#Idk I'm rambling here my thoughts are scattered at the moment

[spongebob-connoisseur]

abt the stuck in the wringer ask, if mr. enter meant him overreacting to the joke as a joke in itself then i don't know why he felt the need to say the writer's don't deserve jobs anymore like huh? i mean yeah the episode blows but is it really that big of a deal?

Tbh I don't get it either. I'll be honest I haven't watched that video in years so I'm going off memory. He was very harsh and he acted shocked that his fan base actually went after the writers while he was saying "these writers don't deserve jobs" "these writers should've never been born". Regardless of if he was exaggerating or if he genuinely meant it. I feel like if you have a sizable fan base then you should be more careful with what you say, and that especially since this all lead to death threats to the writers. I am surprised he didn't see it coming.

Ngl I am astounded by the way the SB fan base acts. I get it's because its so large so you get all kinds of people in there, but also sometimes it feels weird to get so overblown with stuff you don't like. I feel this way about cartoon fandoms in general but I don't watch as much cartoons as I used to.

I'm not guiltless either since I started off watching Mr. Enter's Spongebob reviews when I was in middle school😭😭😭 I fell out of interest with the show during that time and I guess I was more looking into a reason why I don't like the middle seasons anymore, "cuz they're bad, writers ruining it, etc". I look back on it now and find it ridiculous. I still don't like the middle seasons and I definitely had my fair share of trash talking it, even on this blog years back. I just don't agree with it as much anymore. There's plenty of reasons why they turned out like that (budget issues, experimenting and trying to keep up with the style of humor that was popular then, simple preferences, etc). They don't deserve the hate they got and the writers ABSOLUTELY deserved better than the shit the fanbase has given them.

Eh but the discussion of Spongebob is still fun to me. I think those negative cartoon reviewers weirdly was what got me back into the show because I actually had to sit down and rewatch the show again which made me fall in love with the show again, and now I am turning 24 tomorrow and I'm realizing that my current Spongebob obsession streak has been going on for 10 years now <3

I find it ironic with how it started since I refused to care for anything beyond the first three seasons and now I'm the biggest fan of the modern show plus the spinoff The Patrick Star Show. AND have a favorite character who ISN'T spongebob. Opinions change.

I just wish the way the fandom function would also change. The ghosts of those cartoon reviewers still echo on :((

[cryptiql]

thus always to tyrants

pairing: shouta aizawa/m!reader

words: 2.2k

warnings: mentions of blood, injury and death. some mildly suggestive dialogue and major spoilers from the manga

a/n: i'm gonna have to go into hiding for posting this 🏃 also idk if aizawa turned out ooc or not so here's to hoping my first attempt was good enough

shouta never liked to dance. he still doesn't—he's sure of it—but there's something so ethereal about watching you twirl around the kitchen, oblivious to the world as your graceful steps fall with a light tap tap tapping against the porcelain tiles. there's a scattered resonance of static rupturing the mellow tune that rises from the far corner of the living room, where an old gramophone sits, still glistening from yesterday's polish. you had always been fascinated by the twentieth century, and shouta was too fond of you at the time to ignore your yearning, and thus came about your first date: a trip to an antique shop where the relic was found, caked in dust from an absence of attention, and in desperate need of a touch up.

you were more than happy to oblige, and although the stoic man had once not seen the purpose of owning such a thing, it was now growing on him, and perhaps he used this as an excuse when throwing on your favorite record just to hear you sing. how could he not, with those honeyed lyrics dripping from your tongue like molasses; sweet upon his ears and thick in his throat when he swallows, his adoration swelling in tune with the dulcet string of notes playing from the gramophone's horn?

his eyes wander to the shape of your lips; parted into a sheepish grin as your lilting tone grows feeble from under the noise of the screeching kettle; and shouta realizes, with a start, that he isn't so far from grace as he thought. in that same moment, he watches you struggle on the tips of your toes, your hand outstretched but never quite reaching the coffee mug perched on the highest shelf. it's a sight to behold, especially when your shirt rides up to reveal the bare plains of your lower back—arched beautifully and begging for the soft, teasing kiss of his lips—but however tempting the notion, he manages to brush it under the rug when you bite out a curse.

"okay, sho, i think you've done enough bragging about your superior three inch height difference, now come over here and help me."

a rare laugh rumbles from his chest as he shuffles towards you and slips his arms around your waist, reveling in the way your breath hitches. rather than doing as requested, shouta presses his nose into your hair and inhales the faint scent of pomegranate and mandarin, his stubble grazing the nape of your neck and encouraging a halfhearted whine from you.

he has been reminded on many occasions; one being when he shaved for the press meeting without telling you, and was met with your distraught, fumbling rambles; that you love his scruff, and while the less scratchy kisses the better, his roguish appearance is very much alluring and always manages to make up for the ragged red lines painting your chin after a heated make-out session.

shouta only pulls away to bombard your neck and shoulders with slow, wet kisses, and when pausing to give you a breather, he chuckles at your protests and how your face has warmed from his gentle ministrations. he can feel it as he brushes his scarred knuckles across your cheeks, and to his delight, they grow even hotter when he rubs yours and his together briefly. yeah, i've had my fun, he thinks with a smirk, and shouta shows his mercy by stretching so that he may reach over you to grab the mug. but in doing so, he also steps forward and stubs his toe on the cupboard below the sink, and the pain sends him reeling for all the wrong reasons.

with one hand still poised above his head, the other slowly moves down to tug at the bottom hem of his pants. he notices the feeling of flannel sliding up his leg first, and then the aching pressure on the balls of his feet, and then the rock sitting in the pit of his stomach as it all sinks in.

his leg is supposed to be missing. . .isn't it? the hem is pulled up to his knee now, and he can see the hairs standing on end as a gust of cool breeze carries in from the gaping window.

no—not the window, but the open air, which ruffles his hair and carries with it the aroma of wildflowers. shouta doesn't know how or why he now stands in the middle of a field, clad in a white button up and dirt stained slacks, but it's hardly important, because there you are again, adorned in a similar fashion and bounding towards him through the tall grass. his years of hero training and fight-or-flight instincts (fueled by an unhealthy but—all things considered—expected amount of ptsd from said hero training) should have caused him to tense up in response and impulsively reach for the capture weapon which, to his further confusion, was not wrapped around his neck, but this is you.

you; the love of his life; the tie to whatever sanity remains in his shriveled old heart; his motivation to return home in spite of death's proclivity to knock upon his door, no matter how tightly bolted shut. you could never hurt him.

shouta knows this routine all too well, which is why his arms open so naturally to accommodate for your embrace, a wry grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. you practically hurl yourself at him, a plethora of elated giggles dissolving into the atmosphere as you hook your legs together and send him falling onto his back. for a moment, he actually begins to worry, because the ground is only so soft and his middle-aged body is not well adapted to the feeling of roots and thistles digging into his spine. however, as the minutes tick by, he notices that the dreaded sensation has yet to make an appearance, and he gradually shifts in place to test the waters with uncertainty.

your lips meet his, abruptly, fervently, and shouta finds it harder and harder to suppress the buzzing that erupts from the back of his skull like a hive of bees. or perhaps—yes, there's a bumble bee buzzing about the patch of daises by his head, then zipping between you both and unwittingly dusting his wrinkled nose with pollen. it would have been particularly bothersome if the creature didn't remind him so much of you.

"i can hear you thinking." you mumble before diving in for another kiss, this time just sampling the traces of black coffee on shouta's tongue. strangely enough, he can't remember drinking any this morning, nor waking up in the first place. all he can taste is cherry lip-gloss—your favorite and his.

your thumb is rubbing small circles on the back of his hand, silently encouraging him to speak his mind. instead, he kisses you again, and again, and again, wondering when your blissful sighs became the most beautiful sound to him, and how he was blessed with such luck, being the only person to hear them.

"i just love you," he answers after a while, and despite its truth, something visceral and somber begins to fester inside of him as the words linger. you don't take notice of the sour expression shouta wears while trailing your lips across his jawline, soon traveling upward. they press lightly; almost indiscernibly; against his right eyelid, and he his overcome by that same sense, like free falling in a dream. when the fall finally comes to an end—however long it might have been—a repulsive feeling he wishes he hadn't the burden of knowing urges him to push you away.

"sho?"

he reaches, tentatively, to touch where you kissed, and his frown deepens. his eye is supposed to be missing, too—the wounded area being hidden beneath a patch that you yourself helped make. your hands brace themselves on his shoulders and squeeze, and suddenly, he knows why it feels so wrong.

"darling, what's wro—"

the scenery changes once more.

shouta blinks, bewildered, and hangs on your voice with bated breath, a semblance of desolation resting in the space next to him. he waits, and waits, and waits, but is met only with an unsettling silence. the imprint of your body still lingers on the mattress, and the sheets smell of your cologne, but you aren't there to be framed under the moons glow; encapsulating the galaxy within your weary eyes, half lidded and staring at him as if he's still the only star worth seeing.

then, without a thought to his surroundings, shouta sits upright in the bed and scrambles for something, anything to ground him. it should be you. it should be you, surrounding him in your love and holding him like he's made of glass because you always told him it's what he deserves, after all he's been through, but you're not here. why aren't you here? while searching for the lamp, his hands fumble too wildly and too close to the framed picture beside it, and his reflexes are all but useless as it falls to the floor with a crash, narrowly missing one of his beloved cats. the one in question, named lemony—a sleek white with cream colored spots—barely reacts to the ruckus and leaps onto shouta's lap, nudging his stomach with her nose.

he should be grateful for her attempts to calm him down, albeit ineffective ones, but as he struggles to level his breathing, the incessant pawing at his night shirt becomes more of an inconvenience than anything. with as much care as possible, he grabs lemony by the scruff and places her on your side of the bed, pausing briefly to claw at his chest, where an indescribable ache is forming the longer he stares at it. shouta's gaze falls upon the picture frame, encircled by a halo of shattered glass, and his heart drops at the sight of your smiling face, encapsulated by the polaroid photo that once sat within it.

he shifts his weight onto the palms of his hands and shuffles backwards, brows knitted and eyes clenched shut in hopes that it will lessen the ringing in his ears.

"y/n!" he rasps, and that's about all he can do.

he feels fucking pathetic.

he's folding inward on himself, wracked with sobs that lack tears, scabbed fingers raking down the nape of his neck just to feel something because you aren't here to do it for him, and if that wasn't bad enough, he feels guilty for not having the strength to leave the bed and look for you. he's been reduced to a mess, all because of a little nightmare, and now a whole new problem has appeared. weren't you his dream? weren't you the reason he could go to sleep in the first place, without being plagued by by visions of loved ones, alive and well as opposed to rotting in the ground.

shouta's head snaps up at the sound of footsteps, and the panic diminishes almost entirely at the thought of you rushing to his aid, just like you always had, from the second you met. the footsteps are pounding; grinding his resolve into dust; by the time the door swings open, no doubt leaving a knob shaped dent in the wall. and there you are, a spectacle—even when cloaked in suffocating shadows—standing in the doorway, breathing ragged. but only briefly.

hizashi stands in your place not two seconds later, hair unkempt, glasses askew, and his shirt obviously thrown on during the last minute.

"where is he?" shouta whispers, the beginnings of malice laced in his tone. something he isn't quite sure of dawns upon the blonde's guise, and the silence that washes over them is deafening.

"where is he!?" hizashi starts at his voice, trembling with a fury he's heard far too many times before. his demands are ignored as he crosses the room and seizes shouta in a smothering hold, which only tightens the more he proceeds to struggles against it. and hizashi, holding back cries of his own, takes every punch and kick that the man throws, all until they grow too weak to bruise.

the tears arrive in waterfalls, streaming down shouta's cheeks and onto his raw bitten lips, where the memory of your cherry lip-gloss is replaced by a salty tang. the howls and bawls that creep from his throat are swallowed by hizashi's chest, but it merely urges the other to weep harder, the guttural sounds echoing throughout the small expanse. shouta fights within hizashi's grip for another moment, then glances back down to where the picture frame would be, if it were not in favor of the broken urn, and the engagement ring that sits beside it, covered in ashes.

he wishes that the sight didn't remind him of you, collapsing as a heap of cinders at his feet. he wishes he could forget the grating chime of tomura's laughter when it happened. he wishes you weren't dead.

"he's gone, sho. it was just a dream."

it hits him like a train, crushing him under the wheels and painting the tracks red with blood, but it hurts worse than he can describe.

shouta never liked to dance, but he'd promised you the first one at your wedding.

[quercus-queer]

I'm happy Claire is no longer supporting BA. That's like the biggest thing for me. The fact she's creating content free from them is great but I'm also interested to hear criticism? I don't think she was completely "innocent" by benefitting from the racism there but Id like to believe she really did reflect on how she had more opportunities than others and how she contributed to the workplace culture there. So overall I don't think she should be penalized now and I'd like to support her

Yeah, she wasn’t innocent and I’ve been seeing some people a little to quick to jump to her defense at any minor criticism or mention of the reckoning. Like enjoy her content but be aware. She’s not an innocent soft girl you should put on a pedestal (not saying you or anyone I’ve actually interacted with do it but I’ve seen some things lol). And I’m not sure if she really reflected or not. Claire didn’t actually say much and that leaves quite a bit up to her fans to figure out with a lot of speculation, leaving me feeling unsure. Like that’s it, I’m just unsure.

Here are my ramblings on the matter, I’m sorry its very scattered:

Claire was very successful at BA which had an extremely toxic cliquey racist work environment so it does leave me to wonder a bit. But again, she wasn’t a full time employee and she never put on a front of really enjoying her job lol. But again, she was also a full time employee for years and chose to continue working there under a different label. But again, BA was a big company offering her a job how was she supposed to know when she first started and then she was stuck with Gourmet Makes. But again, I would probably get myself fired for being a bitch to Duckor or Rapo if I had an inkling of what was going on. But again, Claire did look ready to kill her cameraman and Rapo at any given moment...

Claire had a book coming out when it happened. Was she being genuine or was she saving face because unlike BA she actually KNEW what her fanbase wanted from her. And what we got was just enough to say she’s better than the rest. She didn’t name names, she didn’t give us her salary (which was such a big point of contention you’d think she’d want to clear the air), she didn’t speak about anything she had witnessed, she didn’t criticize anyone except Rapo.

Was she planning on staying at BA once her book released? Maybe, maybe not she clearly wasn’t happy at BA and was going to leave eventually so did she do it for the right reasons or just take advantage of the situation? Did she actually have a problem with the racism there or did she have a problem with how she was treated by the company? Which she hasn’t really talked about btw and I really think she should. Like she CLEARLY had problems with them and I’d like to hear it from her.

Idk if she’s under a contract to not say something or if her new management didn’t want her to say too much, but she should just lay everything out and move on. I know a lot of her old fans are sticking with her, but if she wants to win alot of BA fans back and then some she should really just clear the air with everything she knows/knew and move on. Even if it is bad stuff (which can’t be anything close to the shit from Chris, Brad, Duckor, or any of the higher ups) she needs to say things. Because she’s clearly not saying everything and it feels like she’s protecting her profits and popularity for her book release and new channel more than anything else.

I actually thought her statements were pretty good, obviously her ditching BA is fantastic, and Chaey supports Claire and the support of her nonwhite colleagues is what I think is the most important to consider in the situation. But this is also why I’m kinda iffy on Claire since no one else has spoken about her and I honestly want some more input on her especially from Sohla or Rick.

The takeaway from this spiel is that I’m not sure. Claire is the most tolerable of the white people from BA and the only one I’d ever want to watch again, but again, I’m not sure. If what’s been given is enough for you to feel confident in Claire and support her then do it lol. She’s a funky little pastry chef and I wish her well. I just don’t trust any successful white person from BA. 

[rock-n-roll-refugee]

Ultraviolence~Chapter 1

I had to rewrite this because I forgot to save it... shoot me

PART 2 OUT NOW ON MY PAGE (I’m too lazy and dumb to link)

Peter Parker x Villain!Reader

A/N: This is something I wanna try, and I know I suck at writing and sticking to one project so let’s see how well this goes. And if y’all like this please let me know I feed off your complements :( also idk what The Hand is, i know its from Daredevil, but I'm just using it randomly. sorry

warnings: a lot of swearing lol, violence, blood

If you watched A Clockwork Orange you would know that the storyline follows a madman’s twisted descent into normality. Substitute Def Leppard for the old Ludwig Van and you have the tragic story of (Y/N) (Y/L/N). 

She had many similarities to the infamous Alex Delarge in which they both are mentally deranged and crave that sweet taste of violence. (Y/N) also took part in somewhat of a gang, but it wasn’t like Alex’s droogs. It was more of an ancient organization of assassins than a gang, but nonetheless, she was on the wrong side of the law. The organization was called The Hand and she was taken in by Bakuto, the leader, when she was only four after her father killed her mother and abandoned a very young (Y/N) on the streets. Her father was a rouge member and destroyed his family so he could escape for himself. Or at least that was the story she was told. Bakuto took her in because he saw potential, or maybe it was just her superhuman powers, for she had the ability to manipulate the elements into any weapon of choice making her an excellent weapon for The Hand. 

~

It was a typical mission, take out a corrupt entrepreneur who had got caught in a bad situation with some bad people. It was a task that she had preformed many times over many years, but today was different. It was her first solo mission. 

“Its in and out. Simple as that.” she whispered to herself.

She scaled the building, it was a large villa on the edge Lake George in New York. It was magnificent and it all came from dirty money. The atmosphere gave her a boost of confidence and she decided, why not have a little fun? Unlike the rest of The Hand, she always liked to spice up her assassinations with a little flare. Just like her idol Mr. Delarge, she was always one for the dramatics. A lot of her inspiration came from her favorite movie, as you know, is A Clockwork Orange. However, this was the only film (Y/N) (Y/L/N) has ever sense there wasn't anything to compare to. She smuggled the film into base, knowing she was forbidden to view films from the outside, and that it would disrupt her training, but it was her only memory with her previous family. Her father would watch this movie and to her mother’s dismay, she watched it along with him even though it was a movie very unsuitable for young eyes. What should be considered an awful memory according to Bakuto was something of comfort for (Y/N). Unlike most, she sympathized for Alex Delarge, and even though he was meant to be an evil “anti-hero”, she was able to relate to his strife.

She was lost in her thoughts when she heard the front doors open and close. She snuck to a new hiding spot and watch guests flow into the mansion. There was a corporate celebration being held tonight, and what better way of sending a message than in front of maybe hundreds. The hours passed and it became gradually hard to stay hidden due to the vast amount of party goers. She was ahead of the game however and was prepared for this situation. She changed into appropriate attire for the event, which was a black camisole dress layered with a mesh long sleeve dress with gold embroidery, which was provided to her. She slipped on the obligatory heels and joined the party, waiting for the right moment to strike. 

~

“I don’t understand Mr. Stark, why did you have to bring me here again?” Peter whined at Tony as the exited the car. 

“Kid, if you want to be involved with Stark Industries you need to know how to go to things like this.” Tony said waving off Happy. 

“Who is this guy anyways?” Peter said trying to keep up with Tony

“This guy is a pretty big investor in my company, and it would be rude of us not to go. He’s kind of a jackass though.”

They maneuvered their way through the crowd, shaking hands and greeting unfamiliar people. They finally found a place to stand, to be greeted by yet more money sniffing mongrels wanting to stuff their greedy hands into Tony’s pockets. Peter slouched over getting bored after only 15 minutes and waiting for this event to be over. He groaned and Tony rolled his eyes and sighed. Peter’s eyes began to scan the room for something slightly interesting, when he caught a good look at her. His posture suddenly improved grabbing Tony’s attention. He watched Peter drool over the (Y/H/C) haired girl in the black and gold dress, watching every move she made.

“Quit drooling kid and go talk to her.” Tony demanded. Peter’s eyes went large.

“Wha-what do you mean Mr. Stark?” Peter stuttered looking back from her and Tony.

“You really aren’t subtle.” Tony said face palming, “quit groaning and go over there. Gives you something to do rather than bugging me all night.”

Tony nudged Peter in her direction and he slowly and awkwardly waddled over to her. She stood in a pretty empty part of the party with her arms crossed, just staring blankly into the crowd.

“he-hey” he said softly

She looked at the nervous boy with her eyebrow raised, 

“hi” she said easily dismissing him

“um... so... cool party right?”

“right.” she said giving only a sliver of attention the the boy. Her attitude gave him a weird boost in confidence.

“So, what’s your name?” He asked throwing her off guard.

“Uhhh...” she was preparing to go unnoticed and not talk to anyone, so she didn’t even bother coming up with a fake name. She frantically scanned the room for ideas. She looked over to the bar and saw the bartender pouring a drink for a partygoer,

“Scotch...” she muttered, “Scotch uhhhh...” 

She then saw a man walk by wearing a brown leather jacket,

“Leather?” She said unsure.

“Scotch Leather?” Peter asked

“Yeah...” she said mentally face palming.

He began to burst out laughing as she joined him laughing nervously.

“I’m so sorry, I know that’s your name and its very rude of me to laugh, but no offense, that sounds like a stripper’s name.” He said as she scoffed. She realized the humor in it and began to laugh hysterically with him. 

Hours went by, and the two just talked and laughed about everything. As night fell, they heard a glass being chimed, attracting everyone’s attention. The host, and (Y/N)’s target stood up in the front of the room. 

“That’s my cue” she said to herself.

���Sorry what?” Peter said no catching what she was saying.

“Oh, I said I need to use the restroom.” she said putting down her glass of water, “It was nice meeting you Parker.” 

Peter smiled victoriously and marched back to Tony.

“You were over there for a while. How’d it go?” Tony whispered as the host began his speech.

“Amazing! She's smart, and pretty, and my age too!” Peter told him ecstatically.

“Did you get her number?”

“Crap.”

~

She had changed back into her previous attire and snuck onto the roof where she had a good view of her target. She tied her hair up into a tight bun and slipped on her mask. She had to use her full face mask due to the fact that she walked around the party for a while and enough people saw her face to be able to show it. She groaned at the suffocation and begrudgingly stuffed her head in. It was musty and smelled like sweat, and the connected goggles were scratched up and foggy. The one advantage was that her identity was completely hidden and she looked pretty freaky. She adjusted her suit, which was an all black bulletproof suit that went up to her neck, and cargo pants and boots over the suit. 

She reached out her hand and a chunk of metal melted from a bare pipe and flew into her hand, shaping into a katana once it touched her palm. she peaked through the skylight at the target, still rambling on.

“...and to all those who have been a part of my project, I’d like to thank and for the profits, we are making more than we anticipated, so I am making a proposal for the next...” 

He droned on for a long time, but she had to wait for the perfect moment. She wanted to make her first solo mission something to remember. 

She cut a hole through the skylight and swiftly hopped down right behind him, barely making a noise when her feet touched the floor. She went unnoticed until she stood up behind him. She was merely a shadow, and barely visible, but what caught everyone’s eye was the gleam of her sword. The crowd audibly gasps at the intruder and a frightened murmur is heard throughout the room.

“I know, I know. These new plans are ambitious, but trust me I have a plan to initiate a...” he says, as a reply to the gasps and murmurs.

The assassin smirks under her mask as the host turns around confused as to why the crowd looked frightened, and the moment he is face to face with her she sheaths her katana deep into his heart. The people in the crown scream and run frantically out of the building. She chuckles knowing the scene looks almost like renaissance painting, her and the target dead center, his eyes rolled back into his head, and the frenzy of the guests scattering the ironically serene and exquisite room. It was almost poetic and how she wished she could get a snapshot of the moment. She twisted the sword making the man scream out in pain and retracted her sword, taking one last look at the magnificent scene and scurrying off.

“Hey Peter?” Tony asked, not looking directly at him

“Y-yeah?”

“Do you have your suit on you?”