home must be like. I live in an overwhelmingly Christian population where every single aspect of life is influenced by religion; so considering I've identified myself as atheist in a place where it's virtually nonexistent, it's something I find myself thinking about once in a while.

If you’re atheist, would you raise you kids believing in God or not? Absolutely not. They can explore, ask questions, even pick a faith to go by if they want to; but I will not be the first one to tell them anything about gods.

How long does it usually take you to finish answering a survey? Usually anywhere from 40 minutes to one hour, depending on the length or how fast I can think of my answers.

Do you spell it gray or grey? Gray.

If you make surveys, how do you decide about its title? I don't make them. I'm terrible at coming up with questions.

When are you going back to school? I don't need to; I graduated four years ago.

If you don’t go to school anymore, what do you do? I work in public relations; agency side.

Do you care about other people’s status messages? Like on Facebook? Sure. It's always nice to know what people are up to, the new places they've been traveling to or the life goals they've been reaching. The only theme I don't particularly like encountering are warfreak posts? like when they still subtweet (idk the equivalent term on Facebook haha). Come on sis we're in our mid 20s.

Do you like reading self help books? No.

What is your opinion on sex change? Your body, your choice. Glad to see there's been more opportunities to let this happen for those who need it.

Do you think that this will take away the essence of gay pride? ...What?

What do you do when you tell a really bad joke? I let it eat me up anywhere between 3 to 7 days, lol.

If you’re still a virgin, how important is your virginity to you? Not much, it's never mattered to me. I gave it up when I was 18 and never thought twice about it before or after.

If you have lost it already, do you regret it? No.

Do you believe in marriage? Why or why not? I believe in it, I don't believe it's a life requirement.

Do you like having a huge group of friends or would you rather have few close friends? Few close friends. The older I get, the more I enjoy my own company. That said I only let very few people in my circle now.

Do you have any goals for this summer? If so, what are they? Summer's over, but I didn't set goals. I did travel abroad, which wasn't something I specifically set out to do but was still nice to have done.

Or do you plan on getting a summer job? Or do you already have one? I've had a job the last four years.

If so, where do you work and what do you do? I work in a PR agency, doing PR work for consumer brands. Some of them you definitely know about and consume; some of them more up-and-coming and aptly needing the help.

Do you watch the TV show Skins? If so, who’s your favorite character? Never watched it.

And which generation do you prefer? Or do you equally love both?

Do you know someone who still typpe thiszz wayy? No.

Would you take a break after graduating from high school (like, postpone going to college for a year or so)? I didn't do that. Where I'm from, a gap year is just for the super rich who have safety nets no matter what they do or pursue, so...ew. Most need to fight to live.

Do you feel tired after stretching? No, it feels nice.

Can you get a strike at bowling? Only on Wii Sports, haha.

Do you use Facebook? If so, what is your favorite application there? Yes, but apps stopped being trendy there yearsssss ago.

It seems like everyone’s addicted to Twitter these days - are you? I fucking hate Twitter. I keep it to stay updated and to read translations for all BTS releases, but I stay the fuck out of any conversation. Everyone's always dragging, cancelling, bullying, shaming, discriminating someone else these days on there.

[hymnoire]

Walking by his side, her hands down are her suit pockets, her usual posture, straightened back yet slowly paced walk as her heels are hititng the ground, echoing. A scoff escapes from her lips. You really think we will make it to fifty - he questions. One she wondered herself countless times as the heiress often reeks of both Yves Saint Laurent and glock powder. Rebels and family traitors, they are, an unforgiving status of survive or perish with a bullet in the back of the head. "Shut up." She contests, pushing his shoulder with the hand she extends, a little tomboyish in her ways, her grin widening as he teases her about how she's barely two years older than him. "I'm gonna be hot in my 50s and we all know that. Can't die before I get to sports my middle aged woman leopard printed blouses and boy do I have many." Gaya jokes as they keep moving forward. His following words echo as they now stand in front of one of the recent deliveries to the garage. Sportsy, of a signature yellow, a beauty on tires. However, Gaya's thoughts are far from her appreciation for the vehicule like they usually are. As days are passing, her father is making moves in the direction he always wanted everything to go. It is only a matter of time before the city burns into the flames he set like the devil himself. The target on his back, on Gaya's part, does not only take birth from the chaos the city goes under do the man's manigancing. Years of iving in the his shadow has built up inside, the desire to pull the trigger for her personal, gut rooted, very own revenge against him - too. Her eyes are still fixated on the hood, pensive, processing. "If I wasn't as smart as I am, I would have already strangled the man in his damn sleep. I dream about taking his last breath every single minute I get to breathe myself. There is no chickening out. But pulling a bullet in this man's head comes with heavy consequences. He's Somebody, you know. But me? I used to be no one. Even though I have gained status as her rightful heiress, my tracks must remain covered at all costs. He is aware of the eye I keep on him, he keeps one on me, equally. And I know that even dead, his post mortum influence could come and bite me in the ass. I will strike when it's time to strike. The sooner isn't always the better." Speaks Gaya. If she usually appears a little more on the nonchalant side around Taiyang, through their exchanges and years of friendship - her tone isn't so light on this very day. "I do know being cautious isn't' your signature move - nor yours, nor the gang's, not hers." Hers, the Quinn to her Joker. Gaya awaited to be alone with Taiyang for one very specific topic to be discussed. "Which I don't hate. Like that, we are complementary. However. There are lines I don't like being crossed." The heiress speaks, now her head orientated towards him, her eyes harsher, back in her usual serious and tense. "We are friends, hence why I decide to show you this instead of taking any action. But you do know I don't fuck around. If this happens ever again, I will have no choice but to." Her arm is extended now, her fingers unlocking and handing the phone to him. Her phone. He simply has to press play for the video to start, one of the surveillance tape from her father's hotel room at the ShangriLa, a record of Quinn intruding in the said room and obviously not in her right mind, hallucinating, hearing voices, talking back to them, laughing on her own, dissociating before being joined by the Black Knight to which follows an incoherent, quite extremist dialogue from Quinn's part, still. "Don't worry, no one has seen this but me.

Tai. She's sick."

          for @velvetineblue from here

[bluraydisco]

9/11 remembrance and a political post (You've been warned by a queer leftist that suffers from the woke mind virus. Trust me it's worse than covid)

It's 9/11. I can't believe it's been over 20 years since that tragedy. I remember it like it was yesterday. Mom calling me up as I was a slumber asking me if I'm watching the news. I watched in horror. It's the day America changed forever. But we must remain vigilant and learn from our past as a country. When that came to pass we were all one . We shared a mutual pride and a love for our country . We set politics aside to see if our neighbors are okay . Was there heavy racism against Brown and Arab people at the time? Of course there was.

Was it used as an excuse for the NSA to start mass surveillance? *Ahem*"patriot act *ahem* Was it used as an excuse to start two potential forever wars? Maaaybee? Were the actual funders caught and prosecuted? No because-natural resources. Did it lead to the this weird sense of patriotism for one man over country that eventually became so prevalent in the cult of personality that is now DJT? I believe so. There was a preview of this with George w. Bush and especially the tea party/ freedom caucus. *Keith Olbermann voice* REMEMBER FREEDOM FRIES?!?! Also, remember, before 9/11, the national anthem and the flag and military presences were never apart of sporting events on a regular basis.

Unfortunately, nowadays we are surrounded by hateful rhetoric and our discourse has become a carnival show from a man that said " Now my tower is the biggest in the city ". What a selfish selfish man. (If you can call him that). America dies if it's leader wraps himself with the flag and holds a Bible.

We need to rebuild, just like One World Trade Center. Dynamic. Stronger. Energy efficient. A true beacon of Hope and a remembrance of what makes America great as is. Not a slogan on a cheap hat (made in China by the way) but to look up and see the sky reflected in the panels and say "progress" and "hope" and "moving forward".

Instead of conspiracy theories. Instead of the word of God. Instead of mass hysteria and transpanic. Instead of scapegoating people of color and immigrants . Let us all take a deep breath. Exhale and be excited! Our future is in our hands. The future of our kids are in our hands. Let's learn from the past and move on from it and build a better future because that is the only way The American dream survives.

Call me as a "socialist"if you must you can even call me "woke" . It's the same tired rhetoric of the McCarthy hearings of the '50s and '60s where lgbtq people, artists, actors, directors, people of color, activists- were all on "the list". It wasn't because they were communist because none of them were. They were creatives. They were outspoken and the government wanted to censor and silence them . Fun history fact: It was when McCarthy went after the military that ending his political career. (Look it up. It's a fascinating story).

"Woke" today is what hippies was in the '60s and '70s. Love, empathy. Understanding. Unfortunately some of those hippies ended up becoming yuppies (especially those in silicon valley) and due to Reagan's tax policies (which we are still feeling the effects of today) The rich are getting richer. The middle class is disappearing. Everyone is working three or four to five jobs to survive just to pay rent. Yet it's the banks and Big businesses and Wall Street that get bailed out by our tax dollars. Not the average Joe.

I have faith that millennials and gen z are actually going to do what Genesis said they were going to do during Land of confusion. " Their generation are going to set it right".

The American dream is on life support - yes. But we are a strong lot . We are diverse not divisive. It's inclusive to everyone because all people are created equal. Everyone is valid. Everyone deserves to live a happy life. Everyone needs some sort of stability. Mental and financial. We're not a Utopia we never will be. However, we can strive to be better than we once were. That is all anyone could ask for.

We could make America great again by using the tax code back from back then. Return to the fairness doctrine in media. Stop corporate buyouts of media companies and sporting arenas (again, thanks to Reagan and partly Clinton). But going back to racially divisive and segregation and project 2025 making us a Christian theocracy is not the way to go. We are free and we should remain free. Our rights are important. They should remain important. We are America and we will not go back.

(I should be a speechwriter)