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wordpress-blaze-221734350 · 1 month ago

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My Recommendation

In this post-Afirmative Action world, sans quotas lives a fairy tale of stellar recommendations and grades making their mark… but what happens when a damnation replaces said recommendation? How do you survive?

I used to like to think myself accomplished for my age. I was 27 and had recently finished a prestigious post-baccalaureate program at a prominent university in New York. The world was my oyster and I had put all of my eggs in one basket to pursue a career in medicine. Since the age of 3 it was all I could talk about. I practically repeated the same thing to anyone and everyone that I met. My aspirations to become a physician and what that would ultimately mean…. what my life would be. All that I could fathom was in one tiny inkling of possibility and I relished the prospect daily.

The transition from being an English major to the innate submersion of science was overwhelming to say the least. The words that ebbed and flowed through my mind were constantly all at once washed away by a cacophony of mis-matched equations that led to nowhere, elements that suffered to erase themselves from my tongue as soon as they were spoken, and an uncanny ability to predict the slowing of time based on how complicated a physics equation may be. I still remember with absolute wonder and horror how I believe that I must have had a vascular event status post an organic chemistry examination where I needed 5 to 10 minutes to really remember what city I was in, what direction that I was supposed to be walking to get to my train, and even where I lived.

It was in all of that time that I met an unlikely ally- at least, I thought so at first. She was one of the most admired and feared professors in one of the most popular science departments in the country. While she tended to dress like a vagrant mystic, she had mesmerizing large eyes that could laser focus on you in an auditorium of hundreds and put anyone on edge with the cold silence of her question. As I was recounting a story of this woman’s effect on her class one day, my mother informed me that she believed that she knew of my professor in an unexpected way. “Oh… that sounds like Sarah’s neighbor…I’m almost certain of it.” She stated. We continued our conversation throughout the day and my mother urged me to inform this professor of our social connection.

So, I did. Given that I was determined to bend my mind to science, I religiously attended Professor W’s office hours. It was in one of those classes where we were debating the amazing superiority of the human cell receptors, that I decided to mention it. I explained that my mother and “Sarah” had gone to college together and that they had remained friends and kept in touch. “Oh” she exclaimed. I watched as her round eyes seemed to soften and her smile widened. It was in my naivety that I believed that with my hard work, my dedication, that I had shown her that I was entirely capable and that I might be able to reach my goal someday with her help.

Over the course of the semester, I was able to hone my newfound scientific intellect into a B for my final class grade. Though I had accepted my perfectionist tendencies, I wasn’t particularly sad with this because I knew all of the hours of work that I had put into this class. I welcomed continuing on to fight another day; it instilled a new strain of confidence in me that I thought I didn’t have before. I was ready to go out and sell myself to medical schools. I subsequently finished my post-baccalaureate program and circled back around to professor W. Since I knew that I hadn’t done half bad in her class and I thought that she had gotten to know me during my time in the program as I seemed to spend more time in her office than any other, I thought that she would be the perfect recommendation reference.

I remember walking into the dark paneled mahogany office and sitting down to catch up. She was pleasant with slightly flat affect, eyes large as saucers that threatened to bulge out of her head with the sheer motion of a head tilt… I took it all in. I thought that I had timed it right. I handed her a standard form for the university and asked if she would write my letter of recommendation for medical school.

She slightly slowed what she was doing and repeated back to me what I had asked her. I looked at her and hesitated. “Yes, I would be honored.” I replied. She looked slowly down at her desk as if contemplating something and said “Well, if you would like me to write you a recommendation, so be it. I will write it.” I was ecstatic and couldn’t help almost skipping home that day. It was a beautiful thing to realize that a dream that I was working so hard for, may actually come to fruition…

In the next few months, I was a buzz studying for the MCAT, working, and compiling my medical school file. In what seemed like no time, I had everything complete. I remember walking to the office with the list of schools that I wanted to apply to and made sure that my post baccalaureate office sent out the letters to the schools of my choice. It had truly been a labor of love for me. Once my applications had been sent out to the schools, I spent my time mulling about and counting down the days for a letter for an interview. What went from days to weeks quickly became months. I was subsequently completely confused and dejected.

I used to go over the wording of my essay, questioning whether I may have made an offensive comment. Maybe my grades simply weren’t good enough, or my scores? I wasn’t certain what could possibly have been the problem. To make it worse, the barrage of denial letters seemed to come at the very end of the period. I dared not even ask why I wasn’t up for reconsideration and even decided to apply at the last minute to get my Master of Public Health at my undergraduate university. And this is when time seemed to stop for me.

Somehow, I received vague feedback that there was an “discrepancy” with my application. Something that the reviewers couldn’t comment about but that put my entire application in question and that they had no choice but to reject me. I felt like I had been forced to the end of the conveyer belt and was now falling into the “FAIL” heap. I shuddered to think where I would end up. This was the beginning of many nights of sleeplessness, high blood pressure, and me slowly coming to the realization that medicine may not be for me, that I was simply not qualified.

There were other family friends who had seen my application and recommended me reaching out to other Admissions officers in other branches of the university. However, when I spoke with those officers, they would feign surprise that I was calling them and referred me back to my own post-baccalaureate department without question, almost clucking that I was confused and overzealous. I was trapped.

I decided to take a weekend excursion with my parents down South to visit a family friend. We had a great time, but our friend noticed my consistent anxious and dejected expression. When she asked me about it, I explained the situation. I let her know that medical professional administrators had indicated that there were inconsistencies with my application. I wondered aloud if I needed experience in the medical field more or to take more classes to increase my GPA even more. As I considered my options aloud, she remained stoic and then told me a story about her daughter’s friend.

She stated that her daughter’s friend was an accomplished Ivy League graduate, like me, who had applied to graduate school and continued to be rejected for some time before she realized that a letter of recommendation had been her undoing. I sat perplexed and captivated as she told me that not all letters of recommendation were affirmative to the applicant for which they were intended. She explained that there were some professors who put a knife in the backs of certain students to sink their careers.

What is even more disconcerting is that there is really little to no way for anyone to know that this practice is happening to them. As a student bleeds out their time, work, hopes, and fears other personnel are essentially bound to secrecy. This is because a letter of recommendation only has merit when it is confidential. And in having someone write a poison letter, a student all but gambles and seals their fate with a career ending secrecy pact.

It took some time for me to compose myself. I soon suspected that I may have a poison letter and was able to hire a wonderfully savvy education consultant who was able to help me re-navigate the admissions process. He worked with me to polish my ideas, speak louder and more confidently. He also recommended that I visit the schools to which I applied and (of course) to hone my application with a different compilation of my letters.

I contacted my post baccalaureate admission office and didn’t hear anything back for weeks. I called again with no response. Finally, one day I called the office and was met with one of the staffers answering the phone. When I said hello and who I was, I was told to call that staffer on their cell phone number. This was in the early 2000’s so, people hardly ever said this. I complied and waited about 15 minutes for them to leave the office. Once we were able to touch base, I was told in no uncertain terms to ever call the post-baccalaureate office again and to only contact the staffer. I was flabbergasted. All I could do was hear my heart pound in my throat. They explained that they would be sure to get my consultant the application that had been sent out previously. And both my consultant and I waited…

A week or so after my conversation my consultant received the application and called me into his office and read me something that changed my life. He sat me down at a long table and had two piles- one taller than the other. As I watched, he began to read me the letters of the numerous faculty members who supported me from the taller pile. They all had wonderfully glowing things to say about my abilities and spoke of how I would very likely soar to great heights and accomplish my dreams. I was extremely humbled.

Then my consultant went to the short pile. Which consisted of one letter. He held it up and asked if I was ready to hear it. I took a deep breath and nodded yes. I listened as he, in the words of Professor W., started off with “Though Aisha believes herself to be intelligent, she is in fact one of the worst students that I have ever had.” The letter was a barrage of insults calling me dim-witted, lazy, mentally deficient among numerous other characteristics. She likened me to have the mentality of a second grader and stated that I would have no business in the university’s post-baccalaureate programs and certainly could never survive the rigors of medical school.

My consultant stopped at the end and the silence weighed on my chest. I took deep breaths to keep it at bay. He stated that he wanted me to hear how ridiculous this letter was. How ugly it was. He turned to me and questioned me on my own insecurities stating that my resume, my education, everything that I had done was leading up to medical school and that he was certain that this letter was the thing that was killing my medical opportunities. He implored me to be adamant that I was beyond qualified and to believe it in everything that I did from there on.

I walked out of the office that day feeling the weight and the exhilaration of racial terror. On one hand, it was devastating that I had allowed someone to write these lies about me to share with the world. On the other hand, the words were so hateful, derogatory, and racist that it went without saying. Say what you might, but I am still convinced that this professor firmly believed in eugenics and could have easily written a compelling case based on her “concern for my abilities” noted in my letter.

I had gone to some of the best schools in the country, constantly challenged and tried (with a strong GPA) and this woman was saying that I was barely qualified to tie my shoes. It took me time to reflect, recollect, and regenerate into Aisha 2.0, a young woman who was not afraid to share the many facets of herself. To be gracious in my knowledge, my instinct and the trajectory of my dreams.

In the weeks after me reading my “poison letter”, I was finally able to receive interviews in the second round of my medical school application process. With a swipe of my consultant’s hand, the letter was removed and my dreams were finally coming into formation.

I got accepted into medical school after my second application submission, went on to graduate with honors, completed residency, fellowship, and now continue to practice. But I continually shudder to think about how lucky I was. If I had not had a consultant and a hero in the admission’s office, I likely would never have been a doctor, even though my grades, my resume, my experience, and my background were all worthy of my going to medical school.

I am a unicorn, when I should really be a zebra. I comprise 6% of physicians, when there should really be more as more are needed and most importantly, more are capable. Out of the many legions of students of color who started the medical school process with me, only a few remained. One by one, they were lost to dissuasion, humiliation, and terror just like me. How many other physicians and medical professionals of color have been lost to this exclusionary process? Some may think that this is simply what medicine is, a weed out process. But, students should be selected on the basis of merit and not outright sabotage. The lack of acceptance of people of color in medicine serves as a perpetuation of the poison that continues and feeds our medical system today. If you were dying on a stretcher, you’d want the best physician for the job to save you, but continuation of this “tradition” most likely ensures you’ll have a mediocre physician instead as it works both ways. Who is qualified? What does qualified mean?

Where does this leave others in this new political landscape? Is this where professors like W all but determine who gets to go to a ��good school”? Is this where cronyism is rewarded? And what does that do for the world? Homogeneity dims the light of creativity and innovation. If we all have the same thoughts and perspectives, how can one be challenged to be greater than they even knew that they could be?

It is in our diversity that we thrive. It is in our varying perspectives that growth can be cultivated, once and for all. The lesson of my recommendation is that we need a better way to do better now that the precedent is no more. The more this country remains divided, the less time that people interact with one another and only increases the possibilities to develop more fears and misconceptions, opening the door for hatred to ensue. Each possibility of an individual damnation letter is a knife in a student's back, that not only threatens the hopes and dreams of a young soul, but also the progress of a country.

Source: My Recommendation

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silly-goose-kid · 9 months ago

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on today’s edition of my being correct all the time, pjsk bats!! no mmj bc im not very into them and couldn’t think of good ones 💔

pjsk moots who don’t know this im genuinely obsessed with bats they are my biggest hyperfixation. ask me questions boy (gender neutral)

#fun notes akito and kohane are in the same genus #these are done 50% on vibes and 50% on looks #sorry if I made ur fav ugly they’re all cute to me #roz.txt #pjsk #project sekai #vbs #vivid bad squad #n25 #nightcord at 25:00 #leo/need #wonderlands x showtime #wxs

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millidew · 1 year ago

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I feel like the venn diagram of shigaraki fans and mithrun fans contains a considerable overlap

#my post #dungeon meshi #bnha #mithrun #tomura shigaraki #jacked mentally ill white haired guys and their little squad of weirdo crime friends #they’re very much not the same character (esp in backstory) but the superficial similarities are there

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hana-bobo-finch · 2 months ago

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jørgan clan my beloved. you guys are so messed up

#I fear I’m brain rotting on my own ocs again #meaning it is time for a collection of very sloppy doodles #pdbc #art #a majority of these are beta designs I’ll be so honest I did em all on the spot #so they’re subject to change. thankfully though most of em are so unimportant that it doesn’t matter at all lmao #except for wheezer. ohhh wheezer I don’t know how I feel about his design #he’s a lot less lovecraftian horror than I anticipated and I’m not sure if that’s better or worse #like aside from his missing organs and stuff he’s just. a Guy. honestly I think it’s funnier that way #which is good for drawing him more consistently but not great for how. boring he looks #ohhh well. can’t wait for these freaks to do basically nothing in the main story #drawing atara and polli was ROUGH I’m not used to drawing children and you can See it. I usually just skip over the child stage lmfao #yyyoooou big eyed innocent twins….I hope you two have…..a wonderful day…..oblivious to the Horrors…..#but at the same time I loved drawing that one bc they really just all look like ‘you got the whole squad laughing’#since that is canonically a family portrait (miika is out of the picture literally and figuratively) i just like the idea that—#—they went to a professional shoot just to stare dead eyed into the camera like the camera man just murdered their family #I’m like a snake eating my own tail posting PDBC stuff because I’m referencing stuff in this I have not actually posted about yet #like yeah they do always say rules are relative! yknow that’s the line in thewaait no you don’t know ok #i get attached to my characters too easily…..Dyme my beloved ilysm (she has been around for less than a week)#she does Not like wheezer. at all. not just because he rips his organs out for fun and is frankly a self absorbed conspiracy nut #but because he is So Incredibly Annoying about wanting to lead the clan. wheezer please give it up you were never an option #anyway. had way too much fun with the the children yearn for the mines doodle #which is ironic bc I didn’t actually spend much time on it. I should redraw it sometime I think I could do a heck of a #lot better than I actually did. ah well. off to the mines with you #ooughhh wheezer ily wheezer. he’s had some development since I rambled about him #first of all his writing career went from ‘oh ok he’s a struggling writer’ to ‘he thinks he’s the main character of the story called life’#also he’s a conspiracy theorist. which is only notable because how can one be a conspiracy theorist on a place like fincg island #‘I think aliens landed here many years ago. hear me o—‘ ‘yeah I know I have one in my closet’ ‘You What’#I’m in this weird cycle of brain rotting so hard over my own stuff that I hate it now #like it’s been on my mind so much I think it’s terrible now and I can see every flaw. yet I am still helplessly obsessed

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moremorebadurls · 2 years ago

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i had a vision

based on that one how i met your mother episode

^^ the best part

#project sekai #prsk #prsk fanart #slightly cursed sorry lol #vivid bad squad #they’re so silly i love them #partially inspired by my friend who’s ginger now but was blonde as a kid #the reason akito decided to change it back is bc toya accidentally calls him tsukasa. if you even care #dialogue is colour coded bc akito and an have the same initials #toya and kohane are sitting at a table in the top right idk if it’s obvious i think i drew it weirdly #i can’t draw akito’s hair sorry i’ll do better next time #hc that toya tsukasa-truths akito on the daily #bc he wants them to be friends so badly #he’s like ‘oh you actually have a lot in common’ and akito is covering his ears and pretending not to hear him

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highladyluck · 2 years ago

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Season 2, Episode 2 Liveblog

Teaser:

Good lord the WLW Agenda on that girl! flawless, no notes

Oh Rand honey, your heart is in the right place but your hands are not

How long, Selene? How long EXACTLY?

Rand is here and he’s having a bad time

Rand made fun of Mat for wanting to pay rent by sleeping with the hot innkeeper, but here he is, doing just that!

Oooooh the Foregate! Oh, this is interesting! Rand the nerd is always researching, and I guess he’s researching madness.

Lmao Verin is such a smartass

Moiraine you are being such a regular ass right now

Eeeeey it’s the fly trap! That’s a neat little book cameo. Oooooh and the dead Fade too.

Oh yeah I was waiting for someone in Cairhein to give Rand shit for looking like an Aiel 😅 gonna give that guy even more PSTD

Ok, looking at this guy’s waffleknit bathrobe… Donal Finn is RIGHT, Mat has been wearing a bathrobe this entire time. I want him out of Liandrin’s weird torture basement and into some fancy duds immediately!!!

I bet this guy reminds Rand of Tam, assuming he knows Tam’s backstory

Wow who vets these employees?

Liandrin like ‘I’ll just pocket this deadly poison don’t mind me”

I am here to watch Nyneave Heal and to make snarky comments about Liandrin and I have paused the episode so I am temporarily out of snarky comments about Liandrin

Oh I like the Accepted sleeves

“Men who can channel are not a disease” You tell her, Nyneave!!!

I don’t think they should let Liandrin teach Accepted either >:( also lol @ thinking you could stop Nyneave from being a Yellow, that ajah has her name all over it

…honestly I’m with Mat, we just saw her palm a poison and Liandrin doesn’t give anything nice to men without an ulterior motive

Ok I laughed at Mat’s choreography

I really hope he’s breaking out and not breaking into A Secret Dagger Chamber or something

Oh Elayne you are about to get a shock

Oh Egwene’s face was PERFECT

“You know, some of the greatest pairings have been between novices in adjacent rooms” Good lord the WLW Agenda on that girl! flawless, no notes

I would also be like ‘yeah yeah’ if a Green told me the Last Battle was coming, tbf. They’re the Apocalypse Prepper Ajah, you gotta take it with a grain of salt.

Love the canon detail of Nyneave never giving Aes Sedai their honorifics

Watch Nyneave discover Mat’s oubliette but he’s already gone 😂 (my guess)

BIG FISH

Oh Verin :D

Uh oh, I remember this part with the Trolloc mask.

Oh Rand honey, your heart is in the right place but your hands are not

Lmao she does not ever stop

This is not femdom!!! Illegal illegal red alert 🚨 🚨 🚨 Robert Jordan is rolling unquietly in his grave 😡 although I guess Selene got what she wanted so maybe it is femdom 🤔

Hah, I was wondering how Elayne got away with fancying up her room.

Liandrin loves someone??? OH SHIT that’s her son.

Awwwwwww we needed Min and Mat bonding and this is giving!!! I love that the show really shows how these people are friends

Mat is sharing his spoon, my heart ♥️

Moiraine like ‘oh god shut up, fine’

I do love the pond story, straight from New Spring :D

I cannot wait for Mat and Min shenanigans!!!

I was not sure about Donal b/c I loved Barney, but he makes his eyes sparkle & the little half-smile is pure Mat, so I’m sold

Ah Mat, you’ll change your tune on knowing the shit headed your way, if only so you can better dodge it

Awwww stabby??? No no stabby!

Lmao Selene he absolutely can hurt you

How long, Selene? How long EXACTLY?

Oh my god Elayne making hooch in her dorm room is the canon I never knew I needed, she absolutely would

Accepted Test! Accepted Test! *bangs on the table in rhythm*

The music in this series is so gooooood

Lan don’t read that, it’ll give you nightmares

Moiraine like ‘I knew you were the one when I could abandon you and you’d survive’ but a) you could not, Lan’s deathwish is So Big and b) I see Moiraine’s mentorship strategy at play here lmao

Moiraine is absolutely trying her best to platonic lifebond break up with Lan

(And ‘we were never equals’ is not a denial)

The battle sequences feel very RJ- chaos, impressions, brief intense focus

I would NOT want to piss off Loial

Also I only JUST realized it was the Seanchan a beat before the damane showed up, b/c I recognized the Samuri-ish armor

They all have baseball bats!!! This is so funny to me, I’m sorry, but then again what is more American and Japanese than baseball bats? (Besides imperialism)

They look so scary!

Oooooh American accent! Not Texas enough but still

Damn Rand, did you intend to take his job? Yeah, ok, I see you did. Damn, that’s cold! On par with book 2 Rand tho

#wheel of time #WoT on prime #wot on prime spoilers #wot on prime s2 #WoT on prime s2e2 #Elayne Trakand Defamation Squad #Elayne Trakand Defense Squad #They’re the same squad

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melodious-oblivion · 3 months ago

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At this point, this is the job of some of people's faves, like Sonnett and Lindsey. They're the old players on the roster, it's time to step up

Absolutely! Lindsey being captain I think is the person who should be the one to start this, but people like Sonnett, Tierna, Crystal, Lynn need to be stepping up and stepping in.

#and then obviously when they’re back people like rose and triple espresso and nay (as vice captain)#we know who Emma’s key squad is at this point #those people need to use that and be willing to risk it #which to me includes players like foxy Coffey #who maybe don’t have the same amount of caps but have either been with the team on and off for ages and are now a staple #(foxy)#or who have really cemented themselves as the 1 option for a position and don’t seem to be moving from that #(coffey)#mel answers #uswnt

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orlandospride · 1 year ago

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I just don't understand the logic of wanting smaller goals and fields. And for me it's not about sexism or the sport being the same or anything. The question for me is: what problem does that solve? I think anytime you want to do something er should start at identifying an issue and than thinking about a change that could solve it. Your other examples make sense: problem: women have more non-contact injuries solution: making women specific cleats problem: women are at greater risk of concussion solution: hard to say but possible ones: getting rid of headers or limiting their use, greater punishments for high elbows, knees and feet in congested areas. But I don't know what problem changing field and goal sizes solve, I think we have to start with the problem, specially because any changes comes with downsides, some tenporary and others permanent. With the goal, temporarily we might see more post collisions while players adapt to the smaller space, longer term we may have fewer goals and more draws, what is the upside to balance that?

there is a quality gap in women’s football and I don’t think anyone would (or could) deny that. there’s a gap in men’s football too and high scorelines aren’t restricted to any particular league or country. sometimes things go wrong and really weird things happen. a top side will have 6 put past them totally out of the blue, but they’re far less of an anomaly in women’s football and you can all but guarantee the winner when a top 3 side plays...anyone else

I don’t see less goals and more draws in a game that currently has lots of goals and lots of (one sided) wins as a bad thing. I think draws more often between say, arsenal and chelsea, is a fair trade off if it means bristol city aren’t getting 48 goals put past them in 17 games (some of those stats are even more dramatic outside of the wsl, I’m just using the wsl as the example because it’s the league I’m closest to following)

I fully acknowledge and accept that goalkeepers aren’t always to blame for goals and smaller goals aren’t magically going to make the teams at the bottom suddenly able to compete because the issue is so much bigger. for me the problem is parity between clubs in almost every division in any country, and whilst there isn’t one singular quick or easy fix to it, I don’t think it’s out of the question that smaller goals might be able to help with that. having a smaller goal would (probably) mean there’s less of them . having a smaller ball would (probably) mean less concussions and faster passes giving you a more fluid and exciting game

it always has to be about balance, IE how do you stop the top 5 or so teams in the world from stockpiling world class players and therefore being able to score 50, 70, 100 goals a season without punishing them for being the relatively few clubs who are actually willing and able to invest? the only league I can think of where the parity is not so much of an issue, though often does still lead to the same handful of teams leading the table and winning tropes, is the nwsl. but that’s because they’ve had very specific rules which europe has never really had a willingness or desire to emulate. I also think it should be about fun. football is a sport, but it’s also a game. it’s supposed to be fun and personally seeing some massive one sided victories or goals that could have been saved kind of….isn’t. smaller fields are unpractical and doesn’t translate well to grassroots, but a game with smaller goals, smaller fields and a lighter ball I think could bring hugely exciting and really enjoyable games

I love football. I want it to be good. I know with the disastrous implementation of VAR there’s, to some extent, an attitude of “just leave football alone” but I think there are some changes which could genuinely be fun. I remember when perez got slated for suggesting a 60 minute match instead, granted his suggestion was for monetary benefit, but I also think in hindsight that one could have been fun too. and as someone who sits through 100 minutes of men’s football dross every Saturday, and I just think football could be more fun if we, collectively, weren’t so resistant to change. football is old and old is great, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be better or that we at least shouldn’t entertain new ideas

#I think there probably should be a more equal spread of national team players across their domestic league #but the only way to really do that would be by force. and then you’re the FA paying the wages of a player because the club won’t #I think there probably should be a stronger cap on foreign national players #but then you’re missing out on the repetitional and excitement boost of having those players in the league #I think there probably should be a mandatory number of u23 domestic players in a match day squad but then you’re risking lowering quality #I just think football has a huge parity issue and not immediately obvious or easy way of fixing it #I can’t see the whole structure of football changing #the only way these huge changes occur is if they happen in every league at the same time #IE a restriction to foreign nationals in England doesn’t work if they’re all just gonna go to Spain instead #spain making it mandatory to have a national team player in every squad doesn’t work if they’e all going to leave for England #but if Fifa said actually no all of the goals are going to be made smaller in every one of our mandated competitions then it’s more univers

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sakuraszn · 1 month ago

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﹒♡ MY GIRL ft. jock!katsuki bakugo + cheerleader!reader

cw: making out, mentions of hickeys and jealousy.

jock!bakugo and you are the couple everyone either wants to be or is lowkey jealous of. He’s the star athlete—football, basketball, track, doesn’t matter, he dominates. And you? The head cheerleader, flipping and kicking in a skirt that he thinks is way too short but loves at the same time.

He acts like he doesn’t care about school spirit, but let someone talk crazy about your cheer squad, and he’s ready to square up.

jock!bakugo isn’t the type to outright tell you not to wear something, but his hands are always on your waist, tugging down your skirt or pulling your top up when he thinks it’s too revealing.

If a guy even breathes in your direction, he’s throwing an arm over your shoulder, yanking you close. “She’s taken, dumbass.”

You once got asked to be the flyer for a stunt with some of the male cheerleaders, and Katsuki was NOT having it. “You got plenty of girls to throw you in the air, why the fuck does it gotta be some dude?”

jock!bakugo who loves marking you up. The hickeys? Oh, they’re not just for fun. They’re warnings. Little bruises on your collarbone, right above your uniform’s neckline, just enough for people to notice. He’s not subtle, and he doesn’t care.

jock!bakugo has something about game nights that makes him extra needy. Maybe it’s the adrenaline, the way you scream his name from the stands, or the way your skirt swishes when you cheer. Either way, he’s dragging you into a storage closet under the bleachers every chance he gets.

“Five minutes, babe,” he growls, pushing you up against the shelves, lips already on your neck.

Five minutes turns into ten, into fifteen. His hands are everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding up your thighs, fingers ghosting under your uniform. Your lip gloss is smeared all over his mouth, and his jersey is bunched up from where you’ve been gripping it.

“You’re lucky I got a game to play, or I’d be doin’ a lot more than just kissin’ ya.” His voice is low, rough, and he gives your thigh a squeeze before pulling back, looking way too smug about how breathless he’s left you.

jock!bakugo who’s not huge on PDA, but he has his moments. An arm slung over your shoulder in the halls, a hand gripping your hip when you’re talking to someone he doesn’t trust, a quick kiss before he jogs onto the field.

jock!bakugo after a big win? Oh, he’s dramatic as hell. Scoops you up right off the ground, plants a deep kiss on you in front of the entire school. “That was for good luck,” he smirks, wiping your lipstick off his mouth.

If he catches some dude getting a little too friendly? He’s stepping in, pulling you into his lap, leaning in just enough to kiss your jaw as he stares the guy down. “The fuck you need, extra?”

jock!bakugo might be an athlete, but he’s got that protective mentality when it comes to you.

“I don’t fight over girls, but I will fight for mine,” he says, cracking his knuckles after some guy tried getting a little too close to you at a party.

He’s got connections—he’s not afraid to remind people of that. Some upperclassman tried to make a move on you once, and let’s just say… dude transferred schools real quick.

He doesn’t do threats; he does promises. “Keep talkin’ and see what happens.”

jock!bakugo after a game, he’s exhausted but still makes time for you. Showers, throws on some sweats, and pulls you into bed like you’re his damn teddy bear.

“Y’cold? C’mere, dumbass,” he mumbles, pulling you tighter against him, his face buried in your neck.

If he’s feeling cocky, he’ll start pressing kisses down your shoulder, hands slipping under your shirt. “You gonna give me a lil’ reward for winnin’, babe?” His voice is rough, teasing, and he’s already leaving marks where only he can see them.

You’re his biggest supporter, his loudest cheerleader, and he makes sure you know he appreciates it.

“Wouldn’t be half as good without you screamin’ my name from the stands,” he mutters one night, hand on your thigh, thumb tracing circles.

And when you compete in cheer competitions? He’s in the front row, arms crossed, acting all nonchalant. But when you hit your routine perfectly? That little smirk of pride on his face says it all.

“You did good, babe. Knew you would.” And then he’s tilting your chin up, pressing a kiss to your lips like he couldn’t help himself.

At the end of the day, jock!bakugo is all yours, and he makes damn sure everyone knows it.

#✎ᝰ — sakuraszn !#anime #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #mha x reader #bnha x reader #katsuki bakugo #bakugo katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bnha fluff #bnha bakugo #mha bakugo #katsuki bakugo x black reader #bakugo x black reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo fluff #x reader #x black reader

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tender-rosiey · 1 year ago

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“GOOD! NOW PUNCH HIS FACE!”

— when your baby and gojo, geto, nanami, toji, and sukuna get protective over you (f!reader)

a/n: I am alive!! as an apology here is a multi-character post 🙏 btw in toji's part, you're megumi's mom

GOJO SATORU:

two peas in a pod, twins, copies: these are all things people have called your husband and son.

honestly, they’re not wrong. your son has his father’s looks—satoru swears he has your nose and ears but anyway—and he carries the same protectiveness and love he holds for you, if not amplified.

you can’t count on one hand the amount of times the house has been turned upside down because of their fights for a cuddle session with you.

of course, you have always tried suggesting them simply sharing you, but these problem children would rather eat raw zucchini than ever share the cuddle time.

so while your son is barely six, you can still count on him to team up with satoru against anyone who wrongs you in anyway like what’s happening right now for example.

you’re out with your lovely family to buy some groceries, and since they both were whining about getting some sweets, you allowed them to go and snatch a couple from the next aisle.

on the other hand, you stayed to look for another type of detergent to clean the floor—especially since satoru got this new type of paint for s/n and it’s quite an endeavor to remove it with a regular detergent.

however, being in the cleaning supplies section never guaranteed the lack of filthy men who can’t take no for an answer. this one man approaches you, smug grin on his face as he leans on the wall, “what’s a pretty lady like you doing alone?”

“buying groceries like a normal person; now please leave me alone.”

he quickly frowns, “don’t be so stingy doll,” his hand extends towards your arm, “I can show you a good time; I promise—“

the man is swiftly smacked with an egg on his face, and he is left with the egg dripping down his face, “what’s your wrong with your kid, man?!” he yells at the person behind you.

he then grumbles, “ruined a potential good night.”

“my kid was absolutely right in what he did,” you hear satoru’s voice. you then feel a hand on your shoulder, and you’re pulled into a chest you’re all too familiar with, “’toru—“

your husband shoots a small smile your way, pressing a quick kiss to your lips, before looking at his son, “that last throw was very good, s/n! throw another one but just below his stomach."

a cheshire cat-like grin is plastered on your husband’s face as s/n prepares to launch another egg at the man.

there is a very evident scowl on your son’s face as he yells, “don’t you ever bother mama again, you stinky bum crumb!”

the man gasps and tries to make a run for it, but your son wouldn’t be the son of gojo satoru if he doesn’t manage to land the hit exactly where he wants.

the man quickly crumbles to the ground screaming and alerting literally everyone in the store.

so satoru picks both you and s/n and makes a run for it.

you hold tightly onto him, “wait, ‘toru, the groceries!”

“we can always order! saving my princess and son is more important!”

your son grumbles, “but I want to hit the rude man!”

“me too, champ, but—“ satoru sweat-drops and glances behind him, “I doubt the angry security guards would like that!”

GETO SUGURU:

your twin girls are one of the sassiest to exist.

in a way, they take after their father who is also pretty sassy but very low-key.

the sass of all three combined is terrible to be the victim of. luckily for you, they don’t dare direct their triple ray towards you, especially—in any argument—at least one will try to win you over.

if it’s suguru trying to stay on your good side, then he is hugging you from behind, pressing feather-like kisses on your shoulder and whispering about how sweet you are. if it’s the girls, then they cling to your legs and keep yelling about how much they love you.

so it is safe to say that you have a small squad to protect you from any potential “danger”.

“oh my, dear shouldn’t you focus on refining yourself a bit more?” you hear a woman say beside you.

you turn towards her, offended, “excuse me?”

“I mean,” her eyes scan you, disapprovingly, “you look average at best, and with that you won’t be able to find yourself a husband, let alone have children.”

you’re still processing her audacity as she continues, “but then again, it’s probably for the better that you don’t have children; you can barely take care of yourself.”

“can I help you?” your husband says as he approaches the woman.

she smiles condescendingly before chuckling, “I was simply telling this lady to take care of herself more; she hardly looks presentable.”

geto’s smiles tenses up as he is about to give the woman a calm peace of his mind, but his daughters beat him to it.

your older twin stands in front of the woman, scanning her with pure disgust in her eyes.

she grimaces and voices out her thoughts, “you are like a crunchy lizard.”

the woman gasps, “how dare you—!”

you cut off the woman, curious about your daughter’s conclusion, “why a crunchy lizard, sweetheart?”

your daughter looks at you with a small frown, shaking her head, “a crunchy lizard is an ugly sad lizard.”

a snort escapes your husband, and you’re barely able to contain your smile.

your other daughter follows up, looking at her twin sister, “the lady looks like that one green thingy we saw yesterday,” she taps her little foot, trying to remember and beams at the woman, “shrek! you look like shrek!”

then they both glare at her, frowning, “you’re a monkey!”

your husband doesn’t let it go as he deals the final—subtle—blow, “come on now girls; we shouldn’t bully the lady with the mcdonald’s like hairline anymore.”

it seems like the woman can’t take it anymore as she starts sobbing and running to the hills.

a moment of silence is shared across the four of you, before you carry both of your girls in your arms and start tickling them, “I don’t know whether to be proud of you or scold you, little evil girls!”

they squeal, trying to escape your hold and calling for their father.

geto chuckles and wraps his arms around the three of you, “let them have it for tonight, y/n,” he ruffles their hair, “they were brave and defended their mom, after all.”

“yeah, papa is right!”

“yes mama, please!”

you pout then smirk at geto, “well I don’t mind, and since papa is also very proud of you girls, he will buy any toy that you guys want today!”

the color drains from your husband’s face, and he watches motionlessly as his girls latch onto him, screaming about the toys they want.

you giggle at his expression and blow him a kiss. he reluctantly blows you one back, while the girls excitedly pull him towards the toy store.

NANAMI KENTO:

you and your husband were blessed with the sweetest girl as your daughter, and she was just recently joined by another sweet girl.

you can never forget the happiness on your daughter’s face when she saw her baby sister.

it also seems that no matter how many times you give birth, your husband can’t help but get emotional when he holds your baby. his hands are forever delicate as he cradles her to his chest.

you remember what he said during the birth of your first daughter.

“I feel like a piece of heaven has been plucked and placed in my arms.”

the way he always goes soft for the three of you is honestly adorable.

today, you were going on an outing with your—now 6 months old—baby and your older daughter who is almost six.

your husband never brags about his muscular form, but he never misses a chance to carry the baby or the baby supplies.

you have offered to at least carry the bag, but he always refuses, stating that ‘you already carried the baby for nine entire months in your belly; this is the least I can do.’

so yeah, sometimes you wish to smooch your husband till forever, but that’s not the point.

you’re walking hand in hand with your daughter as she sings her favorite song. you hear someone click their tongue, so you look to the side and lock eyes with an old lady. she takes the opportunity and approaches you.

“you should be ashamed of yourself!” she yells pointing at you, “your husband shouldn’t be carrying the baby supplies nor the baby itself for the matter,” she scowls, “that’s your job!”

“with all due respect ma’am, but that isn’t her job, and taking care of the baby should be something we are both responsible for.”

“yeah!” your daughter huffs, “and don’t take out your sad life on my mama!”

your eyes widen as you stare at your daughter.

on the other side, your husband is just as speechless. your daughter pays no one any mind as she continues, “mama works hard every day! you wouldn’t know that! you immature nugget!”

nanami frowns lightly, “d/n, that’s not nice—“

and for the cherry on top, your baby daughter throws the bottle cap she was playing with at the old lady, and frowns at her.

she starts babbling some nonsense that you're pretty sure are curse words in baby language.

having had enough, the old lady huffs, “the utter disrespect,” and starts walking away.

the rest of the spectators’ eyes follow her till she is out of sight. finally then, people start minding their own business, and you and your little family are left to the aftermath.

you giggle, “that was funny.”

“really?!” your daughter beams.

nanami cuts her off, “no,” he then looks at you with a small frown, a sigh escaping his lips, “y/n don’t encourage them—“

your baby daughter screams happily when she sees her sister smile. she starts kicking her feet with the biggest smile on her own face.

your older daughter starts laughing with her and tries to make her little sister laugh more—she was successful.

meanwhile, you chuckle, leaning on your husband’s shoulder, “admit it, kento; it was kind of funny.”

his resolve softens at the sound of laughter from all three of his girls, “okay, maybe a little, but—“

“yay!!”

ladies: 1

kento: 0

FUSHIGURO TOJI:

your husband and son are so alike, save for the part that your husband is a bit more shameless, and your son is more on the shy side.

however, they both have the same bluntness and the tendency to give anyone who they don’t like attitude.

for example, today, you were walking in the park with the both of them to unwind a bit.

not to mention that megumi wanted to walk his dogs which was a plus, since you would be able to watch your dear son play around with them.

it was all going great until you saw an old ‘friend’ who came running at the sight of you. he was someone who has always been way too touchy and in your personal bubble.

you have tried talking to him about it, but you’re confident that he does it to somehow force you into reciprocating the intimacy.

even if you’re a married woman with a freaking kid.

he giddily clasps your hand, “y/n, ‘been a long time!”

“h-hey,” you smile awkwardly.

he laughs, “I was passing by when I saw your figure, and I couldn’t help but come and say hi.”

you nod, “that’s great, but I am busy, so maybe later?—“

“you’ve gotten even prettier!” he exclaims, “I wish you would finally take me out on a—“

“can’t you see that she is uncomfortable?” your son retorts, “also, you should step back; you shouldn’t touch someone like this without asking them.”

megumi squeezes himself between the both you and glares at the man.

the guy was about to reply to your son, but toji pushes him back with ease, pulling you beside him and hand resting on your waist almost by instinct, “kid is right,” he tilts his head a bit, “ever been taught manners or do I have to do the teaching for you?”

the guy is taken back; offended, he snaps “you can’t speak to me like that!”

“and you can’t hold my mom’s hands like that, but here we are,” your son cleverly sasses him.

on the other hand, your—shameless—husband pulls you into one scandalous kiss and smirks at the guy when he pulls back, “and you can’t hit on a married woman, by the way.”

you hear your son gag in disgust at his dad’s actions, but you’re too busy burying your face in your husband’s chest, hoping that the guy disappears before toji makes even more of a bigger scene.

you also hope that the ground would swallow you, but that’s the alternative option.

the guy clutches his fist, before walking away, spewing insults at the sky—since he is too scared to cuss out your buff husband. once the man is out of sight, toji ruffles megumi’s hair, chuckling, “good job, kid.”

your shy bean’s cheeks redden slightly as he looks away, “…thanks.”

you’re still thinking about what just happened when you slap your husband’s chest, “toji, literally why?” you grumble, patting megumi who started holding onto your leg the moment you hugged toji.

“why not,” your husband shrugs with a small smile, taking pride in your flustered form.

“dad, I want ice cream.”

“no, you just want me to let go your mom, so you can hog her for yourself,” toji grumbles, staring down at megumi.

unfaltering, megumi looks up at him ,“dad, I want ice cream.”

“god damn it, listen here you—“

“divine dogs.”

RYOMEN SUKUNA:

there is no denying that both your son and your husband care for you very much, and they both—very aggressively—compete for your attention.

I am talking he literally throws the kid across the room kind of aggressive, and your son, in turn, throws whatever he has at him.

it’s eventful, but you would be lying if you said that it wasn’t one of the reasons why you will get grey hair earlier than everyone else.

so their very aggressive nature is also shown in their protectiveness over you.

a person doesn’t need to insult or even dare flirt with you for your devil duo to make their life a living hell; your husband and son don’t tolerate someone speaking to you if it causes you to ignore both of them.

for example, this one new servant was clueless to where the broom is, and unluckily for him, he saw you sitting with your husband and son in the gardens. he humbly approached you, “excuse me, m’lady.”

you turn to look at him with a smile, “yes?”

he clears throat, a bit flustered by the attention, “I—I wanted to ask where the—“

“up your ass, you disgusting fiend,” your son sneers followed by his father’s ever-permanent scowl.

“who gave you the permission to come and speak to her so casually?” sukuna presses, and the servant quickly falls to his knees.

“m-my apologies, my lord! I did not mean to disturb you!”

sukuna crosses his arms, “well, you did, and you also disturbed your queen and prince,” his eyes narrow at the servant, “what do you have to say for yourself?”

meanwhile, you’re watching all of that, mouth agape and trying to articulate anything to save the poor guy. you finally find your voice, “sukuna, it’s okay; he didn’t mean—“

your son hugs you tightly and glares at the servant, “to think he would so brazenly speak to you like you’re old friends is terrible, mother.”

you can almost see your son’s cursed energy flaring, and you can spot the small smirk on your husband’s face as he watches his son.

before it escalates any further and you find yet another dead corpse in your palace, you pick up your son, kissing his cheek which makes him flustered and causing him to bury his face in your neck.

you look at the servant, “you’re dismissed, and you can ask the head maid about anything you need, okay?”

“y-yes, m’lady!” he, however, stays glued to the ground, “may I have the permission to lift my head?”

sukuna grunts, “sure.”

“thank you, m’lord,” the servant says, before scurrying towards the gate, having secured his freedom after his little mistake.

or at least, that’s what he thought.

your husband slices his legs off with a flick of a finger, and your son, who has inherited his father’s technique, slices the head off.

and so the body falls to the ground, and the other servants hurriedly start cleaning up the mess.

you frown at your husband, “sukuna! he apologized!”

he rolls his eyes, and pulls you by the waist, “do I look like I care? he shouldn’t have interrupted our time together.”

“aww, you’re jealous!”

“no, I am not—“

“hands off, old man!”

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do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

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wordpress-blaze-221734350 · 1 month ago

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My Recommendation

Where does this leave others in this new political landscape? Is this where professors like W all but determine who gets to go to a “good school”? Is this where cronyism is rewarded? And what does that do for the world? Homogeneity dims the light of creativity and innovation. If we all have the same thoughts and perspectives, how can one be challenged to be greater than they even knew that they could be?

Source: My Recommendation

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highladyluck · 2 years ago

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^^^I love Elayne because she’s kinda evil: a non-exhaustive compilation post of things I’ve written

Just like… every time someone points out how Elayne makes bad decisions and is often kind of a shitty person I want to be like ‘yes and it makes me weirdly fond of her’.

I love that Elayne is Team Analyze The Evil Artifact To Figure Out How It Works. I love that Elayne makes increasingly questionable decisions because she knows she has Plot Armor. I love that Elayne is arrogant and clueless a lot of the time and doesn’t even notice it.

Elayne is flawed and I think her flaws are realistic and interesting. YMMV! It’s just that as I spend more and more time thinking about the obviously morally grey characters in WoT (and there are… many) I realize that the ta'veren and the supergirls are really not exempt from moral greyness either. Everybody in the series is making (often) bad decisions with (often) incomplete information and they’re all kind of terrible at one point or another, sometimes in ways the narrative highlights and sometimes in ways that are more idiosyncratic to the reader.

#wheel of time #wot book spoilers #elayne trakand #elayne trakand defense squad #elayne trakand defamation squad #they’re the same squad

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charliemwrites · 5 months ago

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Omegas are the best for the military. Everyone knows that, it’s just common sense.

Omegas are notoriously level-headed and calm, protective without the tendency towards aggression and territorial possessiveness that characterizes their Alpha counterparts. They’re cooperative and adaptable, with heightened senses that at one evolutionary time kept them safe from rabid Alphas.

Now, it’s best suited to sniffing out potential threats, communicating sub-vocally, and noticing the smallest changes in their environment. The military finds them much more economical for combat, special ops, and even espionage compared to Alphas, who are pheromone sensitive, hard-headed, and generally indelicate.

That said, they’re not without their uses. Alphas tend to be lean, fast, and vicious. That aggression makes them both sword and shield in a fight, filing their sense of pain and fatigue down to almost nothing until the threat is neutralized.

Still, having a full-time Alpha in a squad isn’t a necessity except in special circumstances.

Per usual, Task Force 141 is special circumstances.

Four specialist Omegas with a metric ton of trauma per team member has the unfortunate consequence of hormonal imbalance. One thing feeds into another, a heat is put on hold for a mission because they can’t spare the manpower - it stacks and stacks and stacks until sleep is scarce and their usually well-maintained instincts are bursting at the seams. Compound that with the near loss of one of their team members…

The new Alpha is already there when the team returns from their latest assignment.

Laswell is waiting on the tarmac and an operative in black gear is standing a polite distance (plus one step more) from her elbow. Well within peripheral, but deferent. Their hands are clasped behind their back, shoulders straight but loose.

As TF141 approaches, Price expects the Alpha pheromones to waft his way any moment. It’s normal, expected even. A new environment, meeting strange Omegas, Alphas usually burn through their neutralizers quickly. Perhaps a vestigial instinct to carve a space for themselves in the world. Not necessarily their fault, but it happens.

Price is surprised that he smells nothing from the Alpha at all. Just the scents of detergent and soap, clean and standard. A quick glance at Simon confirms their most-sensitive nose doesn’t detect anything either.

Laswell introduces them, an Alpha that she’s personally worked with before and can verify is solid both on and off the field.

The Alpha’s muzzle is heavy duty but long-wear design. Hard-case and rigid instead of the more popular soft and flexible ones. Cushioned but firm at the bridge of the nose, chin, and corners of the jaw. Buckled tight at the back of the head, steel grid pattern across the front.

Price doesn’t arch his eyebrows at it but it’s a near thing.

They duck their head in greeting when Laswell introduces them as Saint, eyes flicking up briefly to each team member, eye-shine reflecting green in the bright runway lights.

Soap whistles, impressed.

“Yer a big ‘un, tha’s fer damn sure. Didnae ken they make ‘em like ye,” he drawls. Ghost cuffs him upside the head, reminding him to behave.

Saint blinks and doesn’t say anything. Curious.

“Let’s do proper introductions inside,” Price decides.

It goes much the same way in the 141’s den as it did out on the tarmac. Saint stands quiet and still while the Omegas take their turns.

There’s no scent to familiarize themselves with, so it’s mostly offering theirs to the Alpha. Except Saint doesn’t duck down to the neck Gaz offers. Instead, they pluck up his hand and bring his wrist to their muzzle. Inhale so quietly that only the swell of their chest indicates that they’re breathing him in.

They chuff softly, hold so loose that Gaz’s hand nearly drops from theirs. It’s approval, it can’t be anything else, but it sounds so… detached.

Still, Gaz chuffs in return, and makes way for the others. Saint does the same to Soap and by the time Simon steps up, he’s already tugging his sleeve up and his glove down.

Simon, to his own surprise, receives the same polite huff as the two sergeants. Most Alphas have found his direct scent to be unpleasant - too sharp and savory, bordering on Alpha. But Saint doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest.

When it’s finally Price’s turn, the only difference is that Saint swipes their own wrist along his. Scent claim. Not marking the 141 as theirs, but rather Saint as belonging with them.

Laswell, suspiciously amused, takes her leave soon after.

The 141 has an Alpha. A permanent one.

Living with an Alpha would have been a learning curve on its own. Living with SAINT is something else entirely.

For one, they apply clinical-strength neutralizer religiously. They have spares stashed everywhere. In their go-bag, their combat gear, the den, the lockers - even one in Price’s office. It’s better than the ones with fragrance, but if not for their ever-present muzzle, no one would be able to tell that they’re an Alpha.

And speaking of the muzzle.

It goes beyond common courtesy and public conduct. Even in the den, they keep the thing tightly pressed to their face, and don’t remove it for anything. They eat in their room and drink through straws when necessary.

When Price tells them that the team wouldn’t mind if they used a bite guard in the den, they just chuff softly and brush a hand along his shoulder. The muzzle stayed.

It’s not to say they don’t seem comfortable. Day by day, little signs of trust and ease seep into their Alpha’s mannerisms if they know where to look for it. A brush of skin here, a sub-vocal purr there. Spending hours upon hours in the den, available for any of the Omegas to sit with or cuddle or chat to. As much as teammate as an Alpha in the traditional sense.

It doesn’t take Soap and Gaz long at all to start hanging all over them, but Saint takes it with all the patience of their namesake. Price finds Soap lounging in their lap most times that they’re sitting, or leaning hard into their side while they watch recruits.

The muzzle is a no-touch zone, but they don’t get even growl the first time Soap discovers that. They just redirect him with a quiet click of their tongue, and let him nuzzle in when he apologizes.

Gaz is hardly any better, scent marking Saint like some bad Alpha stereotype. Poor thing goes around smelling overwhelmingly of bergamot and honey sometimes, but they never mind, never stop him from pressing his face to their chest or their back or even into their hands. Rubbing his face over any bit of skin or fabric available, even their jugular, despite the vulnerability of such a spot.

Still, Saint is aloof.

They’re perfectly responsive to their Omegas, head tilting at the slightest vocalization, quick to offer physical comfort when asked. They hardly ever seek it out for themself though, and show none of the near-obsessive behaviors associated with even the most mild of Alphas on the spectrum.

“I dinnae think Alpha likes us,” Soap whines one evening.

Saint is eating in their room, leaving the Omegas to a cuddle pile while they wait for their return.

He’s been lamenting it for a while now, repressing the rejected pang in his gut any time Saint doesn’t vocalize back, or reach for them first.

They work out in the Alpha-Only gym on base and do their laundry in the designated Alpha wash. Neither of those are regulations, it’s a choice they make. And it hurts a bit.

Saint is sweet, but their politeness goes past the point of old-fashioned.

“Course they do,” Simon grunts, dismissive. “They probably like us too much.”

“How do you reckon?” Gaz asks.

“Alpha didn’ go t’ eat ‘til we were all fed,” he replies, shrugging.

And it’s true. Saint doesn’t collect a scrap of nutrition until every one of their Omegas has had something to eat. Even Price, stubborn and work-focused as he can be, is gently urged to eat before Saint fills their own belly.

It doesn’t stop there.

Saint is always the last one on or off a transport, and quick to notice if any of them are injured. They’re always present around large groups of other Alphas, especially recruits.

The sheer amount of time they spend available is unusual, preferring the den to rest in their off hours - even sleeping there on occasion.

Then Gaz’s heat is due. A week out and he’s already feeling it descending - it’s been well over six months since his last one. His skin feels itchy, his senses on overdrive. Thirsty and hungry and generally feeling restless beneath the skin.

“Alpha,” he calls.

Saint’s eyes are on him instantly, one-sided conversation with some other, non-Pack Omega forgotten. Gaz purrs, pleased.

“I want something of yours.”

They tilt their head, a silent question.

“A shirt or something,” he specifies.

And something in their gaze flickers. Gaz isn’t sure what it means, but it definitely looks positive.

Saint brings him something better - a blanket. It’s intimate; it’s perfect. It smells incredible, if… oddly faded. From his most reserved Pack member, it means the world.

Gaz balls himself up with it in the nest he assembles over the next day and a half, until he wakes up one morning with the knowledge that his heat will l well and truly have taken hold before midday.

He puts in his notice and calls his Pack.

Saint is the last to enter his barrack, a huge bag of supplies in their arms. Not just for Gaz, but for the rest of them. No one will be leaving unless duty calls.

And it’s perfect. The best heat Gaz has ever had. Surrounded by Pack and protected by his Alpha, who stays on watch while Price and Ghost and Soap fuck him through the dregs of preheat and well into Heat proper.

Half of him purrs at his Alpha’s dedication to protecting them, to providing for them. The other half protests the Alpha’s attention being anywhere but on him.

“Alpha,” he calls. And when that only earns him Saint’s eyes and not his affection, he barks, sharper, “Alpha.”

They come to him instantly, settled in between his legs, smooth their thumbs along the glands at the base of his neck. He curls into them trilling and chirping and needing more than just social acceptability right now.

And finally, finally, a low rumble sounds through his Alpha’s chest. It’s deep and rich, hits the subharmonics in a way that has all the Omegas going still and quiet. Their voice purrs out a moment later, practically vibrating their skulls.

“Easy, Omega.”

Gaz bares his neck, whispering, “Saint.”

They lean in, breathing loud and deep, warm hands soothing an ache in his lower back. “I’m here, Kyle.”

They fuck well into sundown, Kyle so wound up that he can’t bear to be parted from Saint to even let them breathe. Any space between them is whined or growled or bitten out of existence, the ever-indulgent Alpha soothing their Omega with their body, with the newly discovered vocalizations that he just can’t get enough of.

Ghost and Price have to feed and hydrate him between rounds, working together to manage his clingy limbs and careless (but sharp) teeth. In the meantime, Soap helps to do the same for Saint, who is far more cooperative.

“How’re you still goin’?” Soap wonders, amazed, slipping bites of granola between the bars of their muzzle. Saint is sitting upright with Gaz collected against their chest, sweaty but already breathing evenly again.

Saint licks a bit of chocolate off their lip and meets his eyes easy as anything, serene for how blown out their pupils are.

“I’m your Alpha. I go until you need me to stop.”

Which just sets them all off, each taking (needing) a turn with their Alpha.

By then, their neutralizer has begun to wear off, friction and sweat and fabric thinning the chemical deodorant to nothing. The scent is intoxicating, unlike anything any of them have ever smelled before. It’s overwhelmingly Alpha, overwhelmingly good. Even Ghost and Price, rare to bend the knee to anyone, find themselves weak for that scent.

No wonder Saint keeps it on lock, it’s practically a weapon in itself, not demanding submission but expecting it. A foregone conclusion. In a social setting it would be a brutal domination, rude wouldn’t even be the right word for it.

Saint isn’t just an Alpha, they’re on the extreme end of the spectrum.

The kind that comes with counseling and desensitizing therapies. Etiquette schools and specialized doctors.

The kind of Alpha that can not only manage four chaotic Omegas, but give them what they need.

With types like Saint, Alpha isn’t just a designation, it’s a title. And the 141 is proud that it’s theirs.

#cod #thoughts™️#my writing #fanfiction #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #john price #simon riley #a/b/o dynamics #a/b/o #non traditional omegaverse

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the-crooked-library · 2 months ago

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okay but like, as much as I am a fervent proponent of “not every ship should get married and in fact some of them would Never” - especially in context of enemies-to-lovers - I hope that everyone who sees me posting like that knows I am not talking about Spuffy. in fact, I would go so far as to say they are the two characters most willing and even desperate to get married that I’ve ever seen.

one of Buffy’s most persistent struggles is her right to girlhood and the inevitable expiration date she faces as the Slayer. she’s forced to fight and claw for every possible milestone that other girls around her take for granted - trying out for the cheer squad, running for prom queen, going to college, etc. one of the nightmares she has after killing Angel is about being unable to be a bride and get married. in Something Blue, she throws herself into wedding planning with a passion that speaks to her having daydreamed about it. in most cases, her commitment issues veer toward clinging rather than avoidance, and marriage is absolutely one of those beautiful, unreachable things that were ripped away from her when the Powers chose her. it haunts her.

Spike is probably even more obvious - he’s a man from Victorian England, a society that held marriage on a pedestal. furthermore, he is fundamentally a creature of devotion, never straying from Drusilla for over a century, and then from Buffy even after she was dead. their desperation is also quite similar - Spike’s original community had considered him undesirable, barring him from a love match; and while a union may have been arranged for him as a human, his vampirism took that option away entirely, in the same way that Buffy’s becoming did it. during Something Blue, he is just as committed to planning the minutiae of the wedding as Buffy is, even though they could’ve just decided to do it at the courthouse and get it over with under a shoehorned pretext. he’s been dreaming of a wedding for 150 years, let’s be real

Spuffy would’ve gone insane about a wedding. they would’ve fallen in love worse. they would have threatened each other with divorce constantly but stayed married anyway for however long they lived. hell, they should’ve done it just for the CPS reasons in season 6, just imagine having to hide it from everyone except the government, lest Anya thinks they’re trying to steal her thunder

#btvs #buffy the vampire slayer #spike btvs #buffy summers #william pratt #spuffy #buffy x spike #wedding #marriage #this isn’t shipper eyes this is my fully conscious opinion #I think this with my brain and believe this in my bones #they would have been the worst case of fell first vs fell harder #spike nosedives into love and stays there sure he would be insane abt being married to Buffy from the start. premium Wife Guy material #and actually. it would’ve probably made him more stable #bc it wouldn’t matter what else she’s doing or who she flirts with #that’s his Wife #and she can’t stop his helping with finances either!! they’ve got a joint bank account and everything!!#if money just happens to appear there spontaneously well. she won’t complain #meanwhile Buffy would slowly slowly fall in love with him for realsies over the course of like. the next two years #while he’s helping Dawn with homework or doing dishes or whatever #and she would drive herself progressively more unhinged about it #until she tearfully and angrily confesses and he damn near has a stroke

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wosospacegirl · 20 days ago

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meva dona - my wife.

Summary: Y/n and Jana's secret marriage is revealed after an injury, leading to recovery and unexpected wedding plans.

Word count: 2k

Request <3

Masterlist

Y/n and Jana had practically grown up on the same pitches–both La Masia girls through and through.

Y/n debuted for the senior team at just sixteen, a prodigy in the midfield, and Jana joined her the following season. From the start, Y/n was taken under the wings of Alexia, Aitana, and Patri, who saw her as the future of the club.

Alongside them, there was always Ona, Bruna, Vicky and the rest of the La Masia girls, the tight-knit little group that had watched Y/n and Jana go from best friends to something more. Bruna had left Barcelona a few seasons ago, but they were still pretty much in contact.

Jana and Y/n bickered like an old married couple, finishing each other’s sentences. It even became a running joke in the locker room. “If they’re not already married, they might as well be.”

But today, they weren’t in the locker room. They were out on the pitch, facing Atlético Madrid.

The roar of the crowd at the stadium faded into a haunting silence suddenly, just as the ball was stolen from Y/n’s feet.

And then it happened, a tackle came in.

It was sharp, hard, and quick. The impact sent a shock through the girl’s body, alongside a cold rush of pain, and then everything stopped.

Y/n couldn't feel her leg. Her whole leg. Not even pain anymore.

She wanted to feel pain now, wanted to feel something on her shin, on her thigh, but nothing came.

There’s a panic rising in her chest, and her breath became sharp and shallow. Y/n’s vision flickers at the edges, but she was trying to force herself to stay conscious, trying not to let the rising panic take over.

But it didn’t happen.

"Y/n! Y/n!" Jana's voice cut through the pitch, but it was distant, almost muffled. Y/n tried to look up, but it was like her body was betraying her; she had to sink back, unable to keep herself upright.

The moment the medics rushed onto the pitch, Jana was already by her side. Her face was pale with worry, muttering Y/n’s name over and over, her hands trembling as she hovered by the stretcher.

“Ho sento, però no pots pujar a l’ambulància [Sorry, you can’t get in the ambulance.],” one of the medics said to Jana, his voice firm but gentle as another one held Jana’s hand, trying to keep her from getting inside.

“No, I’m going with her,” Jana said instantly.

Then, she felt a warm hand on her upper arm.

A warm hand found Jana’s upper arm.

“Estàs molt nerviosa i podries interferir, nena [You’re very agitated–it could make things more difficult, sweetheart]” Alexia said softly. “Wait with us, we’re following the ambulance, okay?”

Jana's hands trembled as she glanced over at the medics, but her gaze immediately shifted back to Y/n, lying helplessly on the stretcher.

“Però és la meva dona! [But she’s my wife],” Jana blurted out, her voice loud and clear in the tense air.

There’s a moment of stunned silence.

Every head on the pitch turned.

The team froze. Alexia started, mouth slightly open.

“Jana–què?” Alexia asked, her voice low. “What are you saying?”

The medic stood frozen, unsure how to respond, but Jana didn’t give up. She stepped closer, her voice trembling. “Y/n’s my wife. I’m not letting her go without me.”

The medics exchanged an uneasy glance, then one of them nodded. It was protocol–they couldn’t deny a legal family member.

Jana climbed into the ambulance quietly, leaving behind a very stunned—and very confused—Barça squad.

They weren’t sure if she was lying just to get in the ambulance or if it was real.

Y/n and Jana weren’t exactly a secret. They were very open about being together, a kind of it-couple in the Woso world. But married? That was completely new.

‘Weren't they a bit too young for this kind of commitment?’ The thought lingered in Alexia’s mind as she piled as many teammates as she could into her car and followed the ambulance.

Her mind raced. Jana…Y/n…married? She couldn’t wrap her head around it.

She and Jana had been close for years, but even she never suspected anything like this. They’d always had that young love dynamic, yes, but this? It wasn’t just a commitment…it was the commitment. She knew Jana was serious, but this… this was a whole other level.

‘But why hadn’t she told me?’ Alexia’s grip tightened on the steering wheel as she drove, the confusion and the tension grew inside of her.

When they arrived at the hospital, Jana sat silently in the waiting room, tears running down her cheeks.

“Oh, nena,” Alexia whispered, kneeling in front of her. Pina and Patri placed a comforting hand on her back.

“The medics said it looked worse than it is,” Alexia continued. “She was in shock. That’s why she looked so out of it, it’s okay.”

“Yes, it seemed serious, but nothing too dangerous,” Vicky added, her voice soft and a little shaky. “No organs or internal stuff.”

“She’s still in pain,” Jana murmured.

“She’s getting treatment, sí?” Alexia said gently. “It’s a good hospital. She has a long recovery ahead, but she’ll be okay.”

They let Jana cry until her eyes were dry.

Then, after a long silence, Vicky broke it.

“So… are we not going to talk about it?” he asked, her voice casual but curious.

Pina elbowed her in the side, and Vicky jumped, muttering a quick, “Ouch!”

“I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking!” Vicky defended, raising her hands in mock surrender.

Jana looked around at the faces of her teammates, all staring at her with a mixture of surprise, concern, and… expectation.

Her eyes flicked from one to the next, her heart pounding in her chest. The weight of their eyes felt heavy.

Jana sighed.

“Yes, it’s true,” she finally said, her voice soft but steady. She swallowed, her heart beating a little faster, but she didn’t look away from the team. “But I don’t want to talk about it. Not without Y/n.”

There was a pause, thick with anticipation. The room seemed to hold its breath as Jana’s words settled.

“She’s not ready,” Jana said, her voice low, but filled with a quiet intensity. “This wasn’t how we planned to share it with you all. It wasn’t about hiding, but... we needed it to be ours for a little while.”

The team fell into silence once more, but this time it was different. The pressure of their expectations, while still there, but it had softened.

The next three days are a whirlwind of hospital visits and concerned teammates. The moment Y/n was awake, everyone breathed in relief.

Y/n wasn’t in a coma or anything, but the pain meds kept her groggy. She could barely stay awake for more than a few minutes at a time–not surprising, considering she broke two bones in one go.

But as soon as Y/n was out of the danger zone, the questions began.

Jana and Y/n were both surrounded by their teammates, as Jana sat beside her, one hand gently squeezing Y/n’s, the other stroking her fingers.

Y/n weakly squeezed back, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

Alexia was the first. “Okay, so… when did this happen?”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Vicky pouted. “I’m literally your best friend. I wanted to be maid of honour!”

Pina stands beside Alexia, her face with curiosity. “Did you guys really elope? You didn't even invite us?”

Ona crosses her arms, her expression somewhere between playful and confused. “And you kept it a secret for how long?”

Patri’s brow furrows as she gently presses a hand to Jana’s shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell us, Jana? We’re your family... and Y/n’s too.”

The truth was that they had eloped over the holiday break last month in Greece,it had been a private ceremony, just them and an official. A secret tucked away, far from the cameras.

They hadn’t planned to keep it forever. Just… a little longer. Long enough to enjoy it for themselves, to feel like just wife and wife, not Jana and Y/n, players of Barcelona and Spain.

Jana let out a shaky breath, her fingers still holding onto Y/n’s hand. "It wasn’t supposed to be anyone's business..." She looked at Y/n softly, almost as if she were asking for permission to speak.

Y/n gave a small nod, her head resting against the pillow, eyes fluttering closed.

“I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to hide it from you all... It’s just... it was very sudden and we wanted to keep it in between just us for a while–” Jana said.

“--We’ve been together since we were teenagers, and we’ve always been open about it. This was just… something we wanted to keep private. No media, no pressure. Just us…you know?”

“We didn’t think it was the right time to tell anyone... Especially with everything going on.” Y/n said, still dizzy from the medicine, feeling Jana holding her hand tighter now.

“It happened last month, during break,” Jana chimed in. “We were getting ready for the Champions League. The timing didn’t feel right to tell anyone.”

“We also didn’t want to make it a big deal.” Y/n said, giving them a faint smile; “But... I’m sorry too.”

There’s a heavy silence, the weight of the secret they kept hanging in the air.

“Okay, you two. As cute as it is that you wanted privacy, you’re family. No more hiding things like this. We want to be part of your lives.” Alexia’s voice cuts through the quiet, playful but firm.

The rest of the team nodded in agreement, but there was a teasing edge now.

“But when Y/n’s fully recovered, we want an actual wedding. With all of us there,” Aitana says from the corner of her room, her voice gentle. "You owe us that much."

Y/n laughs, the sound light and relieved, though she winces slightly from the pain in her leg. “Looks like I’ll be walking down the aisle with crutches. Doctor says it’ll be a year until I’m fully recovered.”

“Perfect,” Alexia grinned. “You’ve got one year to plan the best wedding in Barcelona.”

The team didn’t stay mad–not really. But the lectures kept coming. Alexia led the first one. Patri followed.

Then came more emotional blackmail from Vicky and Ona, who pulled the “We’re your family” card again and made Jana cry all over.

The teammates slowly left the room, teasing and laughing, but still showing their concern for the couple. The room eventually grew quiet, as the door clicked for the last time.

Jana sat beside Y/n, her hand gently resting on Y/n’s leg, not enough to hurt. She didn’t say anything for a moment, just let the silence settle between them. Comforting.

“You’re not mad, are you?” Her tone was soft, almost unsure. “That it came out?”

Jana shook her head and leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Y/n’s forehead. “I’m not mad,” she whispered. “Just… tired. a long day for us. I just…don’t know why we didn’t tell them sooner–it seems so silly now.”

Y/n smiled, taking Jana’s hand in hers, her thumb gently brushing over her fingers. “We had our time,” Y/n said. “Do you want to keep it just in between the team? Or like…make it official? Like the media and all that?”

“We’ll do it when you’re ready,” Jana said, leaning in closer to kiss her softly. “For now, just rest. We have plenty of time to think about how we're gonna deal with it.”

“Just so you know,” Y/n said playfully, “I’ll be the one in recovery, but I won’t be planning this wedding alone.”

“I wouldn’t dream of letting you do it by yourself,” Jana laughed. “You remember when we were fifteen and you said you wanted a teal dress at our wedding?”

“Oh please, like you weren’t the one who wanted to wear boots with your dress! Boots!” Y/n replied, grinning.

“Hey, don’t say that!” Jana protested. “I still want to. It’d be Vogue cover material, I’m telling you.”

“Well, I’m cancelling the wedding right now,” Y/n teased, rolling her eyes dramatically.

a/n: spent part of my afternoon writing this little thing, hope you guys liked it <3

Feedback is very much appreciated <3

#woso fanfic #woso x reader #jana fernandez #jana fernandez fanfic #jana fernández x reader #jana fernández x yn #wlw writing #wlw fanfic

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wordpress-blaze-221734350 · 1 month ago

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My Recommendation

Source: My Recommendation

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odilesgrimoire · 1 month ago

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Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 (end)

Bakugo doesn’t notice it at first.

Not until one morning, when he walks into class and sees you sitting at your desk, head resting on your arms. You look tired. More than usual. Dark circles under your eyes, the slight puffiness, like you had been crying.

Something twists in his chest. He likes it.

He doesn’t know why, but the sight of you like this, vulnerable, affected, satisfies something deep inside him. It means you still care. That even if you’ve been ignoring him, even if you’ve been acting like you’re fine, you aren’t.

And that means… you haven’t moved on.

The thought settles in his mind, dark and selfish. He should feel guilty. Should feel bad that you’re clearly hurting.

But instead, he feels something close to relief.

Because it means you still think about him. That even after everything, he is still the one lingering in your mind. Not anyone else.

Him.

And for now, that’s enough.

But then—

"Are you okay?"

Midoriya’s voice breaks through his thoughts.

And just like that, the relief turns to rage.

Bakugo watches, eyes narrowing, as Midoriya crouches beside your desk. His brows are furrowed in concern, his voice soft, too soft. And you? You look up at him, forcing a small smile. "Yeah, just didn’t sleep well."

Liar.

Midoriya doesn’t believe it either. He pulls something out of his bag, his notebook. "Here, I copied the notes from yesterday. You missed a lot."

You blink, surprised. Then, a genuine smile blooms across your face.

And Bakugo hates that.

Hates the way Midoriya makes you smile. Hates the way he’s looking at you, like you’re precious. Hates that you’re letting him.

It doesn’t stop there.

At lunch, you sit with Midoriya and the others instead of the usual squad. Bakugo doesn’t care. He doesn’t. Except he can hear you laughing. Can see the way Midoriya nudges your tray closer when you barely touch your food. Can see how you lean into him when he whispers something to you.

And worst of all, he sees the way Midoriya looks at you.

It’s the same way you used to look at him.

The rumors start soon after.

"Did you hear? Midoriya might like her"

"I mean, have you seen them lately? They’re always together."

"Honestly… kinda cute, don’t you think?"

The words slip through the classroom like a slow-moving poison.

Bakugo isn’t even trying to listen, but the whispers reach him anyway, each one pressing into his skull like a dull, persistent ache.

His fingers twitch. Then curl. Then clench into fists so tight, his nails bite into his palms.

Why does it bother him?

Why does his jaw tighten every time he sees you together?

Why does it feel like a punch to the gut when you walk into class and don’t even look at him?

Why does it piss him off so much when he catches Midoriya blushing because of you?

—

The breaking point comes on a normal day.

Bakugo’s already irritated, he doesn’t even know why anymore. Everything just pisses him off. The way Kirishima laughs. The way Denki’s chewing too loud. The way you are standing so damn close to Midoriya near the lockers.

Then, Midoriya reaches out, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

It’s a small gesture. Barely anything. But it makes something in Bakugo snap.

Before he even realizes it, he’s grabbing your wrist, yanking you away.

"We need to talk."

You stumble but quickly regain your footing, yanking your hand out of his grip. "What the hell is your problem?"

"What the hell is yours?" Bakugo snaps back. His eyes are burning. "You and Deku. Why the hell are you always with him?"

You scoff, crossing your arms. "I don’t see how that’s any of your business."

"You—" He grits his teeth. "You don’t even wait for me after training anymore. You don’t—"

And that’s when you laugh.

It’s bitter. Cold.

"Bakugo, are you serious?" Your voice is steady, but your eyes, there’s something sharp in them. "You knew I liked you, didn’t you?"

He freezes.

You tilt your head, studying him. "You knew. And you let me believe I had a chance."

The words hit him like a punch to the gut.

"Did you ever care?" you whisper.

Bakugo doesn’t answer.

Can’t.

Because the truth is sitting in his throat like a stone, too heavy to swallow.

You watch him, waiting. Just hoping a little that maybe, just maybe, he’ll say something that makes this all worth it.

But he doesn’t.

He just stands there, fists clenched, teeth grit, jaw locked too tight and, nothing.

And that’s when you know.

You exhale, something in your shoulders loosening. Not relief. More like… exhaustion. Like the last bit of hope you had has finally withered away.

"That’s what I thought."

You turn to leave, but for a second, just a second, you hesitate. Like you’re waiting. Like you’re giving him one last chance.

But Bakugo stays silent.

So you exhale, something in your shoulders loosening. Not relief. Just exhaustion. Then, you walk away.

Bakugo doesn’t stop you.

Doesn’t reach out. Doesn’t say a damn thing.

Just stands there, watching as you disappear down the hall, watching as you walk out of his reach.

And this time, you don’t look back.

This time, you won’t come back.

#bnha #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #mha #bnha x reader #bnha headcanons #bakugou katsuki #izuku midoriya #midoriya x reader #izuku x reader

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